All men do it!
— So, you always stare at women's asses when you go up the stairs?
— Well, yeah. What's wrong with that? All guys do it!
— So my firm ass isn't enough for you anymore?
— No, it is. Why are you saying that, and how can you even compare? I can touch you, but here I can only look. Can you really judge someone for just a glance?
— You're such a jerk! You walk next to your wife and shamelessly stare at the fat ass of the girl walking in front! And you even get offended that I judge you for it!
— Honey, quieter, we're in an institution! And it's not fat at all, it's just right.
— Oh sure, I guess my ass doesn't satisfy you anymore,
you don't look at me like that!
— Listen, darling, how can I look at you if you're walking right next to me? If you were walking five steps ahead, then maybe...
— When I'm walking five steps ahead, I won't be your wife anymore!
— ...but then you could delight some guy walking behind us with your firm ass (she even turned around for a second to check if there really was some guy staring at her buttocks with hungry eyes).
— You know what, and you say that so calmly?
— All guys do it, everyone likes looking at beautiful girls, especially sexy ones!
— You're such a dog! I didn't know you were like this!
— What are you even talking about? You are my beloved woman, my wife, I am filled with love, tenderness, and fidelity for you. But what's wrong with me glancing at a beautiful girl passing by? After all, she's also pleased that her beauty didn't go unnoticed, and I like looking at beautiful things! I love paintings, fountains, nature, our city. I admire all that because it's beautiful! What's wrong if, besides that, I admire the beauty of a passing woman for a few seconds?
— No, of course you're right, there's nothing wrong with that, but these are DIFFERENT things!
— Of course they're different, but united by a single principle—beauty! You see, it's like loving both bread and sausage at the same time... or theater and opera... or, for example, I like both detective stories and comedies... I shouldn't have to choose only one of my interests!
— Comedies, you say? I'll arrange a melodrama with a lethal outcome for you at home! Go take your place in line for now, I need to use the restroom!
Taking my place as the eighth person in line, I leaned against the wall and was left alone with my thoughts. That's how it always is, all arguments with my wife lead to nothing good! You try to be honest, convey your opinion, your point of view to her, and it turns out you're left holding the bag with your truth.
A pretty girl walked by and I was distracted from my thoughts for a moment. Petite, dark-haired, with cute dimples on her cheeks and bright lipstick that suited her face and chosen style very well. I even thought that as she passed, she smiled at me, and I followed her with my gaze, turning to watch her go.
"That's it," I continued my thoughts, "just a beautiful girl I liked. What's bad about me looking at her? Should I turn away, glue my eyes shut, or put on a welder's mask through which you can't see a damn thing?"
— Are you last in line? — came a voice from behind.
— So, what do you have today? A comedy or a detective? Oh! I see a whole action-packed thriller with an erotic twist here! So maybe I should go? Not ruin the plot's sharpness?
The blonde looked at us uncomprehendingly for a while, but then her mobile rang and she stepped aside to answer.
— The girl just got in line behind us. Why are you getting so worked up?
— Because in an equation where there's "you" and "girl," the word "just" doesn't fit at all. Nothing with girls is ever "just" for you.
— I don't have anything with them at all, — I got offended, and sitting down in the freed-up seat, stared at my palms so as not to provoke either my wife or myself any further.
I admit, it didn't last long. First, the ringing click of stiletto heels was heard in the corridor, becoming clearer as they approached, then a sweet voice joined the line for our office, and finally, the owner of the heels stood right across from me, filling the space around with the scent of pleasant perfume. I carefully shifted my gaze from my palms to the floor until I reached the pointed toes of neat black boots. Throwing a quick glance at my wife (she was sitting at the opposite end of the bench, staring at her smartphone), I continued studying the newly arrived stranger, slowly raising my gaze along her slender legs. I deliberately took my time, enjoying stretching out the procedure. The leather boots tightly hugged her calves and ended below the knees, and beyond that were the most slender, shapely legs I had ever seen, their beauty accentuated by black semi-transparent nylon tights (in winter, tights for a man are like a red rag to a bull!). My studying (lustful) gaze slid higher, rising along her firm thighs (and the dress still hadn't begun) until it hit the lower edge of a red coat, under which those shapely legs, with all their accompanying charms, were hidden. I even mentally whistled; the coat was very short, meaning the dress underneath was even shorter (or maybe there wasn't one at all...)! Hmm, what I saw even woke up my dick in my pants, and it wanted to perk up, but recent squabbles with my wife didn't allow it, so I quickly dismissed all my observations (thoughts and fantasies) and even looked away, not daring to continue observing so as not to worsen my relationship with my spouse even more!
