Sandy Mark And Helen Ch 01

My name is James MacAndrew, know familiarly as Mack. For those who have read my chronicle of my wife's year and one-half affair with Frank Jackson [Sandy and Frank, Chapters 1 – 21], you know my biographical information, but for those who have not, I will repeat it here. I'm about 6 feet or a little less, depending on who's measuring. I'm about 180 pounds and of regular, reasonably good looks. My wife is Sandra MacAndrew, addressed by most as Sandy. She's about 5' 2" or 5' 3" and I'll estimate somewhere between 110 and 115 pounds. She is quite pretty with very nice features, not beautiful but very nice. She has a very good but not spectacular body. Her breasts are, her bra says, 34B. Not large but on her small frame they are more than adequate and they are very firm with very little need for that bra. When dressed professionally, she usually wears one, but not in the evening.

In the same manner, she wears pantyhose when working, garter belt and hose when dressed up. Actually, she is quite modest in her behavior, although with Frank and her six fellow grad students, her innate shyness gave way to a considerable amount of exhibitionism. While attractive, Sandy's biggest virtue is not her body or her face, nice as they are, but her personality. She often is described as "bubbly" and has a real talent for making friends. It's been said that when she visits a doctor's office, she comes out knowing not only the receptionist's name, but also her family, her background, her children, etc. And, she remembers it. That's a quality I admire because I'm the opposite.

She and I met in high school, went to college together, graduated, married and went to grad school together. The only time that we were separated was her junior year when she spent a full year in Spain. We both received our M.A.'s, but there our academic lives separated. I went on to get my PhD in Political Science while she taught school to support us. I joined a large northeastern university and began my professional career while she enrolled in the grad school to start her own PhD program and to work as a teaching assistant. We both had always loved school and education, so our path, while unusual, suited us perfectly. All of this takes time, of course, so we were each about 31 when the circumstances in this story began.

After getting my degree, we moved to the small town where the university was located. With a substantial mortgage we had been able buy a nicely remodeled four bedroom, two-story house with a walk-out basement. It really was three stories because the basement's floor was ground level on three sides. It was considerably larger than we needed, but the price was right and we anticipated adding to the family. In addition to the regular living space, the house also included a "mother-in-law suite" which we had intended to rent out to a student, but we never did. The only change that we had made in the house was to turn one bedroom into a combination office-study-library which was necessary for people in our fields. That bedroom was over the two-car garage and had several large windows overlooking a long driveway and front door and giving a very pleasant view of an expansive, treed front lawn. Our own bedroom was in the back of the house, well away from our "working" area. The backyard opened onto an alley which were common in earlier times for a rear entrance and contained a small building which originally was a carriage house. As I said, it was far more than we needed, but it was very nice.

As detailed in the previous story, Sandy successfully completed work on her own PhD in Spanish language and literature and, fortuitously, was able to join the faculty at a small state university only eight miles from our house. So we now had two Dr. MacAndrews in the house as well as two salaries. We had planned on putting in a swimming pool once she was gainfully employed, but we had settled for installing a Jacuzzi to celebrate her graduation, with the pool postponed till later. Her affair with Frank was over – although there would be occasional times to get together, e.g. professional conferences – but she had her new career as a professor to make up for the loss. However, something new had occurred that created an unexpectedly interesting situation.

I was sitting at my desk in our study-library when Sandy hurried in, announcing: "Hi, honey. I just got the most wonderful news! Helen Evans just called and they're moving to Connecticut and have rented a condo in the Candlewood Lake area. Apparently a lot of pilots live there because they can catch the train and get to New York airports in a short time. Oh, that's so wonderful! I haven't seen her in five years and now she will be only an hour or so away! I can't believe it!"

Helen Evans had been Sandy's roommate for a year while they were in Spain and they had been as close as sisters, but Helen's husband had been a pilot in the air force and had been stationed in Okinawa. As a result, they had been limited to letters and a few phone calls. The use of email and cell phones had improved things, but the thousands of miles between had been a barrier, psychologically as well as distance. Her husband had been considering retirement from the service and, obviously, finally had done so. He was now going to be a pilot for American Airlines and had already had completed most of his training. As a bomber pilot, he had flown multi-engine jets, so the transition had been easy. She had waited to tell Sandy until she was certain of where he would fly from and where they would live.

