The Perfect Camel Toe

[Author's caution: This anacreontic story may not be your cup of tea, so please don't read it if you prefer lascivious description.]

My search for the perfect pussy ended in marriage. I got a little older while I was looking, but my taste for nineteen-year-old women did not, which made the search even more challenging.

Some of you will be wondering, in disbelief, why I wanted the perfect pussy not the perfect wife. It was no blunder. Early in my bachelor years I fixated on the chance of coming across a pussy that was tight, which ruled out girls who had given birth or liked masturbating with objects larger than an average male erection; was kept bare, further limiting my choice to young women who preferred having full Brazilians and, most important of all, had pubes like a puffy camel toe, with a perfect split that hid everything inside.

In case you're wondering what the attraction of the latter is, think of a chocolate box. You don't get to see or smell the contents until you open it, and the sense of anticipation is only rivalled by the visual and olfactory sensations when you do.

'The guy married a cunt,' others of you might be thinking. Which is unkind. The fact is Celine has a face as pretty as her cunt. ...Okay, quit laughing. I didn't mean she had a face like a cunt. I was just contrasting the beauty of two quite different parts of her anatomy – I know the difference between French kissing and cunnilingus. Or, as Celine calls the latter, 'Lap lapping.'

She even has a shortened version when she's really ready to beg for it, as in, "Laplap, PL-EE-ASE, PL-EE-ASE, darling!"

And, yes, her breasts are worth mentioning too, though I don't think she has a pet name for either of the perky two that adorn her chest. Anyhow, you'll have gathered by now that Celine is pretty gorgeous, and it goes without saying she's a blue-eyed blonde and not overweight.

That doesn't mean I think brunettes, or women with any other hair colour, are unattractive; the joke about marrying a brunette and screwing a blonde is offensive to both of them. Nor do I feel unsympathetic for women with a weight problem. It's just a matter of my personal preference. You might say that, physically, I did find the perfect woman – for me – in Celine.

'Uh, oh,' I can hear you thinking, 'she just has to have personality flaws.' Don't we all? Heterosexual or not, for a man there's no perfect woman. Sometimes I wish Celine could have a brain transplant. Not that she's dumb – it's just that if she had a man's brain we could get closer and fight less. 'Latent homosexual tendencies,' I can hear you judging me. Not at all. I find the same-sex idea totally unappealing.

Celine also has a single-minded preference for the opposite sex. She's the worst – or best – flirt there is, depending on your point of view. It drove me crazy with jealousy at the start, and that was what we used to fight most about. How I came to look at it in the end, though, was that if I loved her I had to accept her the way she was. After all, as she said herself, "Just because I like to make men think there's a chance of getting in my panties doesn't mean they're going to."

In the three years of our marriage Celine has left a staggering number of men horny and unsatisfied. Yeah, some of them may have grateful wives or partners as a result, but women tend to hate Celine, seeing her as either a serious rival or a threat. It's inevitable when men flock to her proximity at a party or other social event. She's very fond of touching them with her hand – never genitally of course – and isn't above pressing her breasts against an arm when she leans close to hear what a man's saying in a noisy situation. It often makes her nipples hard I've noticed, and so have a lot of other guys.

Naturally, she also uses her fabulous eyes. They can reduce a man to tears, raise him up to think he's in with a chance, show him how grateful she is for a compliment, or hint at how much she's in the mood to be fucked without any intention of giving in to it. Add wit, intelligence, and a quick temper and you now have a fair idea of what Celine is like.

'Still too good to be true,' you might be thinking. You don't have to live with her every day – like through her periods – I do. Still, the worst part has to have been my fear of the inevitable – that eventually she'd want to move flirting to another level.

She revealed it the day she said to me during breakfast, "Bob's been watching me in my swimsuit when I'm out by the pool." (Bob had recently moved in next door. We'd heard from another neighbour that he'd just turned fifty, was a widower, and had retired after selling a successful nationwide business.)

"You mean he's been glancing over the fence at you?"

"No. Watching me through binoculars from his upstairs room."

That was creepy! "Do you want me to speak to him?"

She knew what I meant but seemed annoyed there was something I didn't get, and said, "No... I like it."

That didn't help my understanding at all. "But he's over twice your age!"

