Out with Husband and a couple of friends tonight in
Manchester. We were all meeting up in one of our common haunts – The Moon Under
Water on Deansgate – and we got there at about 8 o'clock.
I was driving, which was a bit of a bummer in some ways
but it was well over due being my turn so it was difficult to complain really.
I was wearing cream wide leg trousers which sit quit low
on my hips and are made from lovely thin fabric. They don’t have a waistband as
such and zip up the side. They’re great to wear without knickers because
they’re not particularly tight fitting and are trousers that it I did have
knickers on it would be impossible for them not to be clearly visible. Also,
the comparative looseness of them means that I actually feel like I'm not wearing
underwear.
I don’t mean this to sound strange but I'm trying to
think of a way to explain what I mean when I say that it’s very easy to slip my
hand inside the trousers which is something I can’t resist doing when I wear
them. Not all the way in, that would be too weird, but just enough to remind
myself I'm not wearing knickers. In particular, I like to put my fingers just
inside at the back and move it round over the top of my buttock, sort of as if
I was tucking a shirt in I suppose. Also, I often try to discreetly put my hand
down the front sort of as if putting my hand in my jeans pocket – does that
make any sense – and feeling over my hip where knickers would be if I had any
on.
I wore them with open toe, high sandals.
The top I bought from Next is a knitted cardigan in a
sort of Channel type of style in a pinky colour with darker edging and brass
buttons. Not the type of top that can be left open but it feels nice to go
braless with.
I’d braved it and had gone out without a coat like I was
some sort of kid and was freezing on the walk from the car park up to the pub.
The top did nothing to hinder the movement of my boobs or my nipples showing
through. Mind you, the nipples didn't really surprise me because this top shows
even soft nipples, and they were like football studs from the second we got out
of the car.
A few nice glances as we made our way up to the pub and
when we got there a couple of the doormen said hello to me (I don’t know them
from Adam) while they were blatantly staring at my boobs failing to look me in
the eye even for a second. We moved through
all the people who gather by the doors over to the back and upstairs where we’d
arranged to meet the other two. My nipples were still raging when our friends
arrived about 10 minutes after us.
For most of the night, the person I caught looking at my
boobs most was Husband. Almost every time I looked at him I caught him.
