I was at a barbecue party at a friend's place. Mike and his wife are nice people. Very outgoing and friendly, never meeting anyone they didn't instantly like. Fine and dandy for them, as people seemed to like them on sight. This meant that when Mike threw a barbecue there was always quite a crowd.
So there I was, circulating through the crowd. It was made up of the usual bunch. People you knew but didn't want to, people whose company you enjoyed, people you'd like to get to know, and people you most certainly didn't want to get to know.
Among the people who I was getting to know was a young lady by the name of Deirdre, more commonly known as Didi. As far as I was concerned that seemed a babyish way to say her name and there was nothing babyish about that young lady. Chestnut hair and hazel eyes with a figure that would stop traffic. A bit of a flirt, but only a little bit, not pushing it the way some women do. Not that she was perfect, she did have her share of flaws, the biggest of them being a husband. I was willing to forego the pleasure of getting to know him.
Another minor flaw, just a little one, was that Deirdre seemed to consider me to be a buffoon, one step up from being an idiot, but a very small step. Why, I had no idea. Friends have told me that when I'm thinking something over I get a very blank face, as though I wasn't quite with the world as we know it. I guess that blankness combined with a thuggish appearance could give the impression that I was a bit short in the mental department. I mean, one doesn't normally look at a gorilla and assume he's an Einstein. (Not that I am an Einstein, but I'm by no means stupid.)
Circulating around, I ran into Deirdre. She was dressed for the warmish weather and a barbecue, wearing a boob-tube and tights. Naturally I stopped to exchange a little chitchat with her. I insinuated that I found her very attractive and wouldn't mind a little dalliance with her if I ever got the opportunity. She insinuated that if I wanted to practice my hand at dalliance and amiable chitchat then I should visit the zoo as they had a new enclosure for the great apes. Upon this friendly note we parted and continued circulating in different directions.
A while later I drifted into the house to use the facilities. Coming back down the hall I found Deirdre walking up the hall towards me. We both stepped to one side to let the other pass, but wound up with both of us stepping to the same side. There ensued one of those ridiculous little dances where both people take identical evasive action, resulting in neither getting out of the road.
Finishing up almost face to face I reached out and put my hands on her shoulders.
"Just stay stationery for a moment, OK?" I suggested, pleased to find that she was doing as she was told for once.
"Now, first of all, I must apologise," I told her.
"Not your fault," she said, sounding amused. "We were both side-stepping."
"Not for that. For this."
As I spoke my hands dropped down from her shoulders, took hold of her boob-tube, and pulled it firmly down. Nice stretchy material, it was, and even though she had a lot stuffed into that tube the elasticity of the tube meant it came down quite easily, finishing up circling her waist.
The look on her face was a joy to behold, as were her breasts. It seems that a boob-tube also acts as a bra and if you lose one then you don't have the other. Two lovely white breasts were standing there, proudly pointing at me, the perky little pink nipples actually crinkling up and stretching.
I will admit that her breasts sagged a little bit, but just the tiniest amount, perfectly excusable in breasts like those. Still, being a gentleman and all that, I promptly provided the support that a bra would normally give.
"These are magnificent," I assured her, smiling at her and admiring the flustered look on her face. She was blushing like crazy. (Or was she red with fury? One or the other.)
"You – you – how dare you?" she gasped, backing away a little.
"I apologised," I pointed out, moving with her as she backed up. Her breasts felt very nice and I saw no reason to lose contact with them at this point.
"An apology before you do something doesn't count," she snapped at me. "Take your hands off me."
"Why doesn't it count?" I wanted to know. "An apology is an apology. What difference does it make if it's before or after as long as you genuinely regret doing it?"
She backed up a little further and that was fine by me. Somehow or other we'd got turned around a little and she was backing through the doorway of the room we were standing next to, a kid's bedroom from the look of it.
"If you apologise before the event then you're not at all sorry or you wouldn't go ahead and do what you know you shouldn't."
"You're right," I admitted. "I must admit that I'm not really sorry. Your breasts look marvellous, feel wonderful, and I'm sure they will taste fantastic. Um, excuse me for a moment."
I flicked a foot against the door to close it while dropping my hands away from her breasts to her waist. Not to help pull her top back into position. I've already pointed out that I'm not an idiot. No, I latched onto her tights and pushed them firmly downwards, bending down to be sure they went below her knees. Now she was effectively naked, with all the interesting bits on display. (Yes, she had been wearing panties. They just happened to be included when her tights went down. Accidents happen.)
The interesting thing from my point of view was the fact that she didn't go into a hand dance, trying to cover herself. Instead her hands were at waist height, clenching and unclenching. I think she wanted to punch me out but considered it an unladylike thing to do.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked and I was quite impressed. I'd heard of people talking through gritted teeth but hadn't known you actually could talk that way. Try it yourself. It isn't easy.
"I told you earlier that I wouldn't mind a little dalliance," I reminded her. "Since you're so conveniently here I figured that we might as well get on with it. Have I told you yet what a superb figure you've got?"
To demonstrate my appreciation I ran a hand from a breast down to her mons and back, caressing her lovely curves.
"May I suggest that you get your hands off me and get out of here so I can tidy up my clothes? Preferably before I scream."
"Well, you can suggest it, but you'd be wasting your breath. Um, I also think that you'll find you don't want to scream."
I continued to stroke her body as I gave her this advice. She didn't seem to appreciate it. The advice, that is. I could feel her body reacting to my stroking quite favourably. Her breasts were slightly swollen, with erect nipples, and I'm quite sure her labia had swollen slightly.
"And just why don't I want to scream?"
"Because people will come to see what's wrong and you're effectively naked. It will be a scandal and you know it's the woman who suffers from a scandal. I'll just be the rogue with wandering hands. I can just hear Muriel saying, 'You mean you just stood there while he undressed you?'"