"What does that matter? He's quite a good-looking man."

"He's a pervert!"

Celine giggled. "That's what turns me on... Do you think he jerks off while he watches me?" Her excited eyes left me in no doubt it was what she hoped he did.

"I guess," I grudgingly went along with her.

She said animatedly, "I quite like the idea of Bob secretly masturbating while he watches me – especially the bit at the end when he ejaculates everywhere. I let myself imagine cum dribbling down the wall below his window."

"You'd better hope he's not a stalker as well," I warned, wanting to spoil her fantasy. She failed to react, so I asked, "Does he know you've spotted him?"

"I don't think so... Does it upset you that I like it?"

I was upset all right, but I said neutrally, "Men have always been attracted to you."

"I'd be abnormal if I didn't like that," she said defensively.

I kept to myself what I thought was abnormal; she'd taken her mild exhibitionism over the line with her masturbation fantasy.

She was looking at me expectantly, but I knew the dangers of trying to guess what was on her mind. "You'll have to spell it out for me," I said.

"Spell out what?"

"What you're thinking."

"Nothing. I just wanted to let you know what's been happening, that's all."

"And?" I knew there was more to it than that.

She giggled self-consciously. "You read me like a book." I wished I did, but had a horrible feeling that, if I could, I wouldn't like it after all. She eyed me expectantly then gave up waiting, "Can't you guess?"

I shook my head.

She started hesitantly, "There's a guy getting off on watching me in my swimsuit..." Then she went on more brazenly, "I'd like to know if you'd object to my letting him see me in my birthday suit instead." She further proposed, "Maybe you could come home early this afternoon and I could do it then. It looks like it'll be a nice warm day."

I could understand she wanted me home for her safety, but not the rest. "What are you saying? That you'd like to invite him over to a striptease?"

"Of course not. I just want to sunbathe nude out by the pool for him. I feel sorry for the guy not having a wife anymore."

I clutched at straws, "How do you know he'll be there this afternoon?"

"He's always there on Wednesday afternoons." Her eyes were excited again as they met mine. "Does that mean you agree?"

When I arrived home Celine was impatiently waiting in the lounge with a brief bikini already on. It was obvious she didn't intend swimming because she was gorgeously made-up. What jolted was the eager way she asked, "Can I go out to the pool now?"

"Sure, if that's what you still want to do."

"You don't understand, do you?" She gave me a sympathetic glance before she headed towards the ranch-slider door to the rear patio. There she paused with her hand on the catch and looked back at me. "It's really a big thing for a woman to let a guy see her naked..." She left the statement hanging and, for the hell of me, I didn't know what she meant. She could tell. "Just watch and enjoy."

She didn't wait to find out if I thought that would be possible or not.

If I forced myself to watch – and there's no denying the attraction – I would be able see the surrounds of the pool outside through the glass, and Bob, if he was in his upstairs room, could not see me. I doubted I would enjoy it though.

The impulse to run out and stop Celine from taking off her bikini didn't last very long. If I thwarted her I'd have to face the recriminations. Like when I'd tried stopping her flirting with other men, with a predictable result.

'He's got no balls,' you're thinking. Not a view Celine would share. Except in her fantasies it now seems, she's acted as if my pair produces all the spunk she'll ever want.

My attention had not left what she was doing out by the pool. Having squinted towards the sun theatrically she pulled a banana-lounger side-on, pretending to be positioning it in the best spot for sunbathing. In effect, though, it was with an eye to giving Bob the best view.

Wearing sunglasses, and still in her bikini, she lay back on the lounger.

Nothing happened for a time. I guess she was waiting for Bob to notice she was out there. Maddeningly, it gave me time to think, regret, and go through an agony of jealousy. Another guy – a voyeur – was going to see my wife nude and close-up through binoculars. If that wasn't bad enough, she actually knew he was going to be looking, and not only didn't mind but got aroused by the idea. On top of that, he was old enough to be her father, and was likely going to use perving at her to jerk off.

Capping everything else was the fact I hadn't objected, and was standing where I could be an up-close witness to it happening.

I watched as Celine casually take off her bikini top. I assumed she'd caught sight of Bob, though she concealed it well. She lay back again, pretending to enjoy the sun on her bare skin, though the fact her breasts were white against the tan elsewhere revealed going topless was not something she did every day.