"That's really good news, dear! Now I'll be able to see those amazing boobs you talk about!"

"Oh, sure! I figured that that's what you would remember! I've talked about classes, things we did, places we went, how intelligent she is – everything – and you remember the times I mentioned her breasts!"

"Come on now. I hardly would say that you 'mentioned' them! The way you described her figure, particularly her tits, was bound to stick in my mind more that all that stuff. I can't wait to see if they measure up to your description!"

"Oh, they will, but you had better not embarrass me by ogling her with your mouth hanging open. They really are spectacular though."

Grinning, I replied, "You hurt me! I'll only admire her as I would any dear friend of yours that moves in nearby! On the other hand, you've been very mean, denying me that very voluptuous young woman master's candidate as well as numerous promiscuous coeds who wanted good grades! From the way you describe her, Helen might make up for all of that! Seeing those tits might make up for all this denial!"

That last comment about "promiscuous coeds" and a "voluptuous woman master's candidate" probably requires an explanation. During the eighteen (or a bit more) month affair Sandy had with Frank, I continually teased her by saying that in return for her freedom to indulge in an adulterous adventure, I should have the privilege of exploring outside opportunities such as grade-seeking coeds.

Her inevitable answer was, firmly, "There will be no voluptuous exam taker, there will be no promiscuous coed." She always said it with a smile, knowing that I was teasing, but one time, before going to spend spring break in Virginia, she went further and continued, "We will have no adulterous activity here. One of us may be generous and beyond jealousy, but the other is a selfish and jealous shrew who, as I threatened before, would castrate you and kill her! Life isn't fair for you – but it's very nice for me." It was fun teasing her, particularly since I had no desire for other women, but I knew that she would be devastated if I were serious. As she said, it wasn't fair, but I knew what didn't bother me would crush her.

That's why her reply when I said that Helen might make up for it absolutely astounded me. "Ha! Fat chance. She's happily married to a glamorous airline pilot!" She paused, looked at me with an inscrutable expression, and shocked me with, "We'll see."

She turned and left the room and I'm sure that I had a stunned look on my face as I just sat there. Was she teasing and playing with my head? Did she actually mean something? If so, what? She certainly got my attention, but pure logic and my knowledge of her told me that I was being teased.

Later that evening, my curiosity overwhelmed me and I finally commented, "I'm puzzled. Every time I tease you about finding a nice promiscuous coed or vulnerable exam taker for some extracurricular physical exercise, you promptly respond, 'There will be no promiscuous coed,' or whatever. I proposed having your friend Helen taking the coed's place and you said, 'We'll see.' Now, I know that you're teasing back and I'm waiting for your punch line. I know that you have a dig of some kind to get in, so go ahead!

Sandy started laughing, almost out of control before finally gasping out, "Oh, this is funny! We tease back and forth all the time and, frankly, you're better at it than I, but this time I win. The silly thing is that I wasn't teasing at all, but, without trying, I've kept you wondering all day! Apparently, I was talking about one thing while you were going on about something else. First, let me make one thing clear and give you the response you expected – just as there will be no promiscuous coed, there will be no Helen in that context! As I told you, she is happily married to an ex-hot shot bomber pilot and now he's a high-profile airline pilot. Add to that, she always avoided men – actually, I don't know how Richard, her husband, got close enough to her to marry her. In the sense that you mean it about your coed, there will be no Helen!

"Now, back to the original question. When I said 'we'll see,' I was thinking about your comment that seeing her breasts might make up for my negative reaction to your teasing speculations about those available coeds and master's exam takers. I suddenly thought of how wonderful you've been with me and my affair with Frank and realized that maybe I could give a little something back. I don't know how it could happen or what I can do, if anything, but if an opportunity comes along in which I can arrange for you to see her tits, I'll do it!"

