It was my birthday on Sunday, so I'd invited my daughter Anna and her husband Jack to lunch. It was warm day, so rather than do the whole roast beef and Yorkshire puddings bit, I went for cold-cuts and an array of salads; besides which, Anna is entered for a half-marathon next weekend, so those made it easier for her to stick to her training regime. At 11:00am, I cast a final look across the dining table, found all as it should be and gave myself a metaphorical pat on the back.
Anna & Jack weren't due until 12:30 and all I had left to do now was change my clothes; I'd showered earlier and while I'd told the kids to 'dress casually' felt that I really ought to wear something a little smarter than the camisole top and jogging pants which I'd been slobbing around in all morning. I'd barely moved toward the hallway when I heard a car pulling onto the driveway and a glance through the window told me that it was Anna's; what were they doing here so early?
I opened the door before the doorbell sounded to be greeted by a smiling Jack who whisked me off my feet, twirled me around, wished me a 'Happy Birthday' and planted a kiss on my cheek before lowering me back to the floor. Wow! Looking past Jack to see an empty foyer and car, I enquired as to where Anna was? Jack delivered me another of his infectious smiles, looked at his watch and after a moments thought replied: "At a guess, I'd say..., somewhere near Matlock Golf Course."
"What? Anna doesn't play golf."
Jack laughed. "This is true, but Anna wanted to get in a ten mile training run, so I dropped her off in Cromford to run the rest of the way here; she sent me on ahead with her party clothes -- he held a small bag aloft -- and to help you prepare lunch."
"You're too late, everything's done already. I only need to change out of these clothes and I was on my way to do that as you arrived; I'll just be ten minutes."
I was stepping past Jack, heading for the stairs when one of the spaghetti straps on my top was plucked off my shoulder. I half-turned, assuming that it'd snagged on something, then froze in speechless surprise as Jack flicked the strap off my other shoulder and in that same moment jerked the body of my top downward. As the camisole popped over my boobs to settle in a soft fabric circle about my waist, Jack saucily quipped: "Now that's certainly a task I could help you with."
When Jack stepped forward, one hand reaching either side of my shoulders, I finally voiced a small yelp of protest; it didn't take an Einstein to guess where those were headed! I moved to stop him but those damned spaghetti straps were now around my forearms and by the time that I'd pulled free of them, Jack had unclipped my bra-strap and slipped that off my shoulders too, entangling my arms once again.
Jack's audacity drew a further shriek, but concerned as I might be by his exposure of my breasts, that bra too had to go before I could do anything about it; a shake of the wrists, my bra fell to the floor and finally I could raise my hands to cover my embarrassment. They didn't make it even half-way before Jack caught me by the wrists and yelled "No!" I'd struggled of course, but knew from the outset that it'd be to no avail; Jack meanwhile had fallen silent until several seconds later he added, in an almost reverential whisper : "Oh My God; they're fucking gorgeous."
I stopped struggling and looked at Jack; he was staring at my breasts in open-mouthed silence, he appeared awestruck, mesmerised by the sight and my mind tumbled back almost thirty years. The expression on Jack's face was a reflection of that worn by my husband Alan in the first moment that he'd seen my breasts; that was perhaps the moment that I'd fallen in love with Alan and only shortly before he'd given me the pet-name which he'd used until the day he died.
My breasts aren't particularly special, I barely fill my 34B padded-bras, so even on my elfin frame I'm far from 'top-heavy'; Alan's description was always: 'just a nice handful'. To be fair I've come to appreciate them more as the years have passed, they still sit high and firm, while those of my more well endowed friends have long since headed south. What does make them noteworthy however and is the main reason for my invariably wearing those padded bras and bikinis, are my nipples, these are bright-red and huge, both in their diameter and projection; my kids had terrible difficulty with them when breast-feeding, though Alan similarly deemed them 'just a nice mouthful'.
