Jessica's Old Prom Dress

To be perfectly honest, I was just too young and immature to be in a marriage. Too youthful to be cooped up at home, too drawn toward experimenting to cut off all my social life so abruptly. The terrible isolation you experience when you graduate and move in with someone gets crushingly boring.

It got me into trouble.

One night ten years ago I was going through a phase and my husband Jason was on a business trip. It was incredibly late, somewhere around 1 a.m., and I was younger and dumber then. Naive. Hormonal. Still with a disproportionate need for attention. Today I know better, and to this day I feel so stupid about the whole thing.

Jason texted me that he might have to stay a few additional days on his trip and it made me feel lonelier. He wasn't absolutely sure but he was already gone the entire week and I had no one to talk to.

Night before Jason was returning I had our crummy rental house to myself and I was bored and horny, so I looked up dirty ads on craigslist to masturbate to. One of them caught my eye since the person had just posted and was awake this late, so I wrote to them just to feel the edge. It wasn't my first time doing this, it just helped me get off on a rare occasion. Human contact. Sometimes I'd roleplay and pretend to be a hooker a guy wanted. Other times I'd pretend to be whatever they wanted, teasing them.

But overall, I was just fantasizing that this was real, that I was going to hook up with a stranger, so I got hornier as I kept at it.

We exchanged several dozen emails, flirting and avoiding specifics. Teasing him made me smile, and it was just a fantasy. I would have never done it - it was basically cybering with perverts. But as the hour went by he was still patient to email back and forth and not pushy even though I was obviously stalling until I came and flaked out like usual. It was like 2 a.m. by that point. Most guys would've walked away by now as this turned into slow motion chat for me.

Then he surprised me. He asked if I had any dirty outfits and all I could think of was my old prom dress and some thigh highs, so I replied with a sly "yeahhh..." When he asked if I was wearing it right then, I wasn't, but then I don't know why - I guess I was that horny - it came to me that I should try to put it on before replying, so I did.

Our place was dumpy, and we didn't get around to getting much furniture just yet. Living on one starter income was tough. All I had was a small plastic dresser from Walmart where I kept my clean undergarments and a small closet messily filled to the top. Skipping a bra, I stepped into a faded red nylon thong my husband liked and then examined my drawer. It had been years since I wore any hosiery. The struggle putting on a cheap pair of black thigh highs reminded me why. The frayed bands smelled rubbery and I thought it was time to throw them away after tonight. My dress was hidden in a trash bag where I kept my old clothes, neatly folded in a forgotten stack from several moves ago.

It was a short dark-red intarsia dress with subtle layers of crocheted lace. To my mild surprise, it wasn't creased.

Putting it on made me realize that I was a pinch thinner six years ago, even though I was still pretty thin. Luckily the dress was stretchy, and it hugged all my curves somewhat obscenely. Tops of my thigh highs nearly showed. Since I didn't have any hooker shoes, I figured my white cork wedges would do nicely since they were tall and laced up almost halfway to my calves. They matched my hair. The laces were these playfully long pink ribbons and after a few loops they matched the outfit well.

Jesus, I was now dressed up like a teenage slut.

The cherry on top was putting on my black lacy gloves and it was as if I was eighteen again, pushing the boundary of what I was allowed to wear. The tanzanite wedding ring ended up in my jewelry box. Walking back to the computer I felt my tits swing forcefully sideways at each step and it made me giggle because things had definitely changed over those years. The dress alone wasn't up to the task of containing them.

Was this a dirty outfit? I don't know, but I wanted to wear it when I replied with a single "yes," so I knew how it felt to do that. Last time I wore the outfit, it turned heads. It wasn't en vogue anymore, design having borrowed some oriental elements of the day, but it still looked cute on me. It was expensive when I bought it, so I kept it, and I missed the attention it received. I was still young and beautiful, wasn't I?

The weight of sending that single "yes" hit me in the stomach.

Pursuit of that nasty hookup fantasy in my head was so erotic. It put me one step closer from fantasy to reality and I nearly tore my clit off waiting for a reply. My legs propped up on the coffee table, I sat back on the couch and watched my gloved finger slide over my clit as I rubbed myself through the thong.

