Average Wifey Files #12byaveragewifey©
Hubby and I had been having a running argument spread over a few days. His position was that men always see something sexual when looking at a woman. I countered with the typical naïve perspective on this topic that most women possess. We bounced in and out of the debate while we were away for the weekend, enjoying a break from the hectic pace of life.
We loved our second home at the coast. It was our place of refuge. It was also a place where we often enjoyed the freedoms that accompany being far enough away from home that you are anonymous to everyone around you. We felt at liberty to be more relaxed, easy-going and less inhibited about things with which we normally would be more guarded around folks who knew us.
So, when Michael asked if I wanted to go for a walk along the beach, I immediately walked to the door and said, "let's go!" I was wearing a thin pair of shorts and a cute, little, white tank top. Back home, I would have changed into something a bit more modest before taking a walk in public. But here in our enchanted land of anonymity, I had different boundaries.
Hand in hand we headed out the back door towards the water. The coastal sands ran up to the back patio deck of our place, spanning a few hundred yards between ocean and patio deck. We politely nodded at a surfer headed in the opposite direction as we strolled toward the water. Before our bare feet had even made it to the edge of the foamy water riding the waves, Michael returned to our debate.
"Did you see the way he looked at you?"
"Who?" I asked, like I didn't know he was referring to the surfer.
"You know who" he sparred back at me. "That surfer."
"The way he looked at me?" I was playing somewhat dumb. "Hmmm. Seems he looked at me AND you with a quiet smile and nod, right?" In a court of law, I suppose my question would have been met with an objection for being both argumentative and leading.
"Yeah, right Kathleen. He smiled and nodded alright. But his eyes, did you see the way he looked at you? I am telling you, his mind was undressing you."
As we walked hand in hand splashing in the ankle deep water, we continued our debate. I defended the dignity of the surfer. Michael detailed his projections of what the surfer might be thinking.
Still holding my hand, he lifted his up to brush my breast at his side as he said, "I guarantee he was picturing what these look like," the back of his hand teasing me with a quick sweeping motion.
"Oh Michael" I objected.
"Seriously baby. By the time he passed us, I bet his mind was already using that set of formulas all men have tucked away in their minds to calculate the dimensions of your nipples." He paused and then said, "Of course, I can't blame him."
I smiled at his stroke of affirmation and squeezed his hand. This was often where the debate would slow and come to a stop. Michael would inevitably say something that made me feel desired and adored by him. In such cases, my resolve to argue my position would quickly melt away. He let go of my hand so he could put his arm around me, snugging his hip against mine as we walked on.
After a few moments of soft chatter about the water and breeze, a young couple slowly approached from the opposite direction. They too were on a walk, hand in hand. The custom was to make casual eye-contact with others, perhaps just nodding or sometimes actually saying "hi" in passing. I nodded. Michael said "hi." They both smiled and silently nodded back as they moved past us.
Michael quickly chuckled, "He just ran some calculus on your breasts, babe." It was yet another exhibit in his ongoing argument. I just giggled and let it go. Inwardly I had to agree that my 36c breasts were thinly veiled under my tank top thanks to the breeze blowing in my face. My large, light, pink nipples were more pronounced than usual thanks to Michael's flattering commentary and the coolness of the damp breeze.
As we reached the pier, we walked out over the weathered, wooden planks and settled at about the midway point above where the waves were swelling and breaking against the pylon supports beneath us. We enjoyed the view of the ocean. We also enjoyed just watching the people. As I stood snuggled up against him, Michael asked me, "See that guy leaning against the light post over there?"
I glanced in the direction Michael had discreetly motioned. I saw him. "Yes."
"Watch him closely, Kathleen." As I watched him, Michael started providing me a running commentary of what he projected the stranger's mind to be thinking as he watched the foot traffic on the pier. I just listened as Michael bounced from one observation to the next, as if I were listening in on the secret thoughts of this stranger.
...aimed at a college aged girl...
"nice tits, too bad she is wearing a bra, would love to see a bit more jiggle"
...aimed at a mom pushing a stroller...
"mmmmm, talk about a nice MILF, would love to squeeze those milk-filled tits"
...aimed at a middle-aged couple...
"I wonder when the last time is they fucked"
...aimed at a group of giggling girls with cellphones peaking out of the back pockets of their tight shorts...
"would love to have a party line there, get something going with several tight little asses"
For a good ten minutes, Michael provided a non-stop flow of naughty thoughts. I was amazed at how easy he flowed from one image to the next. He was expertly making the point of his argument. His playful, out-of-character, uninhibited vocabulary really made it feel like I was listening to the thoughts of another man.
Finally, he stopped and whispered seductively in my ear, "Do you want to know what he is thinking about you?" The way he said it made me shiver.
I murmured back, "mm hmmm."
With a sultry tone he breathed a series of phrases in my ear, one after another, each expression of lust pushing up against the previous like the water swelling beneath us.
..."Damn, what a fine piece of ass over there" was complimented by Michaels hand sliding over my hip and cupping my bottom.
..."And those tits, wow, wish I could see more"; Michael nuzzled forward so his eyes could leer down my top, I could feel his eyes slithering over my breasts.
..."Those shorts fit her good, I wonder how tight her pussy is"; as he hissed that final 's' he followed with his tongue flicking at my ear, which he knew drove me crazy!
..."Would love to just walk over there and give her a big, wet kiss"; Michael nuzzled forward again, this time our lips touched as he kissed me lightly, followed by a heavy, tongue-probing kiss that included both his hands cupping my bottom on either side.
..."I bet she is a great cock sucker"; he slid his tongue in my mouth and held it still, I followed his lead and eagerly began sucking his tongue.
A few comments and complimentary activities later, we were quickly on our way back to our place. Thankfully, the mix of our anonymity, lowered inhibitions and arousal made for a stimulating walk back. By the time we had reached the patio deck, Michael's hands had already managed to spend time slithering under my top and down the inside of my shorts. I had also gotten a good measure of just how big his cock had swollen under his shorts.
As we reached the back door, Michael was close behind me, pressing his bulging shorts against the thin fabric of my shorts while reaching around with his hands up under my top and bra. As I fumbled to slide open the glass door, he rocked his hips in a fucking motion and whispered, "We better do it inside. That stranger on the pier might be watching. No telling what he would say if he saw me fucking you!"