Everyone knows Americans are uptight about the human body.  It’s a legacy of our Puritan past.  One clear prohibition is that women are not allowed to go around with their breasts uncovered.  But not all cultures are the same.  Beaches in Europe routinely find woman sunbathing topless.  No big deal.   So, what happens when people from Europe come to our country?  Well, they conform to our standards … usually. 

Beatrice and Jan, from Germany, lived next door to me (I’m Carl) and my wife, Diana.  Beatrice was a tall, pretty woman in her 30’s.  Full breasts that sat high on her chest, and a lean body with a cute rounded butt.  Just my type.  I always had an eye for her, but there was never any relationship beyond us being friendly neighbors. 

Our houses were side by side, but they weren’t the same.  Theirs had a patio and pool in the back yard.  Our house still had grass back there, which kept me regularly mowing. I saw Jan outside one morning, and asked if I could borrow his gas-powered leaf blower to blow grass clippings off my walk and driveway when I mowed the next day.  My blower was broken.

"Of course, Carl, it’s in the shed across from the pool.  I’ll be flying out in the morning, just grab it when you want,” he said. 

So it was that I was outside under a hot July sun, mowing.  When I finished, I unlatched their gate and went into Jan’s back yard.  I was surprised to encounter Beatrice on a chaise lounge, sunbathing.  She was nude except for a bikini bottom.  Her large breasts were splayed out on her chest, the nipples and broad areola conspicuous for any observer.  (That would be me.)

“Carl, what are you doing here?” she asked, in a surprised but friendly tone.

“Er, Jan said I could borrow the leaf blower,” I said, pointing to the shed.

“Oh, of course, no problem.  Go ahead.”

She made no effort to cover herself.  An American woman would have shielded her breasts with her arms, or grabbed a towel – likely while screaming.  Beatrice did none of that, she just smiled at me, her hands clasped behind her head.  The pose emphasized her bare chest.  No big deal, right?

I borrowed the tool and scurried out.  I came back about 20 minutes later, to return the blower. 

“You’re drenched in sweat,” she said, noting my wet t-shirt.  “Why don’t you dip in the pool and cool off?”

“That sounds great,” I replied, “but I’m dressed.”  I was in shorts and the t-shirt.

“You could always skinny dip,” she said, with that friendly smile of hers. 

I stood there.  She was suggesting I strip -- in front of her.  Not an invitation a guy gets every day.  And one that a guy should carefully entertain, especially when it comes from a beautiful woman.

“I don’t know,” was the best response I could muster.  I was flustered.

“You Americans are so shy.  I’ve got a husband and grew up with two younger brothers.  I know what guy parts look like.  You won’t shock me.” 

I was hastily doing mental calculations.  My wife Diana was at her sister’s house, not due back for hours.  There was nothing sexual in Beatrice’s offer.  She was being neighborly -- I was dripping sweat; she had a pool; a dip would cool me off; she wouldn’t be offended to see me; we’re mature adults; no big deal, right?   End of story. 

She saw my hesitation.  “Tell you what.  I’ll join you.”  She rose.  Her hands went to her bikini bottom, the thumbs inside the fabric, ready to lower the covering.  She looked at me.  I looked at her.  Her bikini bottom was tiny, and the fabric was molded to her vulva, hinting at the shape beneath.  If I had the nerve, I knew I was seconds from seeing her fully naked. 

“OK.”  I pulled the t-shirt over my head, then lowered my shorts and underwear.  My genitals flopped out.  The penis is of an admirable size (if I don’t say so myself.)  It was not erect, although not flaccid either.

“See, it’s not hard,” she said to me with that friendly smile of hers.  (Was she referring to removing my clothes, or …?  Was that a deliberate double entendre?  Was she teasing me?)  She lowered her bikini bottom.  She was unshaven like so many European women and coarse curly hair filled her groin. 

“Let’s get wet,” she said.  She went to the edge of the pool and dived in.  I followed.

She swam the length of the pool, returned to where she entered, and lifted herself to sit on the edge of the pool.  I swam to where she was and joined her.  We sat side-by-side, naked.  Our shoulders touched.  The feel of her skin – even though it was just a shoulder – sent a jolt of excitement through me.  My penis began to rise.  I watched it, helpless to control that organ with its own mind, and it slowly lifted until it was pointing straight up.  We both watched it. 