He wanted to know what the outfit was like and I spelled it out in details, typing slowly and playing with my pussy, occasionally using the bottom of the thong as an anchor to stimulate both my clit and ass. I was going to just finish and go to sleep, but then his reply made blood rush to my head and I couldn't stop rubbing myself. The thong got pushed aside. By random chance, he was practically just around the corner. That fact just drove me nuts and I stopped breathing trying to get off and all he asked was "can I see?" and Jesus, that right there nailed me.

Without thinking I started a race between my left and right hands and whichever one would win I didn't know at the time. My brain was shutting down, one hand was furiously rubbing my clit trying to cum and the other one was typing "yes" in slow motion and I ran out of letters to type and I wasn't done yet so I bit my lip and typed my address in slowly, one key every few seconds spaced by me frigging myself, and I held my breath in spurts because it felt more intense masturbating like that. Every few keystrokes I'd lick my gloved fingers to make it slicker and get back to work.

Just like the few other times I did this I knew I was going to erase it, but each letter made the edge bleed over from fantasy to reality. Each key press was an audible punctuation to danger. The simulated risk got me so close to cumming. Pretending I was going to do it was so nasty, it was exciting. Like standing over the edge of a tall building and imagining jumping off, my heart racing.

It felt as if I needed to send a reply of any kind or I had to orgasm first. Modeling a slutty outfit for someone sounded so dirty. The thong wedged in my ass and I could feel it rub pleasantly as I squirmed around on the couch. It was entirely soaked through in the front. What kind of a girl would do this sort of thing?

And then I didn't orgasm.

Instead, my fingers crawled to CTRL and ENTER out of muscle memory and sent the email.

"Fuck!" I screamed. Panicking, I instantly realized how badly I fucked up.

My heart was racing so fast because I knew I didn't just fuck up then, I went way beyond that. Reviewing the action, I figured I just got overwhelmed by horniness and came to my senses a split second too late. It wasn't my fingers' fault, it was mine.

Now that I went overboard, it was time to undo the damage.

Standing up unsteadily on my tall wedges I got a blood rush and couldn't walk straight. The first thing I did was change back into jeans and a T-shirt and throw that revolting outfit back in the garbage bag it came out of, this time messily unfolded. As I was doing that, I freaked out some more and questioned the sanity of my priorities. What the hell did I just do?

Cancelling the invite was more complicated for some reason. Wanting to hurry, I couldn't phrase it right, like, "just kidding", or "that's not my real address." It was taking me forever to form thoughts and I didn't know how to properly say what I wanted to. Sickening minutes went by without me replying, and the computer beeped so I got up to plug the laptop charger in.

Figuring I wouldn't come up with a good response fast enough, I decided my backup plan was to pretend it was a prank all along, with a false address. It gave me time to think. I shut off all the lights and locked the door so it didn't seem anyone was at home. When I got back to my laptop to write a response to cancel the whole thing, I realized it was already too late. He was on his way and I felt nauseated.

My jaw dropped, and I felt completely out of it. Burying my head in my hands I nursed that creepy, sick feeling in my stomach and rocked back and forth slightly. This couldn't be happening. What did I just do? And then I realized I was really wet and the sick feeling just slowly shifted downward and I was horny again and my hands were shaking. I reached inside my jeans and realized my clit was painfully swollen. Selfishly, I gave it a few stirs and then kept going.

Hide. Yes, that was my plan. It'd be alright after all.

It soon got awkward because it was almost 3 a.m. when I heard a work truck noisily backing up. Peeking out the window, it was the kind that beeped with a small crane on it. He was waking up the entire neighborhood and I wanted the Earth to crack open and swallow me. This guy was parking on the wrong side of the street, next to our landlord, and I was too busy playing with myself to do anything about it.

We lived in the middle of a short street that cut across a long U-shaped road and our passive-aggressive neighbors living there didn't want people cutting through the short road, so they blocked it off with a tall padlocked fence no one had keys to. It threw off every delivery service and GPS unit in the world. And this guy was on the wrong side of it.