— Well, those legs are nowhere near as good as mine, — she suddenly purred right next to me, and I hadn't noticed when my wife had managed to sit closer to me.
— They're ordinary, like everyone else's, yours are no worse, — I muttered unconvincingly.
— No, I saw you managed to check them out, you even opened your mouth, I'm surprised drool didn't drip!
— Okay! — I decided to go on the offensive again, speaking in a half-voice, — yes, indeed, the girl has very beautiful legs, she knows it, she's proud of it, and she dresses like that on purpose to demonstrate her beauty to others. She's happy to show, and we—men—are happy to look, and in the end, everyone is happy!
— Yeah, everyone except me... and other wives whose husbands stare at chicks in short skirts and have the audacity to compare it to going to an art gallery!
— Okay, darling, but then explain to me, why do you—women—wear short skirts, tight jeans, deep necklines? Isn't it to demonstrate your beauty to men? And to all the men you come across, not just one single, beloved one! Why do you personally do that, explain to me, what are your motives?
— I dress fashionably, and first and foremost, I want to look beautiful for myself, should I walk around like a slob? — my wife tried to justify herself, but I was already on a roll and didn't intend to give in!
— Oh, fashionably? Oh, for yourself? In -15°C frost, you run around in a short skirt and nylon tights, just paying tribute to fashion? You suffer in tall, beautiful, but uncomfortable heels, and in the evening you struggle with swollen feet, also for fashion's sake? And all these sacrifices are only for your beloved self? And you—women—invented fashion exclusively for yourselves?
— How naive you are. For you too! I want to please you, I want to look fashionable, beautiful, sexy. I want you to be proud of your beautiful wife!
— Hmm, — I put on a thoughtful look, — that sounds extremely convincing, of course... if it weren't for one thing! So, you say it's for me, so I'd be proud?
— Well, yes! Of course!
— But it's just interesting, how exactly do you demonstrate your beauty to me? In the morning, when you're just going to the shower, I'm already leaving for work; in the evening, when I return from work, you're already fluttering around the house in a robe and slippers; we don't cross paths at work at all, since we work in different parts of the city! Only sometimes on weekends we go somewhere together, and even that's not often! But then what's all this for on other days? For whom? How, my dear, do you demonstrate your beauty, your sexuality to me? Maybe do the opposite? Go to work in jeans or your favorite tracksuit, and in the evening, by the time I arrive, dress up in a short, tight dress, nylon stockings, and definitely high heels. And don't forget makeup and a beautiful hairstyle! Then it would really be for me, and only for me alone!
My wife wanted to object, but I didn't let her, passionately continuing my speech:
— You say it's all so I'd be proud! Undoubtedly, I am very proud that my wife is a beauty, that you dress beautifully, fashionably, and sexily! Even if I don't witness it often, I know it! So, we put pride in you on one side of the scale, but what do we put on the other side?
She looked at me uncomprehendingly, blinking her long, beautiful eyelashes, and I continued:
— But what about all the other witnesses to your beauty? I mean the men who daily stare at your slender legs under a short skirt, at your open summer blouses, at your appetizing ass, which you especially emphasize with tight clothing in that area!
I know they notice you, I know they pay attention! Because you are BRIGHT! And it's very hard not to notice something bright! It seems like I should be jealous and outraged by this! But then how can I be proud of my sexy, beautiful wife? If I'm supposed to be happy that other men pay attention to you, and sort of be proud of you in front of them, then I don't see understanding from your side, but even condemnation! Like, how could you think that other men look at me! That's out of the question! If that were the case, I would never dress like that!
