Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Mardi Gras- Bold steps

I soon discovered in her journey that the big steps were always taken at Mardi Gras. It was as if no matter where we were in our lives, at Mardi Gras she could let go and do things she would never do, to let things spontaneously evolve thanks to the liquor and the thousands of others doing exactly the same thing.
So for those reading this who like to see their wives getting wild but she is a bit reluctant, I strongly recommend going to Mardi Gras and letting the other women she’ll run into there encourage her to go wild and crazy. I’ve seen my wife flash on a balcony and the girl beside her say, “I wish I could do that but I don’t have the nerve,” adding, “besides that I’m too small.”
And my wife instantly has ordered the girl two shots of tequila and before we left the balcony the shy girl was right in there flashing her breasts with the others.

Like I said, Mardi Gras is where she has taken her boldest steps in her hotwife/slutwife evolution.

After the year she had let the guys feel her up she decided rather than the brush approach from that first time she would opt for just airbrushed paint. (the photo of that is on this blog) (we didn’t realize until later that we had gone to a face painter and with her small brush was the reason my wife had sat topless on the open street while she was painted for so long).

So in a later year she was airbrush painted, and rather than wearing a vest was wearing only a layer of paint, and it was a rush for her. Guys were coming up wanting their photo taken with her, including a couple of black guys. I didn't notice at the time how into that she was, but it was the first indication of where we were going.
It was Mardi Gras so naturally we were drinking, and this year when I left to go to the restroom and came back she was dancing with another guy, wearing only paint from the waist up, and over the next half hour danced off and on with four or five different guys, including a young black guy. I was enjoying watching her. Before the night was over she went on stage for the dance contest, still just in paint. (another first) That evening might have ended differently had she not turned her ankle so badly that we could do nothing more than hop back to the hotel with one arm around my shoulder.

The memory of her going on that stage wearing nothing but paint, dancing with a succession of guys lining up to dance with her, and her obvious pleasure in doing did its own part of lessening my caution and jealousy and like a drug inducing me to want more of seeing the slut side of my wife emerge. As is often said in these wife forms, “Be careful what you wish for.”

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