Pretend there's a standard disclaimer here. If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading this. Well THIS is OK, but not the dirty stuff down below.
If you can't name the 4 Beatles in 3 seconds, you're not old enough. If you are a religious nut, stop reading and pray for my everlasting soul. If any of this stuff offends you, you're weird. If reading this is illegal where you live, ACHTUNG, HALT. If you are a woman, my home phone is at the end of the story.
Whoops! Got carried away.
I was returning Karen and John's vacuum cleaner. Mine had blown up a couple of weeks earlier, and I hadn't spent the money to fix it or buy a new one yet. I didn't know either Karen or John particularly well; they had only moved into our duplex about 3 or 4 months before, and what with work schedules and all, I only ran into them at the mailbox or front door a few times for a couple of seconds.
Anyway, Karen answered the door, and as I thanked her for the use of the appliance, she told me stash it in the cleaning closet under the stairs in the living room. I carried it into her house, making polite conversation as we walked through the foyer and living room.
Hanging in front of the door to the closet was a dress in a cellophane bag. It looked to be new.
"New dress?" I asked. "Big event coming up?"
"Yes, and sort of," she replied. John is having some of his people from work over for a dinner party on Thursday, and I wanted to get something new to wear. But now I'm not so sure about it," Karen said.
"Why?" I asked innocently.
"Well, I was in one of my flirty moods when I bought it, and now I'm not sure it appropriate for his boss and coworkers," she said. I wondered what John thought of the dress, when she answered my unspoken question by saying "I just got it yesterday, and John hasn't seen it yet. In fact, he won't, because he's out of town on business until Thursday afternoon, and then he's picking them up at work and bringing them all here for the celebration dinner party. Some big deal they're closing this week..." She paused, and then said, "And his boss is kind of conservative. Would you do me a favor? Would you take a look at it and tell me what you think?"
"Sure," I said. "Always glad to help a damsel in dis-dress."
She groaned at my bad joke. So did I. She grabbed the hanger down from its perch on the railing above the door, and said "Just put the vacuum cleaner under the stairs. I'll change and be right out."
Her bedroom door was just opposite the closet, but she closed the door most of the way, and I couldn't see anything. But we continued talking.
She began. "Sometimes I'm just in such a mood, and I like to show off, a little. Well, maybe a lot, actually. I think it's a reaction to my ugly duckling years when I was a teenager."
"Well, those days are over," I almost shouted through the door. Karen, you see, is about 5' 6", shoulder length brunette hair, and has a killer figure. I knew she was nice looking, but today she was walking around in a T-shirt and tight jeans, and it was the first time I had really noticed how bouncy her tits were, and what a great hourglass shape she had.
"Thanks," she replied. "But I'm afraid I've turned into a bit of a flirt and a tease. Well, maybe more than a bit. I like to have men look at me. Once my figure filled out and I realized I wasn't quite so ugly any more, I sort of got the attitude 'If you've got it, show it'. Cause I figure in another 10 or 20 years I won't have it, and then what?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm looking forward to another 20 years when I have a pot belly and am wearing fuzzy slippers around the house, myself," I joked.
She laughed. "But I am a little afraid that this dress might be a bit too much for a business dinner, so you can really help me by being completely honest."
"OK," I promised.
Karen appeared in the doorway. And she wasn't kidding. The dress was short. Real short. I estimated it ended about 4 or 5 inches below her crotch. The material was skin tight up to her breasts, and was like a thin satin or some such. But at the bust line, that material ended and gave way to a cottony bodice which held her breasts straight out, sort of in the fashion of the Swiss-miss ski outfits. The effect of the different material and her beautiful boobs was eye-shattering, to say the least. Best of all, the cottony bra section was quite low cut, showing the beginning swell of her breasts above it as she breathed in and out.
"Wow," I managed to say. OK, so my tongue was stuck in my throat. Witty conversation while staring at a beautiful girl has never been my strong suit. In fact, I'm quite shy, which perhaps accounts for why I hadn't taken much note of this goddess living right next door. "Wow," I said again.
"Well thanks, I think. But what do you think? A little too much for a business party?"
