Houses in the neighborhood where I live have narrow frontage to the street. Many have a deck in front that is 4 steps off the ground. Broadleaf trees across the sidewalk are spaced about 30 feet apart. In front of some houses one can sit on a bench facing the building.
A weekend morning at 7 finds me sitting at my kitchen table sipping a second coffee. In front of me is the dirty breakfast plate that once held eggs over easy, bacon and toast. On my right sits my wife of 7 years Jenny Longfellow.
A lot has changed since we met and started dating. Jenny went on to become a psychologist working with gays and lesbians. I didn’t know it back in the day but she was about to start her masters program at NYU. I took a different track going on to become an accountant at a local CPA firm.
I had met Jenny 10 years ago at the well-known lesbian haunt Henrietta Hudson. The then wild 24 year old was clad in just bikini panties and bra when our eyes met. Her curvaceous body is an inverted triangle shape with generous boobs that I found to be spectacular.
Her sense of style was just what I expected. Blond hair is a buzzcut on the sides, a typical lesbian haircut. The face was (and still is) plain. She wore stud earrings.
“I’m going for a run in a little while.”
A “gym rat”, Jenny preferred to run on the treadmill or peddle the elliptical. She had always insisted that too many dogs bark angrily as though they want to bite a passerby.
I, on the other hand, have never worked out in a gym, preferring instead the fresh air. Besides, girls don’t need to be muscular. It’s not feminine.
“I can’t talk you into coming to the gym?”
“Run with me and I’ll become a gym rat with you.”
On that note we changed into workout clothes. She favors her black leggings with black camo racerback tee while I prefer my gray jogging shorts with the black sports bra.
For several days modesty has prevented me from acting on the notion to run naked through the neighborhood. This day modesty was about to give way to daring.
I have the body of a fashion model though I’ve never actually been one. My height is 5 9 and weight 134 pounds. My breasts are a modest B cup.
I had been jogging at an average speed and perspiring. The App on my phone counts my steps as the seconds pass.
A thousand steps from the house I turned back. Having left my workout clothes on the deck, I started out again, this time on what would be a four mile run skyclad.
This fresh air caressing body feels so good. Neighbors will get an eyeful I’m sure. Maybe my picture will end up on Facebook but so what if it does. Being an exhibitionist is so much fun.
Occasionally I like to masturbate, an act reserved for times when Jen’s period precludes sex. Anyway, I thought of her with every stride but refrained from touching myself.
Jenny was there to greet me when I returned home. I had noticed that my clothes were not where I had left them.
“You look hot.”
I giggled then asked, “perspiration hot or the other kind.”
“Both,” she replied.
“So are you ready to do me?”
“Can’t,” she replied with a frown.
“I going to take a bubble bath.”
As I sat amid the bubbles, the blue vibrator stimulated my clit and my G-spot sending waves of pleasure through my body. A powerful orgasm was about to happen. Actually I wanted more than one.
Moments after my third orgasm I came into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Wearing a pale-blue ruffled off-the-shoulder flutter top with white shorts and wedge sandals, I joined my wife in the livingroom.
“How was it?”
She obviously meant the sex.
“Great,” I said. “I would’ve kept going at it but the batteries died.”
Jenn giggled then quipped, “that doesn’t surprise me.”
“When did it start?”
“At the gym while I was peddling the elliptical,” she replied.
“Sometimes the timing stinks.”
“I know a girl who does body painting.”
I gave that remark a second to process.
“Is she local?”
“You have to travel.”
“How did you learn of her?”
“A girlfriend in college talked about it.”
“Did she paint you?”
“Yes, and I took a long walk with Sarah.”
“Did she paint Sarah as well?”
“She did but not that day.”
A picture of me running completely naked was bound to be posted sooner or later. I just knew that I wasn’t going to wait for it.
That evening Jen had set our Mac Book on the coffeetable and logged onto Facebook, just as she does every evening
“Stefani check this out.”
She turned the laptop to face me sitting in the rocker.
Someone had posted a photo of me showing my whole body from the back. The caption above read simply “Lady Godiva.”
I quipped, “nice ass.”
Jen grinned at the remark
I came to work on Monday morning as though nothing unusual had gone down over the weekend. Colleagues were chatting while they waited for clients.
“Good morning Stefani,” Michael said.
“Good morning,” I replied.
“I saw you Saturday morning.”
“Really,” I said.
“Yup,” said Mike.
The 38 year old had been marred until recently, his ex wife Michelle having left him for Cindy. Mike had talked about his marriage at some length one day not long ago.
“Michelle would’ve loved to see that.”
I let his remark go over my head.
Jon, a greying 50-something dude, eyeballed me then made a remark.
“You can work naked anytime.”
This office has three men who’d love to see this lesbian nude.
It’s not a big deal. A couple minutes later after peeing I left the lace detail, black pant suit set; the Bali and panties on a hanger and walked back to my desk.
Three men gawked prompting me to make a remark. “Just so you guys know, I’m a lesbian.”
“Michelle wherever you are,” Michael quipped.
“Probably with her girlfriend,” I replied.
Michael let the remark go.