To avert catastrophe I needed to do something right away but my sense of priorities got completely screwed up in my head. Between the need to hide and the need to avoid the landlord questioning my husband about a service truck, the latter won. Feeling stupid, I went outside and stood on my tippy-toes by the gate and waved him around the barrier. He got the hint and I went back inside, leaving the porch lights off.

Illogically, I didn't want to lie about what I was wearing, and he was obviously here. Thinking myself insane, I put the slutty outfit back on in a hurry. My tits were still swinging sideways far too noticeably for comfort as I walked. Did I have enough time to put a bra on? No.

While he drove around the long way I took the time to put on a splash of perfume and red lipstick to match my dress. Without at least some makeup I felt naked. My ponytail got untied next and I brushed my hair straight. Suddenly I felt deeply sick to my stomach because I realized how easily I fell into a familiar routine of getting ready. Ready for what? But I couldn't think to do anything else at this point because he knocked on the front door.

"Are you Jess?" he asked after I opened it.

Illuminated by the dim lights coming from the kitchen, he was taller by two heads and fat. Easily three times my age then. Bridge inspector working nights, still in his labeled coveralls, which is apparently why he was still up awake and lurking nearby in that truck.

"Uh, I go by Jessica. Yeah that's me" I replied.

"I'm Mark."

He stared wolfishly at my tits shaking around as I opened the door and then stood aside to let him in. Once our positions reversed, I closed the door quickly. Now what? By this point I was entirely flying by the seat of my proverbial pants. I decided to walk to the middle of the room to put some distance between us and felt his eyes bore through my body.

"So what we doin'?" he asked.

"Umm, not sure yet," I replied sheepishly.

Feeling a little scared I couldn't get myself to say a damned word after that. Truth be told, I really did not want to talk about anything. This was a complete stranger. What if he mugged me? We didn't really settle on promising to do anything, all he asked was whether could he see me dressed up dirty. But he could blackmail me. What if he showed up another day and told someone? Showed them my recognizably worded emails? It was terrifying. What was I thinking?!

I opened my mouth to tell him he was at the wrong house, but my slutty outfit that I so vividly described to him proved me otherwise, so I shut it. Whatever possessed me to put it on a second time? Or guide him where to park? Or give him my real name? I checked the living room windows and made sure the shutters were tightly closed and then asked myself why I did that. Suppose I didn't want the nosy landlord to see anything and draw the wrong conclusion, but I felt so unprepared for the situation.

"Goddamn, that IS dirty," he said and stared at me just as I finished the last window. Reaching behind the couch was the lone exception but I made a mental note not to bend over so much. Dear god, what had I done? He was a blue-collar worker.

"Turn around and show me your outfit, Jess" he asked.

"Jessica. I go by Jessica," I repeated myself. Things were already starting out on the wrong foot.

Besides the point, that's not what I wanted to do at all. I wanted him gone. This was just an accidental invite, like dialing a wrong number. It just went too far. As soon as I formulated a good response I was going to tell him as much. But right then I was too nervous to confront reality just yet. He intimidated me physically, being so large. Running out of ideas as to what to say or do next and stalling for time I did like he suggested, putting my hands on my hips and spinning around to show him all the angles. How the fuck did modeling work anyway?

He unapologetically grabbed his crotch through his pants and adjusted it as I watched incredulously, frowning.

"Damn, you're a little hottie," he complimented me ham-fistedly.

Mind still blank and racing, I went into the kitchen to calm my nerves, feeling my thong rubbing my pussy with each step. He followed me. As soon as he left, I'd take care of myself. As I was pouring a previously used shot glass with Cutty Sark I realized it was rude not to offer him one too, so I reached up for another from an upper cabinet and then felt him groping me from behind. I didn't like it one bit. He immediately discovered I wasn't wearing a bra. His hand was unwanted, as was his hardon pressing into my ass through his pants.

"Watch the hands hon," I told him and closed the cabinet.

Normally being groped unwantedly was considered an assault but I didn't scream at him. Not doing that was my second major fuckup of the night. In that moment I wondered if that was cheating on my husband. When did cheating start anyway? When the thought occurred to troll craigslist? When I fantasized about hooking up with other guys? When I dressed up slutty for this guy? Or when his hands touched me? Or when I didn't react? So many unresolved questions. I was a mess.

