tagExhibitionist & VoyeurShow Us Your Tits

Show Us Your Tits

bywonderful©

Roadhouse.

Some say it's a dog of a movie, others, movie buff types, that it was a bravura production rising above what seem like obvious script and character flaws via the camp way it was all played out, whatever that means.

Some pretty dry humour, especially from Sam Elliott, saves it for me, plus great fight scenes and of course, the strip scene in the bar featuring the drop dead delectable Julie Michaels who these days is apparently a born again Christian.

The tease to give Patrick Swayze's character Dalton the absolute shits 'cause he wants to run an honourable nightclub, is probably as implausible as anything else in the movie, but what the heck. Michaels has a great body and she takes off her gear with an élan not to be sneezed at. No doubt once the tits came into view, Jesus couldn't wait to save her.

I saved myself a few bucks when I found the Roadhouse DVD in the specials bin at the local record store. Yes I admit the only reason I bought it was for the strip scene, number 12 as you scroll through.

Our DVD can almost take you straight to it on its own these days when late at night, alcohol having flowed a fair bit, it comes out. I roll through the scenes quickly while Julie, my wife, not Michaels, seeing the early credits, heads off with a smirk to the bedroom to slip into something, well more comfortable is the cliché, though I am not sure the skyscraper heels fit that category.

She always appears in her slinkiest, skimpiest dresses just as the first Jeff Healey guitar riff goes DA DA DAAA DUUUUM.

And I've always managed to find her a chair and a white hat. Then while the action's taking place on the screen, Julie replicates it, occasionally taking a peek at the other Julie to make sure she's not going too fast, or too flow. My eyes too, go back and forwards between the live action and the DVD action.

At the end, my Julie's deliciously all but, or all butt, naked and we usually skedaddle off to bed for a pretty boisterous romp.

All good stuff.

And more so since this event.

One day not so long ago, the phone rings in my home office. It's Julie. My Julie, not Julie Michaels. Benny Edwards has missed his flight back to Canberra. He's staying over in town. Do we want to go out to dinner with him?

Benny is one of Julie's contacts in the capital. She uses him for inside information on Government policies, she keeps him up to date with what the real people are saying out in the trenches. Occasionally, like now, they work together on major projects, massive acronyms with equally ridiculous price tags involved. Don't ever tell the taxpayer! I don't know much else about them, and don't really care a lot either. Mutual disinterest in each other's careers, well the finer details, has been a successful part of our relationship. That and sex:)

"Of cause I want to go out to dinner," I say. Benny's always good company: provocative, intelligent and forever up on who's bonking who in Federal politics. Always get something fun out of the night. John Howard with her, you're kidding? That's a two-paper bag job, one for each of them.

Julie and Benny are funny together. I know they like each other enormously, but they are always at each other over anything. In a way she never is with me, she just has to top him on any subject. And he's the same with her. They both have PhDs and argue about whose university carries the greatest weight, thus giving one the apparent intellectual advantage over the other.

They argue over salaries and their relative values to the community. So what if I do get paid $10,000 a year less then you, what I do makes a difference!

They argue over just what is the real world, Canberra, or academe. They're just always challenging each other. Professionally it means their proposals are always the best. Privately, well wait and see.

Julie and I meet at Bernie's Bistro, a nice little place not far from our house. That's about all you could say about it, nice, and close but the beer's cold and the food consistent. I walk, she drives from her office. Julie duly announces she's taking tomorrow off and so is in a mood to relax.

"Nice if you'd given me some warning so I could be part of this fun-fest," I said.

"You work from home and run your own hours," she shoots back. True, I make good dough as a freelance private investigator. In between I want to be a writer. Fiction, faction, anything to get to that big pay cheque with an international publisher. Yeah we all dream. Stop dreaming and you stop living. In the mean-time it's a litany of crook backs that aren't so crook, with blokes double dipping on worker's comp and working at the same time. Thank goodness I just produce the evidence to the insurance companies and get out of the way. Wouldn't want to be the one to say hey fella you're nicked, some of them are pretty tough customers used to rorting the system and getting pretty dirty on people who try to stop them.

Occasionally I do a bit of husband following, and wife following. $100 an hour plus the odd expense or two makes it worth the tedium of sitting outside motel rooms drinking cardboard coffee and eating cellophane sandwiches while those inside are having a good time. Occasionally one or two of the wives are worth watching, but that's all. My old man told me you can always go window-shopping, you only get into strife when you put your fist through the window.

And Julie's my very own shop window. As well as being my meal ticket to greatness, she's got a bod you'd turn away from Julie Michaels to watch. And now I'm not the only proof of that, but I am getting ahead of myself again.

So, back at Bernie's, we've decided to relax, by which time Benny's arrived, full of himself as usual. Julie gets a kiss, I get a hug and a how you going brother?

"Three beers," says Benny, "premium." So out come the Crownies – and glasses, it's a decent drinking hole - as we chat. First Julie and Benny argue over which of them did the best job at the symposium that day. Julie says she wowed the councillors with her overheads. Benny says it all went over their heads and it was his efforts with the figures that won the day. I thought privately Julie's figure wins my day every day.

