To my loyal readers, first, thank you. I apologize for taking so long for submitting a new story. Second, you already know of my preoccupation with sexy clothes on women, especially my wife Paula. This is the story of how one thing led to another. In terms chronology, this story and the brief "Roadtrip' ones to follow take place before 'Dressed Like a Slut'. I guess if I were a better writer (or at least a better organized one) I would've published them in order.
To begin, I have to go way back to when Paula and I were first dating. As I recall, some kind of social, work-related event was upcoming. Probably one of those things held at a catering hall with a cocktail hour, dinner, dancing, desert - you know the drill. Everyone is expected to dress up and thankfully, most do. Sure, you may see a guy who two who barely make the effort but for the most part everyone looks nice, and especially the women. For the most part, nothing overtly sexual in this setting, but snug and form-fitting for those who can pull it off. (and for some who probably shouldn't)
Occasionally, the twenty-something date of one of the younger guys will really show off. Of course this elicits no end of complaints from the other women and no end of observations from most of the men.
"Did you see Kevin's date?"
"Just incredible."
"A wet-dream cum true."
"Youth is SO wasted on the young."
"They never looked like that when I was young."
"After looking at that all night, if Marsha doesn't put out, I'll have to take things into my own hands tonight."
"Hear that!"
I don't remember Paula complaining that she didn't have anything nice to wear but for reasons I cannot remember I bought her a new dress. Black, as even then I knew it to be her favorite color in attire and because I knew from past experience that black was a very popular color among attendees. Plus, it goes with everything everywhere. A beautiful red dress could work for a holiday party, but not as well at other times, so off to the mall I went in search of a dress.
Never having bought a dress before I was at a disadvantage. All I had was her size and a basic idea of what I'd like to see on her, so it was really pure luck that by the third store I found something that caught my eye. As it turns out it was a home run. It fit perfectly, was very flattering and showcased Paula's attributes without being overly flashy or trashy. I think after all these years she still owns it.
Now we never really did anything racy with that dress, and while my interest and appreciation for sexy attire was at least present then, it hadn't yet evolved into what would later become a bit of a fetish. That happened with what came to be known as the 'polka dot dress', a dress that became almost infamous with her and I.
I didn't buy the polka dot dress, so Paula must've gotten it on her own. I don't think it was a gift. The polka dot dress was essentially what you would call a 'little black dress' (which have their own reputation) but this one has small white polka dots all over it except for the straps. The appeal here, (at least for me) is that the dress is made from thin material, ends perhaps 3" above the knee and has an open back thus excluding the wearing of a bra with it. Now there are minimal cups sewn into the top but not enough to contain all impressions of erect nipples. There's nothing overtly too sexy or trashy about the dress. Paula could and would wear it occasionally when just the two of us went out, especially if I asked her to, but as I recall, she never wore it during family get-togethers, so I guess you could call it a 'going out' dress. It was wonderful to hold her when she wore it, feeling her warm body beneath the thin material. Nothing too crazy ever truly happened with that dress although it always stirred some degree of sexual hunger with us both. Sadly, I don't think she still has it.
I do remember one night: we were going out to dinner at Alfredo's, a local Italian restaurant, just the two of us. I asked her to wear it and she agreed. Then I upped the ante further and asked that she leave her panties home. She chafed at this, and the back and forth between us almost ruined the evening. I didn't think it was too much to ask of her but she felt strongly otherwise. Finally, and really after I had given up she called to me from the top of the stairs. I remember this so clearly: as I looked up, with her left hand she kept the front of the dress down but with her right hand she pulled the side hem of the dress up, almost to her ribcage, showing that she had indeed left her panties in the drawer.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." I murmured, running up and kissing her. I ran my hands up and down the back of the dress, reveling in the feeling of her bare bottom through the thin material.
