tagLesbian SexThe Prom Night I Never Dreamed Of

The Prom Night I Never Dreamed Of


* Author's Dedication *

I don't care who she is! I don't care how much older or younger she is than you, whether it be 30 minutes or 30 years. I don't care how long you've known each other, whether it be 30 minutes or 30 years. I don't care if time and distance have kept you separated, whether for 30 minutes or for 30 years! You know her, you love her, and you want her - So go get her! And in the meantime, please enjoy this story, because I wrote it for you and the one you love.


I flung the cordless phone across my bedroom with all the strength I could muster and it slammed into the wall with a loud thud. Broken pieces of white plastic, as well as the two AA batteries and assorted other broken fragments scattered all over the floor. How could she do this to me? It was bad enough that Daddy wasn't going to be here, although I've grown quite accustomed to his absences; but now, Mom wasn't going to be here either.

With my hair already immaculately done and my nails manicured and polished to absolute perfection, I flopped down on the edge of my bed, buried my face in my hands and sobbed. In less than five hours, my senior prom night; a night I'd been dreaming about since I started high school would finally be upon me.

I think next to her wedding, senior prom is one of the most memorable events of a young woman's life. I had spent the better part of the last three months searching for that perfect dress, booked an appointment with my hairstylist and manicurist two months in advance, and spent my life savings on some of the most provocative Victoria Secrets lingerie, make-up and a hypnotic new fragrance that was guaranteed to melt any man's heart. It was going to be the most beautiful night of my life.

I'm Julie Taylor; I'm eighteen years old and a senior at Clintondale High School in Clinton Township, Michigan; a suburban community just north of Detroit. I'm the third and youngest daughter of the Honorable State Senator Zachary Taylor and Doctor Amanda Taylor. My father is a former District Attorney of Wayne County, has served as State Senator for nearly six years and is now preparing for a run to become the next U.S. Senator from Michigan. In fact, he's up in the state capitol of Lansing right now to meet, greet, wine, dine, blow and snow whomever he must in order to secure some big campaign contributions. My mother is one of the most renowned pediatric surgeons in the nation and has just informed me that she has been called into surgery and will not be home in time to see me off to my prom.

I shouldn't be so angry at her. I mean, it's not like she planned for this to happen or is in anyway enjoying it. Hell, when I hung up on her, she was just as upset and crying just as hard as I was. I love my mother with all my heart and I am so honored to be her daughter. Mom is truly a remarkable physician with an enormous heart and incredible surgical skill. In fact, people travel from all over the country; sometimes from all over the world to place their children in her care.

My two older sisters: Lynn and Casey are both long since gone from the house. Lynn is 28, a graduate of the University of Michigan, married with two kids and now lives in San Francisco where she and her husband own their own architecture firm.

Casey is 25, a graduate of Columbia University and lives in Washington D.C. where she works on the White House staff of President Obama. It drives my father berserk that she won't leave that position to join his campaign. What can I say, Casey's got brains. She's also a Democrat where my father is a Republican. God, do I hate Thanksgiving at our house!

How my mother juggled her medical schooling and her career and still raise her three daughters, with little or no help from my father, except in election years, is beyond me. All the more to her credit of the remarkable human being that she is.

Okay, enough about my family; now on with my story:

With time slipping irretrievably into the past, I realized that there was nothing I could do about the situation; it was what it was. There was a very ill little girl that needed my mother's care and attention far more than I did today. Looking at my watch as I pulled myself together, I still had more than five hours before my boyfriend Scott would be picking me up.