Then Benny delivers the gossip from Canberra. The Minister for Foreign Affairs is doing just that with the wife of the Portugese ambassador. Three cabinet ministers got caught on camera with a lap-dancer in a strip joint in Adelaide, the Crazy Horse, but it's been hushed up.

Benny then fills us in on the Crazy Horse: Fountain on stage, a bevy of naked beauties and full-on stripperama if you've got the dollars.

Julie asks him how many times he been "caught" there? "Not enough," he says. "I love a good strip joint, all care and no responsibility."

"You don't get arrested for window-shopping," I say, and Julie smiles at our in-joke

"Yeah, something like that," says Benny.

"Wouldn't know," says Julie. "You wouldn't catch me in those sorts of dens of inequity for inadequate people," she laughingly sneers at Benny. The put down probably puts her ahead for the moment in their eternal one-upmanship, or is that one-upwomanship, heck I don't know.

"Another beer," says I, noting near-empty glasses and my turn to shout.

Two affirmatives and three more Crownies.

Dinner comes and goes, nice, as expected, and Julie's turn to shout the beers is glossed over by Benny.

"Your presence is sufficient reward," he says. "She's a good sort your missus he turns to me and adds: If she wasn't married to you I reckon she could just about convince me to give up the single life ... and the strip clubs."

Julie smiles, embarrassed, pleased or maybe even peeved at the "just about" I can't tell.

"Yeah," I say, adding to myself: and you should see her strip.

Aloud though I say "coffee anyone?"

"Yeah, back at our place," says Julie, "I'll pay for dinner if you get the car." Love a woman with a good body and an expense account. Piss of Benny you're not getting anywhere this one.

Five minutes later we're in our driveway and Benny's hire car follows us in, the headlights shining right through Julie's dress as she gets out of the car. Not a lot left to the imagination there. A bloke feels a surge down there and wonders if Benny's getting the same view.

Strange feeling. This bloke could be perving on my wife and I think I'm kinda excited by it. Nah stupid thought.

As the car lights go off there's no hint of anything untoward and Benny tells us he might leave the car here tonight and get a taxi if we have any more beer. If, thinks I, aware that Julie and I have already decided to have a night.

"All the more reason then for more beer," say I.

Julie obliges this time, shouting from the fridge. Three more Crownies and we plonk into the lounge chairs in the living room.

Even though it's not that cold I light the gas log fire with a touch of the magic button. None of that wood chopping nonsense for this little black duck.

Benny picks up on the Canberra gossip again. He tells us about the senior public servant who found his wife in bed with his minister and quietly turned and walked out because he didn't want to jeopardise his career.

Julie wants to know more about it. "Did they stay married," she asks?

"They're still at every official event in Canberra together," says Benny, unsurprised. "What's a bonk between friends these days.

"The hard news stories in Canberra are the people who don't play up or don't end up in strip joints.

"Sex is the giant relief valve for all these people in this artificial world of politics and power."

"Though pity help the poor bastard who has Amanda Vanstone as his relief valve," I say and get a big laugh.

"They don't make paper bags that big," roars Benny.

I get three more beers and Benny begins playing idly with the remote control for the home theatre system. It was in his chair when he sat down.

I think nothing off it until Roadhouse suddenly starts up on the big flat screen Julie bought me for my birthday ... just after I got the Roadhouse DVD.

The sudden appearance of Mr Swayze and co causes a quick exchange of glances between Julie and me.

"Roadhouse, Patrick Swayze, you're kidding," roars Benny. "Can't believe you two would be watching that, bloody awful move, except for the strip scene."

He stops.

Sprung!

"All right," he says, "what's the go here eh?"

"Will you tell him, or shall I," say I?

"Tell him what you like," says Julie, sensing a bit of her high ground slipping away.

"No need," says Benny, "everyone does it, either with this movie or 91/2 weeks.

"You'd be surprised how many copies still get sold of those movies in Canberra ... Great at Christmas parties, put it on the DVD, and then tell one of the office lovelies she's got a better body than Kim Basinger and they nearly always oblige with a little show to prove it. Funny how they both feature hats, eh?"

Benny had obviously seen the bent panama in the corner.

As he talked he'd scrolled forward to scene 12 and pushed the play button.

Julie and I didn't know what to say as it rolled towards that first guitar riff.

DA DA DAAA DUUUUM.

We watched it in a strange silence, each wondering I suppose what the other might be thinking.

"Could I, even should I," thought Julie, "no don't be silly?"

"Just let him have his moment of triumph on this one. And anyway, we are married and couples are allowed their own fun, so what if I have done the odd private dance."

I was having the strange feeling I had when I thought Benny might have seen Julie in the headlights.

Benny, as ever, said his thoughts out loud.

"Now Julie," he chuckled as the on-screen Julie flashed her tits and gave Swayze a triumphant kiss, "if this was a Canberra Christmas party I would find it utterly impossible not to say you would turn in a far superior performance to your namesake and might possibly even have a better chassis."