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. 

“Nothing to be ashamed about.  It’s pretty natural for guys.  I’ll take it as a compliment,” she said, graciously.  Then she asked, “Where’s Diana?” the first time either of us mentioned my wife.

“She’s at her sister’s… across town.”

“Jan had to fly to San Diego,” she volunteered.  Was she telling me the coast was clear?  Did I want it to be?

“Would you want some help in getting that thing of yours under control?,” she asked, looking at my erection.  “I love to touch a man.  And Jan loves it when I touch him.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “That maybe isn’t a good idea.  I’m married.”  (I was always the responsible one, even as a child.  It’s a curse.)  Of course, it didn’t need to be said that we were both married. 

“You’re right,” she said.  “And it wouldn’t be right to do something behind our spouse’s back.”

If I thought her conscience had kicked in, I was wrong.  “We’ll need to involve them,” Beatrice said.  “For now, let’s sunbathe next to each other.  While I said I was familiar with guy parts, that doesn’t mean I don’t like to look.” 

And I love to look, too.  This was perfect. 

We lay side-by-side on her lounges, like Adam and Eve in the garden.  I feasted on the sight of her lovely body, her curves and the swell of her groin.  But after a while, my tumescence subsided.  I said I should get back home.  She leaned over and give me a gentle kiss on the cheek.  “Perhaps you and Diana can come over tonight.  We’ll have drinks, hit the pool, and then I was planning a surprise for Jan.  It’s his birthday tomorrow, and I baked a cake.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.  Can I bring something?” I asked.

She didn’t answer immediately, so I knew something was up.

“Well, actually, you can.  Diana.  Tell me, is she as comfortable with her body, as you are with yours?

It was a good question.  Diana and I had had a few adventures in our younger days.  Like the Valentine’s Day party at my fraternity house, that started tame but evolved.  Diana got drunk and she and most of the ladies were bare chested by the end.  But that was a long time ago. 

“Why?  What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Jan loves breasts.  Mine for sure, but, and don’t take this the wrong way, your wife’s too.  He’s taken with her and I often see him drooling over the way her breasts sway, when he thinks I don’t notice.  He’s a boob man.  I was planning a special treat for him.  I was going to serve the cake just wearing bikini bottoms.  Would Diana help serve?”

“How would she be dressed?” I asked, quickly understanding what was being asked.

“Well, I’ll leave that up to her.  Even if she wore a bikini top, I know Jan would love a closer look.”

I nodded.  Beatrice had said ‘We’ll need to involve them’; her devious mind wasn’t wasting any time. 

When Diana got home later, I recounted my afternoon with our neighbor, leaving a lot of details out, but mentioning her ease at being topless and her plans for serving the cake.

“Beatrice suggested you could help her serve the dessert,” I said.

Diana is not stupid.  “So, she’ll serve the cake topless?”

“Yes.”

“And she suggested I help serve?”

“Yes”

“What are you getting me into?” she asked.

“Absolutely nothing.  It’s up to you.  As we’ll be at the pool, you’ll be wearing swimwear.”

“But she’ll be naked.”

“Well, half-naked, but yes.”

 “He’s seen his wife’s breasts a lot.  I’m the new attraction.  I’m what he’ll want to look at.”

“Well, yes.  But Beatrice said he’d love a close look at your top, even with the bikini on.”

“Oh, that’s great.  He’ll be ogling my covered chest while his wife stands there naked.  That’s a recipe for domestic tranquility.”

“Half-naked,” I corrected again.

She punched my shoulder.  Hard.

“Ouch.  Don’t hit the messenger.  I’m just relaying what she told me.”

“What do you want to do?” Diana asked me.

Now that was a hard question.  In truth, I hoped Diana would jump at the suggestion that she’d be topless too.  I just didn’t have the cojones to ask.  [Spanish for balls, for those who don’t live near the border.]