Scott Cameron and I had been dating since early in our junior year. He was the first boy to ever ask me out and I was nuts about him; well, most of the time anyway. At least I think I am. He is tall, if somewhat lanky; nearly a full foot taller than me, ruggedly handsome and very agile. His hair is sandy blond and he has deep brown eyes. He is the captain of the varsity basketball team and is going to be riding a full athletic scholarship to Duke University in the fall. Not the sharpest pencil in the box academically by any means; in fact it was because of his lack of academic excellence, so to speak, that brought us together in the first place. I was a student tutor and I happened to be the one available when he came into the study hall. I say I'm nuts about him most of the time because Scott has a rather deep affection for the drink. Like most high school jocks, Scott loves to drink beer and smoke a little weed with his buddies as they go to parties on weekends. And like most jocks, when they drink too much, they become assholes! Don't get me wrong, Scott has never been physically abusive or forced himself upon me sexually, but he does have a tendency to let his mouth run and he can say some pretty hurtful things. Not too long ago, we had a fight about his Algebra grade and he told me that I needed to remember who he was and that I should be honored that he chose me, a dorky bookworm, when he could have had any of the really hot chicks at our school. That really hurt.

True, I'm no cheerleader, and yes, I am what most people would consider a bookworm and a nerd. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I love school, I love learning and I'm not all that fond of sex; though I'm definitely built for it. Just to give you an idea that will perhaps help you better enjoy my story, I'm most certainly my mother's daughter. Though I'm not nearly as tall as she is, I was blessed with just about every gorgeous physical and intellectual attribute that Doctor Amanda Taylor possesses.

Where Mom stands nearly 5'10, I'm just barely 5'5; but that's about the only difference between us. My hair, like hers, is a stunning shade of dark auburn; long, full and flowing down to the middle of my back. Of course Mom, now being 53, has the beginnings of grey and she wears it a lot shorter. Our skin is gorgeous alabaster, silky smooth to the touch and you will not find a single blemish or a smidgen of fat to pinch anywhere on either one of us. We jog between six and ten miles a day, together when Mom's schedule permits, work our abs to death in 300 crunching sit ups and during the summer, we add swimming 50 to 75 laps a day to our workout regiment. Our hips, thighs and ass are scrumptiously lean and immaculately round and our legs are ripped with the most exquisite feminine muscle definition. Our teeth are a gorgeous string of sparkling white pearls, our lips are full, succulent and pouting and our breasts are pert and supple 34 C cups. Okay, mine are 34 C's and Mom's are 34 D's. Oh well!

And just like Mom, I was an extremely late bloomer. I was nearly sixteen before I started to break out of the shell of a little girl. I was as thin as a rail, no chest, no hips, no ass or legs. My face was covered with pimples, I wore glasses and braces. Jesus Christ, I was pathetic. I hung out with girls I'd known since kindergarten and none of us ever had to worry about going to parties, dances, or out on dates, etc.

But nature finally decided to act upon me and between my sophomore and junior year, I went through a metamorphosis that mortified and to some extent, alienated my friends. Sure, they all grew up too, but the transformation in them was not nearly as profound and refined as it was in me. By the time my junior year began, I had become a stunning woman, had abandoned my glasses, lost my braces, my pimples vanished and for the first time in my life, I was turning the heads of the guys into near whiplash. And even though I was so thrilled to be getting such attention, I also found myself in limbo. Despite who my parents were, I was a virtual outcast among the cool and popular crowd, and now, I was estranged from the band of nerds and social misfits too. But that's when I met Scott, and there were a couple of friends that remained loyal to me despite the cruelties and kindness of nature.

But now, as I stare at myself in the mirror across from my bed, I suddenly realize that nobody is going to be here to help me put on my make-up and dress. Mom and I had been talking about this moment for weeks and she was so excited to share it with me. She had been through it with both Lynn and Casey and the fact that this was going to be her last time to send a daughter off to senior prom, made it all the more important to her. But now that was not going to happen. I was tempted to get pissed off again, but I knew that as much as my heart hurt right now, Mom's was hurting even more and my eyes welled with tears.