I wasn't counting how many minutes she stayed like that before she reached for her bikini bottoms and slid the little garment down her legs and off her feet, leaving only a white mirror image on her skin. There's something especially thrilling about seeing a beautiful young woman stripping off anything that looks like panties.

Celine stayed on her back after that, and kept her legs together. I guess she was teasing Bob, leaving him wondering if she was going to reveal more, which she eventually intended to, I was sure.

She started by parting her legs – as if relaxing in the sunshine. With binoculars, if his hands weren't trembling too much, Bob would be able to see she liked going completely hairless down there and that her legs no longer concealed her perfect camel toe.

A few moments later, to give him a rear view of her pussy and peach, she turned over, with her feet still apart.

No wonder I felt a stirring in my trousers and lost count of the minutes again. Not that it seemed a long time before she turned on her back once more. This time, she opened her legs wider and put her hand between them – not concealing anything but flat against her thigh, with just a finger extended to the nearest puffy pussy lip. She used it to tease open the 'lid' of her chocolate box on one side, and show a hint of the pink delights inside her cute little package.

Lowering her other hand, she used a finger to open it on the opposite side too. The pale pink slash she revealed showed up pretty well in the sunshine, even from where I was standing. It would have looked fabulous seen through binoculars from next door, and Bob was no doubt expecting she was in the act of masturbating.

I brought myself up for thinking like a voyeur. This was my wife!

The enormity of it really hit me then. Celine was showing off all her private parts to another guy! A neighbour! It didn't matter that it had made my cock go hard. This wasn't the way wives are supposed to be behave – then again, the way she flirted wasn't, either.

I thought she'd gotten so horny she wanted sex with me, because she stood up, left her bikini behind, and came inside as naked as the day she was born. She had that flushed and over excited look, and her pink nipples were erect.

"He's there!"

"I guessed that from the way you've been showing it all off." My eyes ran from her thighs to her breasts.

"I want to invite him over."

"What!" I exploded.

"I want to tell him you're not here."

"You're kidding me!"

"I want to flirt with him."

"Nude!"

"That's the whole point!" She was getting irritated that I didn't understand.

"It's your body," I said, even though that wasn't the way I thought about it.

"Yes it is," she said and then, as if making a discovery, "and I like to show it off."

I'd no doubt, while clothed, she'd always felt that way, but I wasn't ready to imagine where her declaration about doing it in the nude might lead.

She had crossed to the liquor cabinet, and poured two drinks over ice. Even before she beguilingly kissed my cheek in passing I knew neither drink was for me. "Hide behind a curtain," she said, "there's a darling. You can peek, but make sure he doesn't see you."

I sought reassurance from my stark naked wife, "You're just going to flirt?"

"I'm not intending to have actual sex with him, sweetheart," was her only guarantee.

Celine put one of the liquor glasses on a poolside table then lifted the other in the direction of Bob's upstairs room, and beckoned sexily with a crooked finger. Despite her prior announcement of her intention it blew my mind. My beautiful wife was in our backyard without any clothes on and inviting another guy to come over for a drink!

It took Bob less than three minutes to arrive, entering by the side gate. His hair was greying but he wasn't bad looking for an older man, and in good shape. I could see why Celine was attracted – though, contrasted, they looked more like father and daughter.

Naturally he was staring at her intently as he neared the pool. I couldn't imagine what a man says in Bob's situation (meeting a young neighbour of the opposite sex for the first time when she's nude) but I knew what his natural expectation would be, and wondered if Celine was really experienced enough to cope with it.

She had left the sliding door ajar so, as it turned out, I heard Bob saying, "I thought I saw your husband come home awhile ago." He took the drink she offered.

Celine told him, "He's gone out for a long cycle ride." Cycling was one of my hobbies. "He'll be away for ages."

I risked another peek. Celine wasn't even trying to cover up, and he wasn't at all bothered by her immodesty.

"I see you have a full Brazilian," he said, obviously a man who kept up with the times. Still standing, she craned her head and looked down over her bare breasts. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"Stunning is the word for it, I think."