Silence.

Oh oh, gone too far this time Benny, I thought. It's all right to argue over who has the better PhD, but bodies ... and likening her too an office Dolly-bird.

Julie stared at Benny with what appeared to be a deep burning fury. Had she been hurt, or, the thought crossed my mind, merely challenged and shitty it might be a challenge she couldn't win?

"Re-wind the disc and we'll just see then," she said after a potent pause. She left her chair and headed out of the room. As she turned the corner towards the bedroom she called back over her shoulder, find me a chair and a hat, and turn down the lights.

Ever the dutiful husband, and despite the swirling confusion in my head, I did all the above. All right with just me and she and the house wine, I was thinking, but with an audience? Oh well, she can stop when she wants to. It's not compulsory to take anything off, she just have a bit of fun and score a point against Benny.

Julie was thinking the same too, but wondering if getting her gear off might have by now already become compulsory. She discovered to her surprise that rather than anxious she was bolstered by the thought of two sets of appreciative eyes wandering over her body.

DA DA DAAA DUUUUM

"And now welcome to the stage here at the Crazy Horse the Jeeelicious Julie," says Benny, really riding his luck by taking the piss.

Julie, instead of blanching, or pissing off, used the intro to really step forward into the lounge room. In the soft light she's in her monstrous heels and the little body hugging white number to match.

Just as Julie Michaels does, she pulls up the dress raunchily to reveal fast amounts of shapely brown leg and a flash of white underwear.

Then it's over to the chair, grabbing the back and bending over. Depending on where you're sitting you either side a lot of cleavage, or a lot of gorgeous arse.

From the chair it's on to the floor for the roll and kick. More cleavage more arse and we're getting ever closer to crunch time. Miss Michael's next move, after leaning up against a wall, is to remove her dress and throw it at Swayze.

Tension is as thick as this thing growing in my pants.

Even the ever-cool Benny shuffles a bit in his seat.

Will she, won't she, I wonder, not knowing what answer I wanted.

Will I, can I, thinks Julie still unsure of where she's going, but with only seconds now to bail out with a giggle and accept the loss of face or go into uncharted territory.

"Crunch time now baby," taunts Benny, as Miss Michaels unzips her pink number. "So far, you're level pegging, I reckon."

Clever ploy by Benny, I think. My Julie's arse and legs were up there with Julie Michaels, but he's challenging her that if she want to win, she's going to have to show us her tits.

That's if she wants to win I thought and doesn't see this as a silly nonsense, rather than some contest for sheep stations.

Did I hear a baa? Julie unzipped her white number, turning her back to the both of us as she did.

"Am I really going to go through with this," she thought? "This is stupid but I can't let that bastard win can I.

"Anyway, I'm quiet looking forward to showing off my tits."

She stepped out of the dress and turned towards us, Her breasts were well and truly covered by the garment.

The next bit was scripted.

She threw the dress at us and went for the hat that she then held over her breasts, so apart from the briefest of moments, we really hadn't seen her titties properly, so she could still stop now.

But it doesn't look like she's stopping yet, I thought, feeling a strange anticipation at my wife being naked in front of not just me, but another bloke. Weird arsed feeling too. I'm always proud of her, her looks, intellect, but I never thought I'd throw her tits into the bargain as well, and want some fella to vote on them.

"What was Julie thinking," I also wondered, aware too well of what was going through Benny's mine. He couldn't lose here, he gets to see Julie's tits, or he wins the challenge.

"If I do this the right way, without any hint of embarrassment or hesitance, he's not winning anything," thought Julie, "so here we go."

She turned away from us.

Just a Julie Michaels did, she put the hat on her head and crossed her hands over her chest.

Then she spun around to face us again.

Not everything interesting, I am talking here about cute little nipples, was covered as she fronted us, a glorious look of triumph on her face.

Then away came the hands altogether. Her breasts were thrust forward for all the world to see before she leapt into Benny's arms, gave him the same "I've won" kiss that Michaels gives Swayze, then ran out of sight.

I turned the DVD off. The movie descends into a fight scene now and I didn't want to watch it.

I imagined Julie in the bedroom putting on her clothes, with a million thoughts bruising through her mind, but seconds later, she returned, still wearing just her heels, the hat and the white panties.

"Well, judging panel," she said to us both, putting her hands on her hips, "best tits in this town or what?"

"No argument here," I said.

"Nor here," said Benny. "Okay, you win.

"You're one lady and we're two mere fellas. Two randy fellas judging by some of the seat shuffling going on the past few minutes. And I'd say far more time was spent watching you then Miss Michaels on the television screen."

"Maybe," Julie chided, "that's because you already knew how far she'd go, but you didn't know with me."

"Maybe," said Benny, "but I had a feeling from the outset I was going to see a lot more of you then I did in the headlights a couple of hours ago."

"And you think I don't know where to stand when a car shines it's headlights up our drive," said Julie.

Victory again! And as she slipped off into the dark hallway, she said sotto voce: "My tits are better than Julie Michaels' and my PhD's superior to yours."

It's amazing how these things matter.

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