I might have fallen in love with Evangeline for her tits, to tell you the truth. When we first dated she always dressed conservatively so I was actually kind of shocked when I got her out of her clothes, man oh man, so much more than I had imagined. I love to get my face in there, chewing on them, poking myself in the eyes with her nipples, sucking them -- a few times she has had orgasms from that kind of stimulation, not often but it has happened. Oh, and fucking her tits, that's died-and-gone-to-heaven stuff. And she enjoys it too, she has always appreciated how I appreciate her body, and I appreciate it even more when those amazing breasts are splattered with puddles of my fresh semen.
The pandemic hit, and during the lockdown, like everybody else, neither of us gave much of a thought to what we wore; there was nobody there to see us and it didn't matter. Starting early in the pandemic, Evangeline stopped wearing a bra unless she was going somewhere, which was almost never. Her friends and, I think, most women found it was a relief to go without the straightjacket, since we were all social distancing anyway. You remember, during lockdown clothing sales dropped off except for stuff like sweat pants and tank tops. She found that my old wife-beater undershirts were nice and comfortable, even though they were kind of tight around the chest. Some of those old shirts should have been thrown away years ago, but she dug them out of my drawer and they became her normal uniform around the house, usually with shorts, sometimes sweat pants. She was comfortable, that's what mattered.
As people began to tentatively come out of hiding, sweat pants were just a little too funky, yoga pants seemed to have moved up to street clothes, and the sweat pants went back into the drawer, but since people didn't really "go out" like before, comfort continued to dominate propriety in clothing choices. So when her friends came to visit Evangeline, or vice versa, they were usually dressed in some version of the same outfit, tank top or, in her case, an old undershirt, and yoga pants or shorts, or sometimes one of them would be wearing what they call a "cute top," usually a colorful scrap of nothin' held on with spaghetti straps, if that; they would see these things on the Internet and order them, I guess it was a compromise between comfortable and feminine even if nobody was ever going to see it. Husbands hovering around in the background didn't matter, you didn't have to dress for them, your own or your friend's. I was "just Doc" and Carla's husband was "just Ray," when Evangeline visited their house. We were harmless, bordering on invisible. Which, you know, it was fine with me; I didn't mind her friends jiggling around the house braless in some tiny thing. I know this will surprise you, but I actually didn't even mind that her friend Carla accidentally gave me a view of her big, firm tits, just about every time I walked past her. Ray and I were pretty good friends and, call it men's intuition, I was pretty sure he also didn't mind when my wife would drop by in her casual outfits, even if she didn't go out of her way to tempt him. Or even if she did -- I wouldn't know, just like I was sure he didn't know how his wife teased me.
I worked from home, starting with the pandemic. Sometimes I'd have to put on a shirt and maybe even a tie for a Zoom meeting, but basically I don't think I'd worn a pair of underwear since March 2000, when they sent us home. I'd get up in the morning, shower, pull on a pair of cotton gym shorts, maybe a t-shirt or undershirt, slippers, and I was ready for the day. If I had to go somewhere I'd swap the shorts for some jeans or something. And half the time, unless we were going somewhere nice, I went out in my slippers. Who would know, and who would give a fuck?
When the pandemic slowed down and the vaccine started working, some people went back to the office but I didn't want to and I didn't have to. I spent most weekdays in my home office, down the hall from the kitchen, and when Carla would come visiting, which was four or five times a week, I would hide out, working or pretending to work while the girls chitchatted. But the coffee maker was in the kitchen, and civility being what it was, I would have to come out once or twice and pretend to be sociable. They would be sitting at the kitchen table, and it was not unusual for Carla to drop something, or need to pick up her purse for something, when I was in the room. I didn't say anything but also didn't pretend not to notice her deep cleavage and fine, ripe melons.
It was the week before Memorial Day, and as usual the Berbers -- Ray and Carla -- were coming over on Saturday for grilling and beer. This was going to be the first warm weekend of the year and the pool was still too cold to swim in, but I had horseshoes set up in the back yard; if we got bored we could toss some shoes but most years we forgot to do that. Ray was a good dude, and we would end up getting into some subject and chatting away the whole day while the girls were sitting in deck chairs yacking about their own stuff. We were stocked up on beer and meat, buns, it was another year, another chance to visit with good friends.
