It is quite a relief when you find that a problem, issue, foible, proclivity or kink, that you thought was unique to you, has a name. You feel less like a freak, psycho, weirdo, pervert or fruitcake.

It was like that for Mathew when he saw a painting of Candaules, King of Lydia, who got his bodyguard to spy on the King’s wife as she was naked and preparing for bed. According to the book, men who like to show their wives to other men in this way are called Candaulists. Who knew?

Mathew had been married to Sandra for eleven years when he put a name to his peculiarity. Sandra thought that her body was OK but Mathew was of the opinion that it was stunning. Not like those stick insect models that were all the rage. Sandra was slim but not skinny with gorgeous curves. Full breasted and with a waist that went in enough to emphasise her hips, with legs that could wear stockings but that still had decent shapely thighs.

Sandra had been brought up in a fairly middle class home filled with laughter. Her mother had taught her good manners and how to dress nicely. Her father had supported her in her studies and hobbies. Neither parent was prudish but they did maintain certain standards.

After college Sandra joined the Building Society, in the sense that she got a job there and also opened an account.

Mathew, on the other hand, had gone into financial investments. Over the years he had seen bad times and good times but by 1989 he had a successful business of his own and was doing pretty well. He remained grateful to Sandra. There had been times when her salary had kept the wolf from the door. Now they would be considered upwardly mobile.

Right from the very start, Mathew had bolstered Sandra’s confidence. He never missed an opportunity to compliment her on her appearance. Whenever they went to some social event, either connected to her work or his, he always assured her that every man there would love to fuck her. Sandra always coloured up and told him not to be so silly. Inside, she loved it. Sandra denied it, but she loved feeling desirable.

He encouraged her to dress in a way that made the most of her attributes, never tarty but always sexy. Even when money had been tight Mathew made sure that Sandra could have the best. He felt that the way she looked reflected on him and on his business.

Life in the thriving seaside town of Bournemouth was good. There was a healthy population balance, from students to the retired. This meant that there was a good range of shops, cafés and restaurants as well as entertainment venues.

In addition to these, there were parks, gardens and of course the seafront. Sandra and Mathew loved to walk along the Undercliff Promenade.

“What should I wear?” asked Sandra, as they prepared to take a Sunday afternoon stroll.

“That wide pleated skirt that you bought yesterday is really classy, you could wear that,” replied Mathew.

“That new underwear set would go well with it,” he added.

“You don’t think that it’s a bit warm for nylon stockings, do you?”

“Nah, with that skirt there’d be plenty of ventilation. You could put on that light floral blouse, it would go well with the satin pleats.”

Sandra thought that it all sounded a little revealing, but if Mathew was in a playful mood, she didn’t mind.

As she dressed, she checked herself in the mirror. He was right, it went well together, particularly with the high-heeled strappy sandals. She pulled down the blouse to get a better look. She knew that the blouse was pretty sheer and she was aware that her bra would show and that the bra was fairly see-through as well; could her nipples be seen?

It was too late to worry about it now. She wasn’t changing. Besides, their walks often ended up in a little ‘afternoon delight’ and if that was what Mathew had planned she didn’t want to discourage him.

Walking in the sunshine felt good. Sandra was conscious of men looking her straight in the tits. Some of them looked into her eyes and smiled as well. Either way she knew that Mathew was loving it. If she was honest, she was loving it too.

As they approached the Bournemouth Pier, the promenade turned to the left. It took them out of the shelter of the shops and cafés that line the Undercliff Promenade. The sea breeze whipped through the gap and under Sandra’s skirt. Up it went, giving two old men, who were sitting in deckchairs, an excellent view of Sandra’s stockings, suspenders and G-string.

She instinctively pushed it down.

Three more steps and another gust took control of the pleats again. As she rescued her dignity, Mathew said, “Don’t try too hard.”

“What?” said Sandra.

“Just pretend that you don’t like it.”

“What makes you think that I like showing my ass?”

“Because it makes you feel naughty and it makes you feel like it’s not really your fault.”

Sandra said nothing but now she acted as if there was a delay between the wind taking the skirt and her realising.

“Oh, and it makes me feel as horny as fuck,” added Mathew, after a few minutes.

After that every Sunday afternoon was a different adventure of subtly showing Sandra off. A short skirt and no knickers or low-cut blouse with a further than necessary lean to point out the ice-cream that was required.

Sandra loved the surprised look on the men’s faces when they got an eyeful. Mathew loved it more.

In Bournemouth there was no shortage of places to get a hot drink. From tearooms with fancy crockery, to cafés and coffee bars and kiosks dispensing steaming liquid in polystyrene cups.

Their favourite was a café that served real Italian coffee, it was tucked out of the way a little back from Bournemouth Square. The original premises had expanded to include a little next door shop. Consequently, it was a sort of L shape. Sandra and Mathew liked the out of the way bit around the corner, away from the hustle and bustle and the noise of espresso machines.

The place was fairly quiet so they were confident of getting their preferred table. The fact that there was a mature bloke already sitting there was a bit disappointing. Still, that part of the coffee shop was otherwise empty so they had no problem finding an alternative.

Mathew sat with his back to the man and opposite Sandra.

They sipped their coffee and chatted and laughed. Eventually, Sandra smiled sweetly and said, “That chap keeps staring at my tits.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I can’t say I blame him,” replied Mathew.

“It’s like he’s trying to see through my clothes. It’s making my fanny buzz.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that too. Excuse me for a minute, I need the loo,” said Mathew as he got up, leaving Sandra alone.

When he returned, Mathew stood behind Sandra, leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Still staring?”

“Yep.”

“Still buzzing?”

“Yep.”

Mathew, looking directly at the man, put his arms over Sandra’s shoulders. Slowly, one by one, he undid the buttons on her flowery blouse. All the time Sandra watched the bloke’s eyes.

Holding the right side of the top, Mathew pulled it out of the way to reveal half of Sandra’s sheer black bra. Her dark areola and prominent nipple showed clearly through the fabric.

He slid his hand down to cover and cup the breast and squeezed it gently through the material. As he released his tender grip, Mathew allowed his index finger to lightly brush over the firm nipple. He used the tip to encircle the areola. And then again. And again. He felt the thrill run through Sandra.

The spectator sat transfixed, mouth slightly open, not quite believing what he was witnessing.