Bad Girl, What Ya Gonna Do?

I Finally Saw My Wife Naked!

And I was shocked!

My wife was never seen undressed! Illustration with the help of Adobe Photoshop

I have a big confession: I never saw my wife naked during our ten years of marriage.

Oh, I’ve seen naked people before. Back in college, several nude models frequently posed for us students in one of my classes. I couldn’t understand why they were there since the teacher taught accounting.

My wife mentioned that she grew up in a cult that required everyone to be dressed and ready for the second coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. That might be the reason.

Or perhaps she was hiding something? I needed to uncover the truth.

She had just showered and ran into the bedroom wearing an oversized terry cloth robe. I crouched in front of the bedroom door and peeked through the keyhole. “So that’s what she looks like,” I muttered. “Not bad at all.”

That was when I noticed the large, colorful pattern on her back. I squinted and stepped closer to the door. It was a big male dog standing on its hind legs.

How did I know it was a male dog? He had a large, erect penis!

Wait a minute! That dog looked familiar. Then it hit me. And it hurt.

The door swooshed open and slammed into my face.

“What the hell are you doing spying on me?” she yelled, a towel wrapped tightly around her body.

“I never saw you without clothes on before,” I sputtered through the blood that was dripping down from my forehead into my mouth.

“You always change in the locked bathroom and wear pajamas to bed. We’ve been married for a decade! What are you hiding?” Angry was against my nature, but I began to press with my questions. Maybe it was the loss of blood or the adrenaline from the moment. Perhaps I was in shock at seeing a horny animal permanently inked on my wife’s body.

And then I just blurted it with all the finesse of an excited toddler. “You have a big horny dog tattoo on your back!”

My mind relived all the moments in our life when I should have noticed her noticeable back tattoo. Like at the beach, she insisted on wearing a full-length formal evening gown. “I’m sensitive to the sun,” she said. “Besides, I don’t have to change for tonight’s gala.” She smiled as if it all made sense.

Then, there was another moment when we stayed at a hotel in Mexico. It was a couples’ resort without any fancy dress events, and clothing was even optional within the compound.

“How about we go skinny dipping in the pool, honey?” I asked with a grin.

“Can I wear my Coca-Chanel cocktail dress? It’s sleeveless with a high-back design,” she asked.

“Isn’t that dry clean only?” I joked, but I somehow knew she wasn’t kidding. She began to act distant.

We stayed in the hotel room for the remainder of our vacation, ordered room service tacos, and watched telenovelas on TV. I didn’t understand a word of Spanish, and the tacos tasted inauthentic. I figured they were intentionally made bland for tourists.

We met online on a dating site for singles with fetishes. I liked feet, particularly toes. I had previously dated a podiatrist but ended it when she wouldn’t allow me to watch as she examined patients.

My now-wife said she liked dogs — a lot. Specifically, she preferred big dogs. I thought a big dog meant she wanted an alpha male in her life.
“I’ll be your big dog!” I texted her, and we began dating soon after.
I asked her to marry me when I noticed she liked wearing open-toe sandals everywhere.

I made her drop her towel in the hallway and face away from me. She was hesitant but went along with it.

I laughed when I saw the tattoo up close.

“It’s Scooby-Doo!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. “You have a huge tattoo of Scooby-Doo on your back, and he’s got an erection. And he’s smirking!”

That was a big tattoo on her back! Illustration by Dall-E and mE

I stared at her in astonishment. What wild exclamation could she possibly utter? She remained silent for a moment, and then tears began to flow down her face.

“I was very young when I met Scoobert at a party. We fell in love and agreed to get married.

Everyone from the gang would be there for the ceremony, including Fred, Daphne, Velma, and that no-good Shaggy Rogers, who was his best man. On the day of the wedding, he and his friends didn’t show up. I was yelling from the altar, “Scooby-Doo, where are you!” Scoob texted later to say the rest of the mystery crew convinced him he couldn’t settle down and was hitting the road to unmask monsters.

“So that explains why we have all those boxes of Scooby Snacks in the basement,” I replied, looking her in the eye. “I understand now, honey; that was hard to go through. At the same time, we’re never, ever getting any pets in the house.”

E Humor