"Sorry Jess," he apologized.

"Jessica," I was always adamant about my name.

Sure, this meeting was a royal fuckup, but being touched was never a part of any deal and more to the point it felt really creepy. He initially wrote he just wanted to see if anyone was up to anything, albeit written a bit more dirtily in the ad. And I replied that I had some porn in the bedroom, on a wall projector, but not much else. It was all supposed to be largely innocent. Implication was that we could watch some together, that's all. That is, until I described how I dressed up like a little teenage whore and he wanted to see.

Was I leading him on?

Buying time to think, I sent him to our bedroom to wait and then stood there wondering what I should do next. Looking at the dirty dishes, I felt I should have washed those instead of getting on the internet earlier. Maybe I should have applied to a few more jobs. Work made me feel less lonely. But now, - now maybe I could just flat-out tell him I made a mistake. So, I drank one of the horrid shots and as the cheap liquor burned far down my throat I thought my husband had no sense of taste whatsoever. It tasted like regret. I refilled it and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind me to keep the pets out. How could I get out of this?

Jesus Christ, he was already naked on our bed. Just like that.

He had a huge belly and a long nasty scar over it and a big ol' hairy dick sticking halfway up in the air. My eyes got glued to it, I stared and stared and couldn't believe it all got this far so quickly. We technically only had a thick pillow-top mattress resting on the ground, so I had to get down on the mattress to give him a shot, on my knees. My tits bounced out of position and my dress rode up and tops of my thigh highs became visible as I kneeled. I don't know why I brought him a drink to begin with, I was the one who was nervous, but it seemed polite to offer him one too. He smelled like motor oil.

He sat up and just casually tossed his shot back, threw it on the floor and started stroking his cock with his left hand. Instead of drinking mine, I watched him beat his meat in complete horror. It was the nastiest thing I'd ever seen in the world. He was so ugly and so old and so erect.

Without a warning he just reached between my legs with his right hand and started rubbing me and I became instantly frozen, gasping in surprise. It felt like as if I jumped into a cold pool. He wasn't supposed to be naked. And he shouldn't have been touching me. Did he forget I told him to watch his hands? I could not believe this happened.

"Oh," I uttered loudly in a complete disorientation, mouth open in shock.

He pushed my thong aside and ran a finger up the length of my pussy, my folded flesh making my slit seem longer than it was. His finger made wet noises moving easily up and down a few times. He then cupped the entire underside, my entire crotch, and rubbed it back and forth dragging my thong with it. It felt so violating, so confusing. My swollen clit was getting tugged by the fabric. But I technically invited him over and I didn't want to make a scene, so I didn't think to scream. I should have. Jesus, I couldn't even get him to call me by my proper name.

"Please stop," I tried.

Of course, he didn't stop and I cowardly ignored his molesting hand pretending it wasn't there, because I didn't want it to be. Because if it was there, it was my fault and I didn't want to acknowledge that reality and deal with it. So, I drank the second shot instead, throwing it on the ground same as him, and thought about telling him to leave right away.

"Gonna put some porn on?" he asked me, and I was thankful that it gave me a direct reason to get away from him.

Straightening up my dress I booted up the projector and computer and put on a long variety video I'd watched a few times before. It took a few minutes to get going. I kept glancing over and he was still stroking his cock as I set it all up, changing hands frequently. My nipples were sticking straight through the fabric as I again straightened out my old prom dress. The porno flooded our blank wall with my shadow in the middle of it.

He patted the mattress next to him and I sat down near him, but not as close as to be within his reach again. Given my outfit, the only ladylike way to sit was to stay on my knees and lean away from him on my right arm. Suppose by now I gave up on telling him to leave. Porno was already on and I still hadn't come up with the right message. Guess we'd watch together. Best I could hope for is that he'd jerk off and leave. Or that he'd at least call me Jessica.

Wondering why I didn't say anything forceful enough when he grabbed me a second time, I decided it was because he ignored my weak protestations already and it wouldn't get me anywhere. I tried to purposely look away but the only other thing to see was a hardcore porno montage where worse things happened, so I snuck a few glances toward his cock. To my shame, he noticed each time and tugged it toward me so I could see better.