The Women Strip

His tongue swirling between toes, Joey watches his wife stand up from the dirt, grab the bottom of her shirt, and lift it over her head in one smooth motion. A swirl of color tattooes her ribcage and disappears down her side into her yoga pants, ending at her thigh. Years to complete, thousands of dollars, hours of pain, carefully crafted by dozens of artists, but the group doesn’t even notice the beautiful on her body. Their eyes fixate to the two perky breasts, the dark chocolate nipples, the silver bars piercing both of them.

Up until now it’s just been flirting. Her bare breasts make it real. A line has been crossed. And they applauded.

“Holy cow!”

“Are those real?”

“How old are you again?”

The group clamors over her tits. Phoebe lets everyone take a feel—if they do another shot first. One more excuse for the bad decisions they’re about to make. Chandler cups one boobs, Monica another. Chandler twist a piercing slightly with his thumb. Monica flicks one with her tongue. The married couple giggles together as they grope another woman.

“Which of you is next?” Phoebe asks, eyeing the two women. She couldn’t be the only one topless. That would be weird.

“I’ll go,” says Monica. “I could never follow Rachel. That would be humiliating.”

She has the group’s full attention. Ross because he wants to judge the aesthetics. Joey because it’s only a matter of time once they have their top off—soon his dick will be in their mouth. Chandler because it’s shocking to see his wife give up control. Do something completely out of character.

She’s turns her back, slowly lifts the tank top over her head. While she’s drunk and uninhibited, she’s never been drunk enough to show off her stomach to even her friends. She reaches back and undoes the clasp of her bra. Turns back to the group, makes eye contact with everyone. Waits for Joey to stop staring at her milky cleavage for their eyes to connect. Then tosses the bra into the wind. Her big pale freckled tits exposed. Heavy and full. Some sag with age, but gravity had been kind especially for their size.

She bites her lip. She’s never had so much attention on her body. Positive attention. Mean girls in middle school constantly calling her fat didn’t count. Even though the answer is obvious, her insecurity makes her ask, “Do you like them?”

Joey the first to speak, “Momma my mouth is watering. I need milk. No wonder your babies were so chunky. No one could stop me from sucking on those.”

She raises her dark eyebrows and sticks out her tongue, “You’re too easy.” She spins to Ross. Her tits sway with the movement. “Be honest.”

“You have great mom tits.”

That disappoints her. Mom tits. Not hot. Not sexy. Not perky. Mom. Again she was defined by her kids. Her role in the family.

Rachel says, “They’re sexy. Your nipples are literally perfect. Seriously they look airbrushed.”

Chandler blushes proudly, “I always tell her she has the best nipples. She never believes me.”

“You’re my husband. You’re suppose to tell me I’m perfect. Just like I’m suppose to tell you that you have a big dick.”

The group laughs.

Monica realizes what she said. She tries to walk it back. It’s not what it sounded like. “I’m just saying spouses are supposed to be supportive.”

“It’s okay if he has a little dick,” Joey says. “It’s cruel to lie to him about it though.”

“My husband doesn’t have a little dick,” Monica pleas.

“Uh huh.” Nobody believes her. Chandler has now been cast as the man who needs to be lied to because of his insecurity about his penis size.

Anything to get the attention off her humiliated husband, Monica calls, “Rachel, your turn! Show us what money can buy!”

Rachel frowns. Not exactly how she wants to present: a fake housewife who buys her looks. She wants to explain. It wasn’t implants. It was a lift. Gravity wasn’t kind to her big boobs. She needed some help. She wanted a reduction. Her lower back begged for it. Her husband would never allow that. She stood up. Her eyes on Chandler only. She would do a show for him. He needed cheering up. She could do that for him.

Their blue eyes locked together. Her tongue wet her lips, his eyes flick quickly then back to her eyes. She smiled. She had his full attention. He wasn’t thinking about work. If his shirt had wrinkles. About the gay porn his wife had found on his phone. He was only thinking about her and the amazing body she was about to reveal.

She did it in steps, a progression to the prize. Anticipation builds the tension. She’s didn’t build a divorce fund by showing everything at once. The trick is to keep them wanting more.

A lifting of her shirt. Her pale belly button. Her toned abs. The unbuckling of her jeans. The flash of her black panties. She drew where to draw an eye. Her fingernails dragged up her midriff, back to her shirt. Her shirt taken seductively off and twirled over her head like a helicopter, launched like a slingshot.

An impossibly fit woman struts directly across the burning fire and steps in front of Chandler. Her black bra makes her toned body look ivory. A bra made for a deep-v shirt. A bra made to expose. A bra made to tease. She bent forward. Her massive tits hung off her tiny frame begging for Chandler to bury his face in the gap. Motorboat her pale pillows.

He resisted the urge, but a groan escaped his lips, “Fuuuck me.”

Even his wife took notice. Chandler was so enthralled with these tits, he forgot his wife was sitting right next to him. Forgot that he was married entirely. He was single at a strip club and he had a cashed paycheck to blow. And these tits deserved every single dollar.

Without asking, Rachel sat in Chandler’s lap, straddling him, her head above him, her huge tits pressed to his face. Her bony body dug into his lap. The opposite of his wife’s cushiony ass and thighs.

Rachel bends and whispers in his ear, using her bed bedroom voice, “Can you unclasp my bar.”

She sits up, lets Chandler wrap his strong arms around her. His hand blindly rubbed the bra of her bra, searching for a clasp. She giggled, “Oh yeah. It’s a front clasp.”

She undoes her bra, inches in front of Chandlers face. The big cups fall to the side releasing his big tits. Chandler has to lean back to see them both they’re so big. Pale, freckled with ghostly nipples that begged for mouth-to-mouth to bring them back to life. She gripped Chandler’s shoulders and arched back. Her hips gyrate on his lap like she’s riding a bull.

Her big boobs don’t move exactly naturally, but they still look good. If anything there so big they make her seem even thinner, make the ribcage stretching her skin obscene.

Phoebe whoo’s, “Ride em cowgirl!”

Jealous that Chandler is getting special treatment, Joey makes a scene. “When you’re down riding the tic-tac, you can come ride the shampoo bottle.” He grips himself in his tiny shorts.

Rachel laughs, “He doesn’t feel that small to me.”

Monica says, “What is it with guy’s and dick size? They’re the only ones who care.”

“If they’re small, they better be good with their tongue and not ashamed to use a toy,” Phoebe says.

Rachel turns to the girls, purposely rubbing her bare breast and nipple across Chandler’s face. “The most important thing is that they get hard.”

Phoebe sighs, “You poor girl, you’ve been married to a gay man for the last ten years. I hope you have a good vibrator collection.”

“I’m not gay,” says Ross from the back, finishing off the last of the bourbon. Seeing his wife give a lap dance was worse than hearing her say she was going to leave. It was more concrete. He stood up, “I can get hard.”

He starts unzipping his slacks, pushes them down, stands in bulging briefs. “I love titties. I love pussy.”

Phoebe looks between the other women. “We’re topless. I think these men should be bottomless.”

Monica grinned, “It’s only fair.”