That was a very pleasant shock to me, for having Sandy even suggesting such a thing was totally unexpected. Actually, it may not seem to be much, but it was a lot for Sandy. Until the night when she had been seduced by Frank, I was the only man who had even seen her breasts bare and, if anything, Helen was even more modest. I was, of course, intrigued by this unexpected offer. The mind is a weird thing – I had heard of Helen's breasts years ago and my comment about them when Sandy announced her news about seeing her was more of an automatic reflex than anything else. I really had no lascivious thoughts.

Truthfully, I had taken Sandy's description of those breasts with the usual grain of salt, but now my curiosity was roused and, I'll admit, I suddenly took more interest in Helen. Consequently, when it was arranged for Helen and Richard to visit us a week later, my questions led Sandy to comment, with a grin, "I don't think that you remember anything I told you about her except her tits. That was exactly her feeling of what men are like! Frankly, I'm surprised that she ever got married. Ok, I'll start from scratch rather than having to answer your questions one by one. You've heard all of this before but it's the proverbial 'in one ear and out the other.' Just listen and I'll run through the whole story.

"A group of us from Penn State arrived in New York for an orientation session the night before our flight to Spain for our junior year abroad program. After a general session, we went to separate meetings based on the schools which we would be attending – in my case, the University of Seville. There were about ten of us and we were standing around talking when one of the guys looked at me and then at another girl near me and asked, 'Is she your sister?'

"I replied, 'No. I don't have a sister,' but my eyes followed his to a girl standing by herself on the edge of the group and realized why he had asked the question. It was a startling resemblance – on a quick glance, we could have been twins. Not identical twins, of course, but our facial features were amazingly alike. However, while we were about the same height, the similarity ended below the neck. I thought, at the time, that that is what I would look like with large breasts! Understand, they were not outsized, just considerably larger than mine – as it turned out, they were 34-D compared to my 34-B. I had seen many bigger than that, so I really didn't focus on them. In any case, she certainly wasn't flaunting them as she met the group.

"I, of course, being me, immediately went over and introduced myself and learned that she was Helen Knowlton from Northwestern and that she already had noticed our surprising alikeness, but was hesitant to approach me. She was very shy, but we were soon chatting like old friends and, as others were drawn into the conversation about our physical appearance, she came out of her shell and happily joined in. We roomed together that night and for the rest of the entire year. We, obviously, never became real sisters, but we became closer than most sisters born to the same parents. We quit correcting people who assumed that we were sisters and several times I actually referred to her that way and she did the same thing with me. We exchanged confidences and personal feelings and I learned things about her that she had never divulged to anyone else.

"However, the most important thing in her background that had shaped her character and behavior was still a secret and would continue for the first few days of our time in Seville. We had two weeks to acclimate ourselves to Spain and Seville and we went everywhere together, talked continuously. We quickly discovered that neither of us was sexually experienced, my only activity having been thoroughly explored by you. You were the only male (not counting doctors) who had seen any normally hidden part of my body, but I had seen and been seen completely nude in the girls locker room with the tennis team and, of course, by Judy, my regular roommate at Penn State. When in our room, we would just wear panties or a tee shirt and panties. Therefore, I didn't think twice about undressing when preparing to shower or get ready for bed in front of Helen.

"She, on the other hand, had never had a roommate because she had never lived in a dorm. Her parent's house was in Evanston, near the Northwestern campus, so she just lived at home. Her parents were quite conservative in such matters and it was just assumed that she would be fully dressed at home as well as elsewhere. By the second day, I was becoming a bit self-conscious about my casual semi-nudity because she stayed fully dressed until changing for bed – and she did that in the bathroom! I finally asked her about it and she replied that she had no problem with my informal dress, but she was just more comfortable as she was.

"That finally changed on our third day when we had a walking tour of the city and it was as hot as hell – well, maybe not literally, but close. We had finished with a hike up the ramp to the top of the Cathedral of Seville (no steps so that horses could be ridden up!) to see a spectacular view of the city. We got back to the room, dripping wet, and, since she was worse off than I, I let her get in the shower first. She came out wrapped in a towel and I went in and just stood under the cool water. After recovering, I hurried out of the bathroom, still drying off before reaching for my panties and shirt. As I put them on, I was aware of her looking at me with a sort of longing expression on her face. Then, to my utter shock, she said, 'Oh, I wish I had a figure like yours!

