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He hadn’t met any women to speak of. He hadn’t been in any intimate situations whatsoever. Life had gone on and it had gone on without women in his life, or so he thought so. His project was about to commence in a week or so when, out of nowhere, he suddenly got a call on his cell phone. He answered it. “Ohhhhhhh hiiiii, how are you?” he said in a snappy tone of voice. “It’s good to hear from you too. What’ve you been doing lately?” he asked as he smiled. She told him nothing but asked if he wanted to go out on a date, to dinner, and only dinner. He said yes, they arranged a time and place, and that was what they did. No sex, just dinner only, and he found he had a really nice time doing only that. Yes, they talked, they laughed, but she found whenever she was around the young man that she burned for him and she burned badly for the sex. However, she knew she needed a lot more then that. It was not going to happen. Not that night it wasn’t and all she ascertained was that he was. The underwear, well panties, must be white, cotton. No bra, I paid dearly for that one mistake. Not that I need a bra, my perky tits stopped growing almost the day they started.There is now a goosebump chill as her right-hand cups against my mound like a handshake greeting. She always does a smooth test. It feels right despite the erring thought that lingers each time I lie in the bath and shave it within an inch of its life. It took some explaining.The case opened on the table for her to choose—an array of wonders to delight. The dark green curtains I closed on my arrival opened. It was a game.Today she dresses me. Not always. Sometimes, like a queen, she would sit on the bed and watch as I slowly, and deliberately parade my wears with whichever garments she chooses. I am the dumb mannequin. Black seamed stockings, black lace panties, shocking pink garter belt. Equally shocking pink five-inch razor heels adorn my feet, I feel twelve feet tall. A faux leather, pink of course, breast.
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