— What do you want from me?
— To draw a conclusion! If you dress to emphasize your beauty and (possibly unintentionally, but definitely, knowingly) demonstrate it to other men, then why can't I turn my attention to the beauty of other women who, just like you, simply want to look beautiful and sexy in the eyes of others!
— Fine, do whatever you want! And look wherever you want! I'm sick of it already! — my wife got really offended.
And on one hand, I seemed to be celebrating a triumph, but on the other, I felt sorry for her! Women really don't like to lose! But I'm also right in my own way, aren't I saying everything correctly, huh, guys?
Meanwhile, our turn came and we both went into the office. We were received by a pretty middle-aged woman, according to her badge, Maria Antonovna. While my wife explained the essence of the property matter we came about, I (true to habit) gave our consultant an appraising look. Her face still retained its original beauty, but the first signs of age had already touched it, with wrinkles visible here and there around the eyes and lips. There was minimal makeup, thick chestnut curls cascaded over her shoulders, large light brown eyes followed my wife's conversation with interest, and her lips smiled quite naturally and sincerely. The lady was full-figured but not fat; under a loose light sweater, a firm bust was discernible, no smaller than a size 4. I didn't look under the table, but I was firmly convinced that such a beauty must definitely be wearing a skirt and heels. My guesses were confirmed when, after the conversation ended, Maria Antonovna got up from the table and saw us to the door. She was wearing a black skirt just above the knee and low half-boots that barely covered her ankles. Her movements and gait were graceful, adding charm to her not-so-slim figure. In general, I think I stared at her for a couple of seconds longer than I should have, which did not escape my observant spouse.
As soon as we left the office and moved away from the line, a new wave of criticism fell upon me, even though she spoke calmly and measuredly:
— Okay, MAYBE I can understand when you look at beautiful young sexy girls. But that old woman! What did you find in her? What beauty? Slenderness? Or are you into grannies now? I'm in shock! You looked at her as if you were licking her with your eyes!
— Quiet, quiet! Stop, darling! Calm down! What old woman? She's not much older than me, she's not even forty yet, looks about 35-37.
— Did you see what wrinkles she has? And the bags under her eyes? And her hair is dyed, probably hides gray hair every month. And she's fat anyway! What were you looking at? I don't understand! Where is the world heading!
— Well, no offense meant, we all change with age, you won't always be young either, let's see in about 9 years where and what wrinkles you'll have, and when gray hair starts. So don't deny the inevitable. And she's not fat at all, again, your friend Lenka was a skinny thing, but what did she become after giving birth? That's the point! And this lady, she's in her prime right now, at the peak of her strength! As the great Omar Khayyam said, a woman is as sweet as an overripe plum!
— Liar! Omar Khayyam never said anything like that! I wrote my thesis on him, by the way!
— Well, I was just speaking figuratively!
— So, we still need to go to room 410, but this time I'll go alone, because I'm sick of watching you undress old women with hungry eyes! You must really not have enough of me! — my wife got offended again.
I hung my head dejectedly and trudged after her. There was no line at the office, so she turned around quickly, blurting out with a smile:
— Well, that's it, documents submitted, half the job is done! By the way, you could have come in with me, there was a man there. Important-looking, in a jacket, such serious brown eyes, and his shirt collar was unbuttoned, and you could see chest hair from there!
My wife looked at me with shining eyes, squinting them vengefully.
— Will you claim that this guy with the hairy chest under his shirt wasn't staring at your ass and short skirt when you walked out of the office? — I parried.
— Of course he was staring! After all, all guys do it, you said so yourself! When I walked out, I deliberately swayed my hips, his gaze burned right through my clothes!
— Well, since we've found some common ground, let's go home!
— NO WAY! — my wife answered coldly, instantly changing her mood. — You won't get any common ground from me! Think you've brainwashed me? You explain to me, why do you need all this? It was all different before, where did it all go? I think you don't love me anymore! Since you're ogling all sorts of fat women! I'm like a fool going to the gym, the pool, the cosmetologist, and you don't care about any of it!
— Darling, calm down!
— Don't calm me down! Go stare at short skirts! Just don