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.

As she stood back, she said "There's one other thing about this dress that I'm concerned about." She turned slightly to the side and flexed one knee forward. "Panty lines. Look. See these wrinkles where my panties are. That's the trouble with these clingy materials."

"Didn't you notice when you bought the dress?" I asked.

"No, I wasn't wearing panties that day," she said.

I almost choked.

"I often don't, except when I know I'm going to be trying on shoes, or something. Even then, I forget sometimes. It certainly does make for an interesting time in the shoe store. Usually the guys want to help me try on 20 or 30 pairs!" She continued "But I just didn't think how panties would look with this. And it makes the whole thing positively ugly."

I countered quickly. "I don't really think ugly is the right word. In fact I'd have to say that the whole damn package is pretty amazing, panty lines or not."

She told me to turn my head to the left and look at the fireplace. I did as she asked, and when she told me to turn back, there were her panties draped over the back of the sofa. She stood straight in front of me, with her legs about 6" apart. "Now doesn't that honestly look better?" she asked.

My head turned from the panties on the sofa to the area where they had been just moments before and back. The dress still covered that amazing space at the juncture of her slender legs, but the knowledge that there was just one little wispy, clingy piece of cloth in the way of my view was an immense turn on. I tried to burn a hole in the cloth with my eyes. No luck. Still, depending on how she moved, I could see the occasional outline, the hint of it, really, of her pubic hair pushing out against the cloth.

"Yes, that honestly looks better. Real honestly. Unbelievably really honestly." My words were getting harder and harder for me to pronounce. And other parts of my anatomy were suffering the same effect.

She walked over and picked up the panties. "Here, look," she said. You could have blown me over with a feather. How far was this going to go, I wondered. But I remembered her speech about her husband and how much in love they were and how she would never do anything to jeopardize her marriage. Well, that was OK. This was certainly entertainment enough. And then I remembered that her husband was out of town until Thursday. So...

Anyway, she held out the panties, saying "They're part of a matched set. Really. It's so cute. Want to see the other half?" I readily agreed. She walked into the bedroom and returned just a moment later with a shink-wrapped package.

"I thought it would be a bra," I said.

"No no no. It's a matched set. His and hers. They were just so cute that I couldn't resist. These are his. Go ahead, open the package. He probably won't wear them anyway."

My fingers pried at the plastic. "Why not?", I said.

"Oh he only wears briefs, and these are boxer shorts. But I just thought the idea of the 'His and Hers" was so cute that I had to get them. Whaddya think?"

"Well I wear boxers, so I'm not prejudiced," I started. But before I could get out another word she squealed and interrupted.

"Oh you're kidding. Oh that's great. Would you do me the biggest favor. I mean the real biggest? Would you model them for me? Maybe that will give me some ideas on how to get John to wear them."

It was a pretty lame excuse, I thought, but hey, who was I to argue? "Ah, sure, sure. I suppose." I stood up and went for my belt.

She stopped me. "For heavens sakes, not here. Go change in the bedroom and come back out."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry." Guess her marriage speech was more real than I had hoped. Oh well. Just keep playing, I thought.

I stepped into the bedroom, dropped my pants and my shorts. My dick jumped out at half-staff. I did my best to get into the boxers and tried to lose at least a little of my erection, and after a couple of moments succeeded in getting as comfortable as I could with a small tent sticking up in the front.

"Well, are you ever coming back?" she said. Her voice was raised enough to hear clearly around the corner.

"Ready or not," I said. I walked around the corner. Her eyes rocketed to the shorts. She burst out laughing.

"They're great. Just great."

I had to say, I thought they were queer. There was a big red heart plastered on the front of them, a design I hadn't seen when they were folded inside the shink-wrap. "Well, I think they're a little weird," I noted.

"Why," she asked. "Don't you get it? See? Her heart-on."

I honestly hadn't noticed the little "Her" embroidered above the big heart. She stabbed at the word with her finger. About 3 inches from my manhood, and closing. But it was not to be. She really was just pointing out the word on the shorts.

"Here, look." She picked up her panties again. Now I noticed the little embroidery on them, the word "His" with a picture of a cat. I wrinkled my nose. The cat was positioned right across the pubic area.

"His pussy. Don't you get it? I think it's a riot. Her heart-on, his pussy. Oh, I just had to have them."

I let out an involuntary breath. "Oh, yea, now I get it. Pretty funny." Where was this going?

She continued, "Of course, yours aren't always supposed to look like they do now. You know, with your boner in there, and everything."

I blushed. I flushed. She went on. "That's OK. Really. I've seen a boner before. But we can cure that."

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well, we can just wait a while. I'm sure it'll go down if we just give it some time." She hesitated. "Or..."

"Or?" I said.

"Or we can just whap Mister Wiggle there with a rolled up newspaper or something. At least I won't be worried that you're going to rip the material."

"Oh," I said, involuntarily pulling my pelvis back. "I thought maybe there would be some other alternative..." I trailed off.

"No," she said. "Remember the rules. Teasing and flirting is OK. But I don't want to do something that could affect my marriage. Remember?"

"Yeah, sure. I agree. Absolutely." I didn't mean a word of it, but what the hell, this broad had set the rules and I was sure enjoying the game. I saw no reason to take the chance of screwing it up.

"So, we'll just wait a few minutes, and they I'll get to see how those shorts look without the tent option." She smiled. I smiled back. OK, what now?

She said "Have a seat," motioning me back to my narrow little hard back chair. Sitting down did nothing to disguise my condition. "I'm sure if we just wait, that ole hard-on will go away and then you can model the shorts for me again."

"This could be a long wait," I said. As I sat there staring at her, she stepped directly in front of me and cast her eyes down at my groin. Yeah, this could take a long time, I thought.

She stood facing me while holding her arms behind her, not exactly sticking her chest out, but the effect was nearly the same. She had her panties in her hands which were folded together behind her butt. Suddenly she dropped the panties.

"Oh my," she said. And with that she turned around and bent at the waist to pick them up. Her knees were locked rigid, and as she bent over the back of the dress rode up and the full flower of her womanhood stared me in the face.

"Oh my god," I said.

"What?" she asked.

"You should be careful about bending over in a short skirt in front of people when you don't have any panties on. At the party I mean, of course."

"Why?" she asked innocently. "Can you see something else that you're not supposed to see?" She ever so slowly began to straighten up, still facing away from me. God, what an ass!

"Yes, actually. I could sort of, you know, kind of see, your, ah,"

"Oh here we go again," she interrupted. "Don't tell me you could see my pussy. Oh how embarrassing."

Needless to say, if I thought I was hard before, now I could have used my dick to pound a nail into concrete. The effect of her talking about her pussy almost made me lose it right then and there. This was just about like having a wet-dream except with your eyes open and you remember every second of it.

"OK, yes, your pussy. I could see a little of your, ah, pussy." I still wasn't totally comfortable talking with this voluptuous neighbor about her pussy. But what the heck, when in Rome, I always say.