I stammered an answer to her question.  “Well, I never want you to do something you’re not comfortable with, and I recognize that Europeans are much more free about their body than we Americans are, and we barely know these people other than as neighbors, and aside from that frat party, you’ve never done anything like that, and…”

“I’ll do it,” Diana said, half to get me to stop my fumbling monologue. 

She came close and pulled me in for a kiss.  “Let’s have some fun tonight,” she said.  I knew again why I’d married her.

I thought about arriving with Diana wrapped in a big bow (joke), but instead we got Jan a birthday card. 

It was a pleasant evening by the pool, the ladies dressed in bikini tops and bottoms (even Beatrice), us guys in bathing suits.  We ate appetizers and guzzled drinks.  (I told Beatrice to make Diana’s drinks extra strong, figuring that some liquid courage never hurt.) 

“Diana,” Beatrice announced, “would you come in the kitchen and help me with dessert.”

I knew that was the cue.  I began to get anxious.  Would Diana hold her nerve?  Jan and I chatted about something or other while the ladies got ready.

The overhead lights near the pool went out, and the two ladies approached carrying trays.  Both were topless.  Jan’s jaw dropped, and as predicted, his eyes focused on the new territory of my wife’s ample, grapefruit-sized breasts. 

Diana leaned forward to serve Jan, lowering the tray she was carrying to do so.  Her breasts moved with her motion, swaying in front of Jan’s face, a clear competitor to the cake.

“Wow,” he said.  “Is this for me?”

It wasn’t clear he was referring to the cake.  “This is the best birthday, ever,” Jan said.  His hand (accidently?) brushed against Diana’s hanging breast as he took a plate.  Diana, the good soldier she is, didn’t flinch. 

We all sat and ate the cake and ice cream.  Jan’s eyes never left the ladies.  I could see Diana was getting comfortable being bare breasted, as her shoulders relaxed as we chatted.  That’s the thing about nudity; it’s a big deal, until you do it, and then it isn’t. 

Beatrice moved the party forward.  “Let’s dip in the pool,” she said.  “And guys [she looked at Diana and me], did I mention that the pool is clothing optional?”  She pulled off her bikini bottom and dived in.  Jan stood, dropped his swim trunks and walked to the water.  Diana stared at his dangling uncircumcised penis, a look she was not familiar with.  Her hand involuntarily moved to her mouth.  She and I locked eyes.  I nodded to say it was ok. “Well, In for a dime, in for a dollar,” she said.  “I’m already half-naked.”  She slid her bottoms off and followed.  I suddenly was severely overdressed.  But not for long.

Four naked individuals frolicked in the pool, splashing one another, dunking below the surface.  The sexual tension that had built during the meal was finally released, and we reveled in the freedom of bare skin.  Jan grabbed Diana from behind in a bear hug, making sure to grope her breasts.  I gave Beatrice a ride on my shoulders, and I could feel her bountiful pubic hair tickling my neck.  Her hands rubbed down my face and it was as thrilling as if she were rubbing my thighs.

When we left the pool and dried off, each couple looked at his or her spouse.  Without words, small nods of the head said, yes, we’re going to do this, and it’s all right.  As I said earlier, it would be wrong to have sex behind your partner’s back.  But in front?  That’s another story.

Beatrice and I, and Jan and Diana, paired off.  Beatrice dragged me to the main bedroom.  Jan and Diana headed for the spare.  I didn’t see what was going on, but I’m not deaf.  The sound of love making filled the house.  Beatrice and I clung to each other as if this were the culmination of a long-planned rendezvous—and not the spontaneous coupling that it was.  My Diana is a screamer, and I knew that Jan was satisfying her.  I didn't have time to be jealous, as Beatrice was rubbing my erect penis and urging me into her.  She guided me to her opening, and pressed against my backside as I thrust inside.  There is no excitement like the feel, the sounds, the warmth, the touch, of a new lover.  We lay with each other quietly after each had climaxed. 

When the evening was over, Diana and I headed back to our house.  The night of sex both drained and stimulated us.  We clung to each other in bed.  I couldn’t do more … until the morning.  Then Diana and I had sex like we had when we first met: fevered, insatiable, grabbing and owning the body of the other. 

And Beatrice and Jan?  They didn’t come out of their house until noon.  Whereupon they invited us over.  Life is good.