One of the great things about being married is that every wee while something will come along that will make you remember just how you came to fancy your wife in the first place.
Take our friend's 40th birthday party recently. In the run up to it the wife had done the usual drill of going around the shops trying to find that perfect outfit. And when that was done of course there was the make up. And the jewellery and the footwear....guys you know the routine well I'm sure.
On the day of the party I'd disappeared off to the football as usual, something that left us tight for time, and caused a bit of annoyance with the wife. So when I got back it was straight into the shower whilst the wife was getting sorted in the bedroom.
She'd had her hair done too when I was out at the game and when she walked into the living room all made up, she looked absolutely amazing and bang all those thoughts you have when you know you want someone came flooding back. If she had said the word I would have happily forgotten about party there and then and enjoyed a night on my own with her, but that was never going to happen.
The wife generally goes for substance over style. While some women will still go for heels and mini-skirts in the middle of winter despite freezing themselves to death the wife would simply not tolerate that at all. Far less the winter a British summer will see her wrapped up in a variety of padded coats and waterproofs looking more ready to tackle a walk to the North Pole than a day in the office.
Likewise she would much rather half an extra half hour in her bed each morning than get up early to put the war paint on, just for the benefit of some leering old men in work or on the bus.
What it does mean though is that you get so used to seeing that practical look that you can sometimes forget just how stunning she can look when does get dressed up to the nines.
"How do I look" she asked, as she threw her leather jacket on to the couch and paraded up and down the room before me resplendent in a silky cream blouse, over brown leggings with a pair of previously unseen brown over the knee boots. I didn't have to lie as I gushed my praise at how sexy she looked.
The click of her heels on the laminate flooring as she filled the obligatory little brown bag only added to my arousal, and as I stood cuddling her by the window as we waited the taxi my stiffening cock gently prodding back and forth into her arse left her in no doubt that my words of praise were indeed genuine.
She giggled at the notion of me getting a hard-on for her and jokingly scolded me for being a naughty boy, for getting all excited and reminding me how we all know what naughty boys get for getting too excited don't we? The question didn't need answering, and not just because the toot of a horn outside signified the arrival of the taxi.
