From Parisian to Passion

I paced up and down the floor. I hope to heck I am at the right mall. I was supposed to meet Jay here at, um, 3:00 p.m.

Five minutes later, I see him. I have seen him several times before, but in each of those times, he was on my computer screen, a three-inch pixilated image with what I imaged was an eight-inch dick.

"Hello, Mr. Right," I say to Jay, a play on words since his last name is different. But through my e-mail and instant messenger correspondence, he was Mr. Right to me.

"Sorry I am late," Jay responds.

I wonder if I look nervous. Did he say that because I look nervous?

"I just got here myself," I lied. I had been waiting, wondering for thirty nerve-wracking minutes and I hoped it did not show.

"I am ready," Jay said, almost eagerly.

"First stop: Parisian," was my reply, trying to be business-like and flippant, all with the same three words.

It was so strange shopping with this man – strange in many ways. First, we had just "met," but we knew lots about each other. You see, we had been communicating for quite such time. Sure, it started with sex-talk, but it turned into so much more. Perhaps that's why I agreed to meet this man. And he acted like a husband, pointing out which dresses would look good on me, complementing me, being present.

I tried on several dresses for Jay, and although I wiggled into them by myself in the dressing room, I wondered what he was thinking, if he was plotting. He is, after all, a guy.

We settled on a LBD – I actually owned one quite similar to this one. It was a six, fit me right, but he was trying to get me into a four. That would have been perfect if breathing was optional or I wanted to do anything but walk upright. And I know his wife sometimes wore a four, so it was easy on settling on the six.

Next stop was his choice, and like all men, showed his true colors: Victoria's Secret. But I have seen images of him masturbating on a towel; so really, I had seen his colors already.

We spent a lot of time in the store, and after he shooed away the saleslady, we went from area to area, with sexual comments peppering the air.

"I would love to take that off of you."

"This one looks like it was made to fit your luscious body."

"I bet I could lick you through these panties."

I knew he was starting his foreplay, and, well, it worked wonderfully well.

Whereas he was the perfect gentleman in Parisian, when I went in the dressing room with his selections, he followed. "They expect it here," was his excuse.

I brought in several things, but the only thing I tried on was a pair of lacy black panties. I put them over my panties to try them on, stepping into them without having to remove my summer dress. He wanted me to try them on without my cotton panties, and when I started to refuse, he indicated that he was to purchase them regardless, countering the argument I had already formulated in my head.

Normally, I just wear white cotton panties, but I knew that Jay would be seeing me. Well, I had hoped, anyway. So to surprise Jay, I had bought special Hello Kitty panties that were to surprise and delight him. I had wanted Barbie panties, but I could not find them – just wanted to play on the young and innocent theme so many of us thirty-somethings would like to relive.

I could slip them on without Jay seeing too terribly much, but he said that he needed to evaluate them – and when I lifted my dress up, he put his face right in front of my naughty parts, and my knees went weak when I could feel his breathe so close in such a public place.

I regained composure, took off the panties, put back on my Hello Kitty's and we were off to his place. Foreplay was wonderful, but we wanted to fuck.

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I seem to have gone on for more than my page with this one. Guess I will have to have a "part two". Sorry folks.