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Mardi Gras Etiquette

Mardi Gras Etiquette

“Come on,” The voice could barely be heard above the music, laughter, and jovial jeers of the crowded square, “show ‘em to the guy.”

I empathized with the guy. I knew his reasoning, his ultimate purpose, and his manipulative plan. I, too, wanted my wife to join the women who, whether to please their husbands or to satisfy their own exhibitionist fetishes were flaunting their breasts for the delight of the lustful eyes of the crowd.

“In your dreams,” The feminine voice was more assertive, and flirtatious, than I might have expected, “you just want a free pass to check out everyone else.”

She was partly correct. Most of us husbands really were wanting our wives to join in so we could feel free to let go ourselves and partake of the banquet of feminine delights being offered. But, like me, some of us were also wanting to enjoy the unveiling, that so rarely happened in all the years of marriage, of that vixen, that slut, that little wanton whore, that hides in the depths of most women.

It was beginning to get dark and the cloak of darkness, though mitigated by the glow of the lighting of the square, gave courage to some who had pretended innocence in the daylight. Or, instead of the cloak of night like the anonymity of costume, had it been just an excuse to release and enjoy the wickedness so long suppressed? It wasn’t important at the moment, it was simply being savored by both performer and her audience.

“It would be my personal pleasure to offer these to such a lovely lady.”

I smiled at the guys’ absurd line as he approached my wife, and I knew good and well he was about to be, not only dismissed by my wife but likely, also reprimanded by the stern faced lady who was probably his own wife.

“And if I were to agree to make the trade for your beads,” my wife had a smile that only I had seen for some time as she looked at the man with the string of inexpensive beads held out to her, “would it offend the lady behind you?”

Was she playing him? Was this some new way to show me how perverted I am? Was it simply a tease that she would quickly turn to humor?

“She’s my wife,” The man turned and smiled at the lady, who I now noticed was very pretty and beginning to smile sweetly at her husband, “and no,” he turned back to my wife and with a very sincere and sweet smile finished, “she would certainly understand my interest in such a beautiful woman.”

I almost laughed now. How unimaginative this guy was being. I did wonder why his wife wasn’t laughing now as well though. Instead, she watched her husband with almost admiring eyes as he continued holding the string of inexpensive beads out within reach, yet at a respectable distance, of my, now, silent wife.

“You do have a way with words,” My wife now smiled as she spoke, “and, I might add, better manners than most here,” she reached out and ran her hands across the string of beads as if contemplating their value, “and good manners should always be rewarded.”

The motion seemed to stop as if the whole event had been on film and the projector had caught. I waited for the scene to begin to brown, then blacken, just as it does before a hole is burned though the film.

My wife’s hands returned from the beads and quickly, almost as though planned and practiced numerous times, released the first and second buttons of the loosely fitted shirt that had been worn, without my noticing until this moment, with no bra underneath.

It was likely only seconds but to me seemed minutes or longer. My wife’s beautiful, full, breasts were exposed to this total stranger. Her excitement was obvious by the erect condition of her nipples, his by the expression on his appreciative face.

“Thank you,” The gentleman nodded his head as he spoke and, before my wife could close the opening to her private offering, he placed the beads over her head and straightened them around her neck letting the back of his hands brush over her blushed chest before bowing his head and backing away, “it’s been a pleasure.”

My wife, much more slowly than I might have expected, closed her shirt while never taking her eyes from the man, buttoned her two buttons and reached out to the lady behind her new admirer and took the ladies hand in her own. “Thank you for sharing your wonderful husband with me.”

“It’s always my pleasure,” the lady smiled sweetly at my wife then leaned over and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, “and,” as she and her husband turned to walk away she looked back at my wife before finishing, “the pleasure will certainly be mine later.”

Had I just witnessed the most absurd situation of my life? Or, had I just been given a lesson that all of us husbands should have? It didn’t matter at the moment. At this moment I just felt a desire for my wife stronger than any I’d felt in years.

End of Story