A quick, mild bra story
When I was perhaps thirty, the single guy in the house next door to me had a sister that I’d met a couple of times. She was probably in her forties, very pretty, a tall slender woman with short hair. (For you old timers, she sort of reminded me of Judy Garland in her later years.) I think she was divorced then.
One warm early-summer Sunday I looked out my back window, and saw the sister with a female friend in the back yard next door. Apparently the guy wasn’t home and they were waiting for him or something, and decided to catch some rays. So the two of them were sitting in lawn chairs in back, and the sister had taken off her top and was sunning herself in just shorts and a thin white bra. Not the sexiest garment, but such a small piece of fabric on her long otherwise-topless frame.
As I recall my wife wasn’t home, so I was able to stare/peek out the window and watch her for a while. At first I wasn’t positive that she wasn’t wearing a white bikini top, but eventually I was sure it was her bra. After a while she put her top back on and they went inside. The neighbor on the other side might have been able to see her back, but I would have been the only neighbor that could see her front. I wondered if she didn’t know I was home, or didn’t care, or (in my dreams) she was hoping for me to see her.
Is underwear the same as a bikini? Not to me, but I’m okay with women thinking or pretending that it is.
|