As you may have figured out, these were not people Evangeline and I dressed up for, and vice versa. If shorts and a tank top were good enough for the two of us in the house alone, or when Evangeline's friends dropped by, they were good enough for Evangeline's friend and her husband, who was my friend. Even so, I had to do a double-take when Evangeline came downstairs looking for her hairbrush or something, before our guests arrived. She was wearing a pair of light-blue shorts, sort of faded and old-looking, and very short. I mean, just covering her butt-cheeks short. I realized these were her regular shorts that she wore every day, but I had never actually noticed how they looked on her. And that was the least of it. She was wearing an old undershirt that was once mine, stretchy ribbed cotton, worn tissue-thin by years of wear and washing. It had a V neck, fairly loose at the top with quite a bit of cleavage showing, and when it came to her boobs it stretched like the peel on a grapefruit, clinging to the roundness of her breasts, nearly transparent and perked out at the nipples, tucked up tight underneath, and then snug around her firm tummy. It was basically like skin.
"Wow," I said. "Is that what you're wearing?"
She was distracted but looked up and said, "Yeah, I guess," and continued her search for whatever it was. I watched her bending and reaching and my shorts began to stand up. Evangeline turned around and glanced at me and laughed. "You like this, I take it."
"Well, yeah, of course."
"This is what I wear every day of the week, something like this."
"I guess I never noticed," I said, embarrassed. "I really do have a fine-looking wife."
"Well maybe you ought to notice more," she said. "Like you notice Ray's wife."
I might have paused for a second. "I don't pay any attention to her," I said.
And with that she went upstairs with whatever-it-was in her hand to finish doing whatever she was doing up there. "I hope that thing in your shorts goes down before Ray and Carla get here," she hollered from the top of the stairs. I heard her laugh.
Now that she'd gotten me thinking about Ray's wife, this thing in my shorts did not go down immediately.
I took out the trash and we got the place ready and yes, the thing in my shorts went down on its own. Ray and Carla didn't bother to knock, they showed up at three as planned and walked in. Ray's eyes lit up when he saw Evangeline, and she ran over to give him a kiss on the cheek and grab his hand. She gave Carla a little half-hug and led Ray into the house while Carla came over to kiss me on the cheek and pat my ass while nobody was looking. Was that new? I couldn't remember her doing that, but maybe I just hadn't noticed.
Like me, Ray was in gym shorts. He wore a t-shirt and sandals. Carla was stunning. Sunglasses, a barrette, and a little tummy-baring "cute top," I don't know what they're called but it was a couple of strands of twine holding up a scrap of fabric that clung to her boobs and plunged between them. Also, cut-off shorts. Cut off short. With long, tan legs and lots of skin showing everywhere. Did she always look like this? I thought about it, and yes, she did, this was completely typical for both the women.
Glancing at my wife and Ray in the kitchen I could see that Ray's shorts were doing a poor job of hiding his feelings, as were mine. We were a couple of doofuses with hard-ons and sexy wives, including the ones that were not our own. For some reason, to my mind this seemed like a beautiful, happy thing, sexy wives. Ray and Evangeline came back in a minute with Modelos for all of us.
"Where can I set my purse?" Carla asked, as if she didn't know, and she stretched out over the back of the couch to set it there, baring nearly all of both breasts to me as she leaned. She caught me looking and gave me a big happy smile as she straightened up. I glanced at my wife, who I'm sure had noticed but now was looking at Ray and ignoring my situation.
"Shall we go out back?" Evangeline suggested. "You boys can get that grill warmed up and Carla and I can catch up." As if there would be anything to catch up on since yesterday. But still, they always did find something to talk about.
It was a beautiful warm day, and Ray and I must have lugged ten pounds of meat out. I started the gas grill at the edge of the grass and we stood over it talking while the women occupied the chairs in the shade near the house.
"Man," I said to Ray. "I was just thinking, we have a couple of beautiful wives." We high-fived each other.
"I can't believe my luck," he said. "And you, I mean, look at Evangeline. She gets better every year."