"To be truthful, I'd say it's right on the line. Maybe a little too much, maybe not. What do you think John will think?"
She answered quickly and without hesitation. "Oh, he'll probably think it's fine. He likes to show me off. He's completely secure in our relationship. And so am I. I have a wonderful marriage. I would never do anything to jeopardize it, I mean, like sleeping with someone else or something. And he knows what a tease I can be, especially when I put my mind to it."
"Well, then, what's the problem?" I wondered out loud.
"Maybe several things." John's boss is quite a bit taller than me, or even you. For example, here get up on the stair."
I moved to the first stair of the staircase.
"Now look." And with that, she turned around with her back to me and moved back so that I was looking down her dress. "See what I mean? I can't tell if he'll be able to see too much, and I don't want to leave a bad impression on the boss, right?" She paused for a moment. I drank in the view. "How much can you see?" she asked.
"Ah, er, I mean, some, ah,"
"Oh for heaven's sakes," she snorted. "Be honest. They're just boobs. All women have them. It's not like they're a rare commodity or something." Hers were, believe me. She went on, "Would you rather call them tits? You do call them tits when you're with the guys, right? I call them tits, too. How much can you see?"
There was an awkward lull. But I decided to press bravely on.
"Well, I would say I can see about halfway down, I mean about half-way, I guess. It's quite a view, I will have to admit. But if you're just careful not to let him sneak up behind you, you shouldn't have to worry, right?"
The entire time she was standing there, just letting me stare down her blouse at her ripe melons. God, is there a job like this anywhere on the planet?
"Yeah, I guess so. But that's not all. Here, sit down." She led me to a wooden chair in the living room. It was more of a stool with a high back, actually. I sat down.
"Suppose I'm serving hors d'oeuvres." She grabbed a magazine and held it out as though it were a serving tray. She bent over at the waist, directly in front of me, pretending to offer me a canape. She said "Can I interest you in something to nibble on?" As she bent over, the top of the blouse billowed down nearly revealing her full hanging breasts, my eyes were riveted on that most beautiful sight. I stared and stared, until she finally said, "Ahem. Hello? Can I have your attention please?"
Finally I took my eyes out of her blouse and looked up into her face. She was smiling quite broadly at me, and said, "See, I told you I like to tease. But I don't want to be blatant about it, or anything. So I need to know if this looks, well, too much." At this point she was still bent over, and the square cut neckline of the dress was still hanging away from her tits. I could see virtually everything except the cherry nipples which were still shielded from view. My eyes shifted back down and stared. My eyes never moved as I spoke.
"Well I suppose you could be a little careful about bending over like that, cause I certainly can see a lot of your, ah, you know, cleavage."
"Cleavage. I'm guessing you can see more than cleavage. Anyway, I've always thought that's a funny word. I wonder where "cleavage" ends and tits begin? I wonder why people use euphemisms like that. I call them tits. Don't you? I'm sure you mean tits. Is there some reason you don't like that word?" As I kept my gaze confined on her window of womanhood, she continued, "Would you rather call them jugs? How about hooters?" She giggled.
She was right. Somehow I was having trouble sitting in front of this gorgeous creature and staring down her dress and talking about her tits. I resolved to change that.
"OK, yes, I can see most of your, ah, tits. And just beautiful ones they are, too, if I might say. Some of the nicest tits I've seen in quite a while. OK? There, I said it. Tits."
She giggled. "Oh I've embarrassed you. I'm such a flirt. But I really needed to know. Thanks."
I replied "And maybe you should watch what you say at those times, too. Like 'Would you like something to nibble on' could be taken the wrong way. Maybe you should try 'Can I offer you something?' Oh, no, that doesn't work. Well maybe 'Here, I made them myself.' Er, well, you know, something else that doesn't give the wrong impression."
"Good idea," she shot back. "While I'm passing out the snacks, maybe I'll just say 'Grab 'em while they're hot!'"
We both cracked up. I was getting onto the game, finally. Hey, I may be slow, but I can be fun. She finally straightened back up. Needless to say, I had already straightened up, some, myself.
.... There is more of this story ...