The Gift of the Makeout

I didn't want to see Frank naked. I might be able to deal with that some other time, but not while the line between nude excitement and sex stuff was so blurry.

Stacie 'entered' first, walking to the large span of the carpet where the lights were brightest. The fans' gusts were enough to flutter the hem of her dress. "Oh dear!" she said, "It's so terribly cold out here!"

"Oh, I know!" I said as I entered, with a quaver in my voice. "I should have worn a coat today!"

I advanced to stand next to her. Each put a hand behind the other, out of the 'audience's' view, and flicked the velcros at our shoulders. Our arms were revealed. We shivered and rubbed our arms, and continued fretting about the cold.

And so it went, with the skirts going from long to short, then the dress remainders lost from rips in the backs. It was easy for us to take on postures of hunching from the cold. We had been doing that for weeks, fully dressed.

"We should hold each other," I said. "It's important to share heat, and keep our bodies warm!"

"And our mouths!" said Stacie. She kissed me.

With our hands on each other, Stacie and I arranged the releases of the sports bras, and then the baggies. I heard gasps from the gloom. The guys may not have expected bared beavers.

Our embrace progressed from rubbing to caressing. Except for heels, we were totally nude. Not a one of us has any interest in ancient arousal artifacts, like stockings and garter belts.

My brief glances at our bodies showed me that what we presented might be really hot, because of our contrasts. Olive and pink skins, dark and light hair, large and small facial features, even dense and wispy bushes.

We kept this mild: Nothing beyond mouth kissing and tit fondling. We openly displayed vulvas and buttocks, and we did some swivels and twerks, but there was no contact from the navels down. Stacie was okay with just showing the lower halves, thinking that grinding might worry Frank more than thrill him. I knew that when Josh watches his porn, he prefers unobstructed view: Wide-open double dildo, instead of tight tribbing. Too much information?

I've kissed smooth faces before. Josh's is that way right after he shaves. I guess the real difference now came from Stacie's lips, as soft and full as mine.

Her slender hands on my back varied from gentle to firm. Her back was sleek, my hands moved slowly where she tapered and flared.

Breasts pressed on breasts, and swelled from the touch of hands. No way to ignore that.

I heard a male duet of moans.

Her torso molded to mine. I bristled from that, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings. So I made myself relax, and brought my skin warmly to hers.

I felt Stacie's breath flutter, from her nose at my cheek.

For me, the makeout wasn't gross. It wasn't arousing. It was...a little like that tranquil feeling at the nude beach. My skin received these sensations, and welcomed them.

I angled my head away. Stacie's face was beatific. She mouthed, "Thanks."

I looked towards the men. They were stock still.

I leaned away so that all four boobs were fully visible to the chair occupants. I extended an arm toward the men, and made a pulling-window-shade-down gesture. I said, "Aaaand, scene."

Josh croaked, "Thank you."

In a tremulous voice I'd never heard from him, Frank said, "Such beauty."

I took Stacie's hand, turned us to face our husbands, and led her in a bow. Then, in a moment of inspiration, I had us turn the other way, and bow deeply enough to lean our butts at them. The tension finally broke, and we all laughed.

And here's the weird part, confirmed by Josh in a whisper on the way home, and in a later chat with Stacie: The men didn't cum. They stopped beating off, and were, dare I say it, transfixed by the ethereal glory of their play-acting wives.

Josh seemed to be in a daze long after we got naked in our bedroom. "It was...I don't know how to describe it," he said, while we were in a slow missionary fuck. "It was beyond sex. Maybe this is what a voyeur is really looking for. A vision that's...transformative?"

I kept myself from laughing in his face, partly because he was doing a great job of sexing me. Normally I don't care much about orgasms, but he'd already taken me past singular and into plural. I was all juicy and tingly inside, happy to keep going, my widespread fingers clutching his buns. He came early, but stayed hard, for a long time. A new thing, which I found more than interesting.

If the way we both were now was the result of the makeout, it might be more difficult for me deflect future gift requests that pushed the sex-stuff envelope. I almost wanted to stop enjoying this.

But then my love for Josh got my attention. I remembered when he went along with my wish to ride a zip line. He rode it right in front of me, despite being terrified. He wasn't even relieved when it was done, and he still doesn't like to think about it. I, however, was thrilled by it.

I tended to resent the heavy lifting I had just done, for his sake, but I couldn't deny to myself that it was mostly fun. And he had carried the fans and curtains when we walked home.

Now, while he thrilled me more than the zip line did, he said, "I owe you," sounding more earthbound. "Kickboxing isn't enough. Pick a second gift."

I grabbed the shoulder blades of my nude body buddy, smashing his hard hairy chest into my smooth round one. "We'll go to Key West," I said, "with body paint. Fantasy Fest may be the closest thing I'll ever have to a naked parade."

Maybe I do have a problem, but I don't think it's a big one. Yet.