"Hair would rather spoil it, don't you agree?" Celine was very proud of her pussy, knowing how much I adored her camel toe. Bob said, "From what I've seen," and he would have known he'd been spotted seeing it, "it would hide far too much that's too beautiful to be covered."

"You're quite the flatterer," she flirted with her voice and her eyes

"There's so much to praise," he said, his gaze lifting to her elevated nipples, and then to her face.

She smiled in the special way she has when she's showing appreciation to a man. "You're very gallant."

"I'm very grateful."

"Grateful?"

"That I finally get to meet you. It gives new meaning to 'in the flesh'," he chuckled, as smitten as any other man she's ever played up to. "My name's Bob, by the way."

"Mine's Celine – but I'm not a singer."

He chuckled again. "If you were I'm sure you'd be just as famous as your namesake. I'm a lucky man you aren't, or I would never have gotten past all the security you'd need."

I could see Celine was lapping up the compliments. Since she didn't have a stitch on, and knowing men couldn't take their eyes off her even when she was dressed, I didn't need to stay completely concealed, just still.

I heard Celine ask Bob, with a shy, flirtatious giggle, "Have you enjoyed watching me these past few weeks?"

"Every moment, but especially this afternoon. Though nothing compares with being with you now," he was upfront about it. "You're the first woman I've seen nude since my wife died."

"That's sad." She touched his chest sympathetically.

"You've more than made up for what I've missed," he said, openly eying her bare and attractive body.

"That's so sweet."

I'd seen lots of men left disappointed when they thought Celine was going to kiss them. This time she delivered, pecking Bob's cheek then stepping away again. Was it his age that made a difference? Did she sense he could control himself the way young men likely couldn't, or was it a kinky daughter/daddy kind of thing?

She sipped her drink, looking at him over the rim. "Let's sit down," she suggested.

She resumed her place on the banana-longer, lying on her back, her legs parted just enough to expose her gorgeous camel toe. Bob pulled up a chair near her feet – still the voyeur – and sat like her adoring slave, facing away from me.

The situation was unreal but, as if it was what neighbours casually do, like talking over the back fence, Bob seemed to have taken it in his stride. Maybe he really was grateful just to see a young woman undressed. That wasn't something many middle-aged men got for free.

I heard Celine say, "My husband will be away for a couple of hours at least. Why don't you take your clothes off too and relax for a while?"

I anxiously wondered how far Celine intended going without having 'actual sex' as she had called it.

"I'd be embarrassed to do that," Bob said.

"Whatever for? I'm naked."

"That's the problem. I've gotten rather rigid as a consequence." Bob reflected, "I haven't felt this large down there for a long time."

Celine reflexively brushed one of her raised nipples between her fingertips, and put everything into an inviting smile, "I'd love to see it!"

Bob didn't need any more encouragement. Celine's exclamation, on seeing his erection, left me guessing at its size. Whether she'd never really seen one that long before I didn't know, but I felt annoyed she'd said it. Not jealous exactly, more, envious. "I've been naughty and made it grow," she accused herself, not taking her eyes off it.

"Naughty is certainly what you are," Bob agreed, "and incredibly sexy in the buff."

"I hope you aren't going to tell on me."

"It'd be rather ungrateful to let your husband in on our little secret."

They settled for staring at each other for a few moments, like two kids showing each other their genitalia, and then Celine said, "Your cock looks like it could fit three hands." She giggled. "And I only have two."

"Do you want to put them on it?"

"You already know I'm a naughty girl." Then, when Bob stood up, she said, "Go round the other side so I won't be looking into the sun."

Once he was there I could see what she had been admiring so intently. His cock wasn't unusually thick, but there was no doubt its length would plumb a woman's depths, and some. I couldn't imagine Celine's tight little cunt fitting it all the way in; nor did I want to, especially when I saw her lift both her hands to wrap them around his shaft. Her grip left quite a bit sticking out.

She'd certainly taken flirting to a new level, and I wondered if she found Bob more attractive than all the other men she'd teased. It made no sense when you saw how old he was; it wasn't as if there was only a five-year age difference, as between Celine and me. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help wondering if she had a female version of the Oedipus complex – you know, secretly wanting to be screwed by her own father, and seeing Bob as a safe substitute.