THIS POST CONTAINS ADULT THEMES – YOU’VE BEEN WARNED
My friend Lou over at Crowded Head, Cozy Bed recently explored cross-dressing. It’s a great post and it even has pictures. I made a comment or two on the post and Lou offered to let me borrow his little red dress.
While I won’t take him up on the offer (I know where the dress has been) it sparked an incredibly hot memory with my redhead. And I’m nice enough to share the PG-13 version.
One of the things I enjoy is taking time to savor my redhead in some hot outfit while she cooks me a delicious meal, then we eat by candlelight and possibly watch a movie. By the time we move on to adult activities things have gotten pretty steamy.
When the boys were tots, we taught them to go to bed early and that gave us a pretty high level of privacy. When they got a little older we would tell them to stay in the upstairs den, mommy and daddy are going to have a date. That worked until they were around 12 or 13, but then it was tough to get privacy between the boys and their friends were all over the house.
I hadn’t had an indecent meal in months.
Imagine my delight when my folks offered to trade houses for our anniversary weekend. They would stay with the kids, we would get their house.
It was perfect.
So we drive the two hours to Hixson, get the key from under the mat and take in all our stuff for the weekend.
“What do you want for dinner?” She asked it with a seductive inflection. I gave her a reply that I won’t repeat here. “Be serious, I want to cook for you.”
We decided on surf and turf, and got back into the Corolla, headed for Krogers.
In eastern Kentucky you had two choices for shopping: Dollar General type of stores and Wal-Mart. Even though I was anxious to get back to the house and find out what my redhead had packed for me, when she saw a Target she wanted to take a look. I started to complain until she said, “I’ll bet they have lingerie—maybe you can pick something out for me?”
I folded like cheap cardboard in the rain. (Though parts of me seemed to be getting surprisingly rigid.)
We went in and she meandered around, refusing to approach the lingerie section. Just to tease me she would stop frequently at every little knick knack, examine it for a moment then replace it.
“What are you looking for?” There was desperation in my voice.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just wanted to see what they have.” She was quickly becoming the evil seductress of both my dreams and my nightmares. Get to the damn lingerie woman!
Finally, after an eternity of knick-knacking, she spots a “bargain bin.” After many years as a pastor bargain bins become addictive. She saunters over to a cardboard bin filled with 25 cent discontinued deodorants, 50 cent bags of potpourri, $1 universal remotes and 75 cent scented hand sanitizers. Obviously banana scent was not the big seller Target had hoped.
As she pushed around the orphaned products, she spotted something red, swimming deep in the bargain bin almost invisible. She dug it out. It looked like a handful of red fabric. Kinda shiny red. She pulled it out and shook it to full size.
It was a dress. A tiny red dress. A tight fitting, tiny deep red dress.
“I can’t believe this is in here. Want me to get it?” She asked coyly rubbing the dress material against her own cheek then mine. It felt like sex.
“Uh…well…I…uh…” She took that as a yes. It had a tag marking it down from $19.95 to $7.00.
“Don’t you think this would look sexy over the black body stocking I brought?” I was trying to think of baseball stats or anything expect what she was going to look like—I still had to pay and get to the house.
“Well then, I’ve got everything I need. You good?” She was enjoying teasing me way too much.
We got back to the house in record time. I closed and made sure the door was securely locked behind us. I didn’t want any neighbors barging in wondering what all the moaning was about.
“Take the groceries and put in the potatoes at 400 while I slip into something less comfortable but more interesting.”
I got the potatoes started then planted myself in a chair where I could see her when she came out of the bedroom. I was fidgeting like a nervous grammar schooler sitting outside the principle’s office.
It was taking an eternity. I got up, sneaking over the squeaky board in the floor and tried the bedroom door. Damn, locked.
I knocked. “Can I come in?”
“You just wait out there mister. I’m not ready yet.”
I went back, pouting, and planted myself in my kitchen chair.
After an eternity, the door opened and it was like slow motion as she entered my field of view.
For the guys: You know that fantasy? The one where you see the woman who is your walking wet dream? That was this moment.
The dress was painted on. It was short—and my redhead has awesome legs. She slightly exaggerated the sway of her perfect hips and it was heaven. Her breasts were barely contained by the low neck and I caught hints of the body stocking at the edges.
Somehow the contrast between the red of the dress and the black nylon of the body stocking culminating in impossibly high heeled black pumps was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. Somehow she walked with a smooth grace.
I smelled her as she walked close and seductively touched my shoulder, walking past me toward the stove. I turned to watch her and noted the outline of the thong high on her hips. I loved looking at her in a thong.
I don’t remember how the steak smelled as she cooked it or how it tasted. She was all of my senses that night. She consumed me. I kept trying to hold her, nuzzle her, feel her as she cooked but she shooed me away. “Not until after dinner.”
What makes a smell erotic? Seductive? All I know is her smell was captivating. It held me fast. I knew what she had done—she had sprayed her perfume in her long, curly hair. She knew I liked her perfume to be almost overwhelming.
I wondered where else she had placed her scent.
While I remember every detail of that night, I am going to keep those private. Lets just say we ate, we loved, we loved some more, we slept, we loved some more.
The important detail I am going to share is this: When we got to the bedroom I pulled off her dress and threw it aside.
Flash forward to the night we arrived home.
As we were unpacking I made a comment about the dress and how I couldn’t wait to see her in it again.
She had a perplexed look on her face. “Funny, it doesn’t seem to be in the suitcase. Is it in the car?”
I wave of horror washed over me as I thought we had lost the dress. I ran out to the car, went through every zippered pocket and hidden compartment in the suitcases and still no dress.
After 24 hours of looking—and trust me, I looked hard—the only conclusion I could come to was we left it at my parent’s house.
It’s not like my parents don’t think we have sex, but I don’t give them any details. But I needed that dress. I mean, I NEEDED that dress. My lust overcame my embarrassment.
I called: “Mom, we think we left a dress in the guest bedroom. Can you check for me?”
She was insistent. “Kevin I’ve been in that room several times and there isn’t any dress in there.”
“Um, this dress is very small. It’s probably stuck under or behind something. It’s red.”
She laid down the phone. When she returned a minute later her tone was suddenly more formal. Kinda like the time she walked in on me as a teenager.
“Yes, I found the, um, ‘dress’.”
Now at this point I had to make a choice. Should I say “we’ll get it next time we come down” or “yeah, can you mail it to us?” I chose the latter.
“Could you overnight it?” I was becoming shameless.
It arrived the next day.
So that’s the story of the red dress. PG-13 version. Now I need to go get a dress out of my redhead’s closet then find my redhead.
I’ve joined Full Tilt Blogging–and if you want to have more fun, make more friends and even make money blogging, you need to check this out. (Click the book for details…)
When you first get married you think you’re good in the sack. You both do.
