The Lady Godiva Game

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And they did! At least 100 of the women present had to volunteer to play in what they called “The Lady Godiva Game.” The chosen lady was expected to circulate through all the tables and interact with the guests for the rest of the evening, including having a drink at each table. While in the nude! All for a two thousand dollar prize. Fortunately, this contest was held here in Scandinavia, where the naked body is seen as something natural. Back home we’d have the vice squad thrown at us! Only volunteers were accepted. And can you imagine the surprise? The chosen woman was Sylvia Montfort. A sixty-three year old lady who is the wife of Art Montfort, the outgoing vice-president of the International Society of Structural Design. I must admit that I, as most other people, I suppose, had a moment of dismay when she was chosen. Who’s going to be interested in that old grandmother?

At least, that was what everybody thought until the lady walked on stage. Sylvia Montfort looked like an empress, with her iron-gray shoulder length hair all in place and her regal stride up to the podium. She did undress down to her skin. Literally. She even took off all her jewelry and then descended to the floor just like she’d been born. The thing was that she did have a beautiful body. The droop of her breasts was just two or three inches. With those darker nipples standing out (it was either the cold or the emotion of standing there naked), who cared if her breasts drooped at all? The veins that showed under her skin only seemed as so many adornments. So, who cared? She was a truly beautiful mature woman, and a lot of the younger wives were feeling pangs of envy at not being “chosen.”

Sylvia Montfort went from table to table with the dignity of royalty, complying with all the requirements of greeting everybody at the tables and partaking of some refreshment. I was sure she’d need some sort of relief from the liquid intake and at least twice she stopped at the same table and relieved herself in a cup offered by one of the gentlemen. The second time, she was thoroughly illuminated by a spotlight. I hope she did not feel shamed at this, as her figure was nothing less than exquisitely sensuous. At each table, she was signed off on her naked body to verify her attendance. I did it at my table, where she only had a sip of water. She was so poised and regal that I was the one feeling nervous as I wrote on her bare skin. Although I was sure she was in agony from all the liquid she’d consumed, exacerbated by the air conditioning cooling the room. Here was a woman consciously going through what many would consider shameful. And for what? A sense of honor and commitment? The feeling of choosing her own destiny? Whatever it was, it made her the most attractive and sensuous woman in the room, and all knew it. By the end of the spectacle, she definitely needed to relieve herself of all her liquid intake. Her husband had her clothing spirited out of the room and escorted her out clad in only his jacket. My guess was they were off to a rekindled romantic fire.

My own spouse was not a little jealous of Sylvia Montfort. Maybe she secretly wished she’d have been chosen instead. That night, we complied with the Biblical dictum. “Go Thou and do Likewise.”

In the morning, I stepped to the window, while my love still slept, exhausted from the previous night. I was treated to the spectacle of a mature woman, still quite beautiful, stretching and showing herself in front of her hotel room’s window. Was it Sylvia, from last night? She sure looked the same in the distance! In the background, an older man slept, also nude in the bed. Under most circumstances, I’d have retreated into the room and let them have their privacy. Not today. The shapely mature woman exhibited herself at the window. It seemed like she was aware I watched her. She straddled the man on the bed and brought him up to consciousness. Then she made love to him oblivious to the fact that they were giving me a show. When they retreated into their bathroom, I turned to my wife just as she awoke. Again, we spent the rest of the day trying out what I’d seen.

I don’t know if it was Sylvia and Art Montfort I’d seen. And I don’t care. Because they inspired the best loving my wife and I had in years.

-The watcher.

ART:

She’s my wife. But her own woman. Always did what she thought right and I think she always will. She didn’t know the Lady Godiva game had not been my idea, and I think she volunteered just to teach me a lesson. It sort of backfired when she was chosen, but she’d made a commitment and went through with it. She did not do a “strip tease” on stage, but undressed as modestly as the rules allowed. Then although I’m sure she was trembling with shame, she fulfilled what she’d agreed to. She went to each table and carried out the required function of accepting a toast and greeting everyone. She even put up with being signed off all over her body to show she’d been at each table.

Angry? Jealous? Yes. I felt it. Not a cheated husband’s jealousy. But that of a very selfish lover who wants this woman all to himself. She really put me to the test when she had me, of everybody else, sign on her naked skin when she visited our table. I could have made love to her there and then.

I played a trick on her. I had all her clothes removed to our room. So she had to leave clad in my jacket. It was that or go naked. She needed to relieve herself at this point, but I wouldn’t let her. Not until we made love. Afterwards, we did it in the shower, and she had her satisfaction of evening the score when it was I who needed to go and she insisted on making love again.

This was like a rebirth. I was again blessed with inaugurating her breasts that were so pliable to my hands and that would stretch effortlessly to where I took them. Her womanhood was still as tight and caressing as when we’d first made love, and her skin felt like silk in my hands.

The next day, I woke up to find her on top of me, looking and acting like the young girl I’d married so long ago. I had a start at the open curtain, but after we began to make love, I did not care for anything anymore than sharing in love and sex with my wife and lover. Was the young man from the other tower looking at us being man and wife? Good. He might learn something.

-Art

END

Note: Story by Francine; Epilogue by EJ, used with the writer's permission.

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