"I'm sure that my mouth hung open in shock as I heard those words. I've always been pretty satisfied with my breasts, but like, I think, most women in our society, I had the belief that, within limits, bigger is better. To have someone with 34D boobs envying me was a real shock. I was standing there, bare breasted, with my tee shirt in my hands, with, I'm sure, a stunned expression on my face. I finally gasped out, 'You've got to be kidding! Why on earth would you prefer my figure to yours?" She stood there wearing a pair of dark-colored panties and a matching tee, making her comment even more baffling.

"'No, I'm not kidding. Look at you! You have lovely, firm breasts of a nice size. You can get a normal 34B bra and wear it comfortably all day and look good in it. I can't get a bra that either fits or is comfortable and they certainly don't look good. You can get a two piece bathing suit and the top will fit and be attractive. I can't get a bra or bikini top that fits and is comfortable. If you want, you can go without a bra and no one will notice. I certainly can't do that! You can meet a man and not have his eyes focusing on your chest rather than your face!'

"I didn't really know how to reply to all of that, but I concentrated on the thing that bugs most women – getting a bra to really fit properly. 'Is there a problem getting a 34D bra? There should be a brand that fits and is comfortable.'

"'Oh, I can get a 34D, but I need a combination 34C and a 34D, and they don't make those! When I get out of school and get a job, the first thing I'm going to buy is a custom made bra! Look!' With that, she pulled her shirt off and stood there in her panties and bra – and the bra was hardly attractive. The tips of the cups were firmly filled with what obviously were her nipples, but the material of the rest of the cups was loose and sloppy looking. 'See, there's my problem! If I wear a 34C, it fits pretty well around the base of my tits, but my nipples are squashed flat and they hurt. So I have to get a 34D and the nipples are fine but the rest – well, you can see!' She paused for a moment and the blurted out, 'Oh, what the hell!'

"Reaching behind her, she unfastened the bra, dropped it off of her shoulders, straightened up and, for the first time, I saw her breasts bare. Breasts start out at the chest and form a curving cone, culminating at the nipple. Bras are constructed to a standard size – a certain diameter base at the chest will curve outward to a certain average point. Hers were different. They started at a C-cup base, but where a C-cup breast would curve inward to the nipple, hers went past that point, ending where a D-cup would reach. And then, even more astounding, they didn't sag any more than mine did. Her nipples were hard and my immediate thought was that she looked like one of those fanciful figureheads on early sailing ships. I still have that picture in my mind.

"I know that I stared at her for 30 seconds or more before I was able to say a word. 'God's, Helen, I would change with you any day! Those are beautiful! Damn, you don't need a bra any more than I do. They don't sag a bit! Why do you hide your figure under those loose blouses and shirts you wear? You would drive the fellows crazy if they even suspected that you had breasts like that!

"'Oh, you're right about that! First, their eyes would be fixed on my chest instead of my face. Then, if they got me alone, I would have to fend off their groping hands! I've been through that ever since the ninth grade in school.'

"Helen went on to say that she had really developed quite early and that she had a very bad time of it. She told me of how she went from a flat-chested eighth grader to an almost B-cup ninth grader over one summer. At the time, she was the only girl in her class with noticeable boobs. Needless to say, every boy in that class was fascinated by the transformation and, without exception, wanted to feel those two new things. As she said, she already was a shy girl and she just wasn't ready for that kind of attention. She admitted that she just didn't know how to handle the pressure and, as a result, shunned almost all male company assuming, correctly by and large, that all they wanted were her breasts. Even worse, in a way, girls tended to be jealous and shunned her. By the time that she was a senior in high school, she was well past the C-cup bra size and very self-conscious. No boyfriends and few girlfriends. While in college she developed her boob-hiding techniques as well as the ability to fend off groping hands. By the time that I met her, the habit of veiling her 'charms' had become automatic.