I frantically searched my mind for somebody I could call to help me, but I was coming up blank. I knew both my sisters would love to help, but they both lived thousands of miles away. All my aunts and cousins likewise lived out of state and both my grandmothers had long since passed away. I debated calling a couple of my friends, but I knew that neither of them had found dates and I didn't want to rub it in their face. We had recently moved into a new neighborhood and I didn't know any of the neighbors very well, so that was out. I know it sounds crazy that an eighteen year old girl is so uncomfortable about putting on her own make-up, but even though I've turned into a "babe" on the outside, I'm still a nerd at heart. Yes, I am totally clueless. Then suddenly it hit me; if my own mother couldn't help me, what about my boyfriend's mother?

I sprang off my bed and snatched my cell phone out of my purse. Pressing Scott's speed dial key, I lifted my razor phone to my ear and waited breathlessly as it rang. After the fourth ring, my heart again began to sink. Mrs. Cameron wasn't home.

"Hello." Mrs. Cameron's soft and sweet voice echoed over the line.

My heart began thundering with tremendous excitement as my stomach fluttered. I nearly started to cry again.

"Hi, Mrs. Cameron. It's Julie." I said, trying to contain my elation.

"Well hi, sweetheart." She said warmly. "How are you?"

Mrs. Cameron always called me by an adoring pet name. Her particular favorite was sweetheart, but she'd often use sweetie, honey or baby. If there was a woman in the world that could possibly be more beautiful than my mother, it was Stephanie Cameron.

"I'm okay." I said.

"Scott's not hear right now, sweetie." Mrs. Cameron said. "He's over at a friend's house and that's where they were planning to dress and leave from. The limo is going to pick them up there, and then they're plan is to pick you lovely ladies up and make the rounds so us old fart folks can take some pictures." She continued. "Oh, I can't wait to see you in your dress, sweetie. You are so beautiful and I know you're going to look like a princess."

"Well, that's why I'm calling, Mrs. Cameron." I said almost hesitantly.

"Sweetie, how many times have I asked you to call me Stephanie? Mrs. Cameron makes me feel like an old woman." She chuckled.

"Sorry. I really need your help, Stephanie." I said.

"What's the matter, honey?" She asked.

I went on to explain that Mom had been called into emergency surgery and that she wouldn't be able to help me get ready for the prom. I told her that this night meant the world to me and I wanted to look the best I ever had, and I didn't trust myself to do it alone. I had barely started my list of people that I knew would, but couldn't help when she stopped me mid sentence.

"I'd love to help get you ready, Julie." She said. "In fact, I'd be honored." I could almost feel her exhilaration and see her beaming, beautiful smile through the phone.

"Oh thank you so much." I said, again practically on the verge of tears.

"You're more than welcome, sweetie. You just bring yourself, your dress and your make-up on over and I'll do the rest, okay." Stephanie assured me.

"Thank you" I staggered.

"You're welcome, honey. See you in a few minutes." Stephanie said.

I slapped my phone shut and nearly spun out of control and tore myself apart trying to do a thousands things and go a thousand directions at once. Taking a deep breath, I slipped on my flip-flops and quickly packed up all my make-up into my travel case. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I wondered if I should change my clothes first for I was wearing an old and ratty white T-shirt that was two sizes too big and an old pair of those polyester gym shorts that most schools issued for their physical education classes. While most people hated those shorts, I personally liked them. They made my ass look divine.

I decided to just leave things as they were. I carefully took up my dress that was still concealed in the zipper case it had come from the store in, along with my shoes and my sinful lingerie. I snapped up my purse, pulled out my car keys and threw on my sunglasses.

It's only about a ten minute drive from my house in Clinton Township to Scott's house in Roseville. As I drove, I actually began to relax. Then suddenly it dawned on me that Stephanie would obviously want to see my dress before I put it on and hence, she would also see the lingerie I was going to wear underneath. I could only imagine what might go through her mind about just what my intentions were for her baby boy that night. In all honesty, I really didn't have any. I just really like the way the lingerie made me feel. Somehow I didn't think she'd buy that, but then again, she was a woman too. I pushed it from my mind and decided I'd cross that bridge if and when I came to it.

I pulled into Scott's driveway at about a quarter to two and Stephanie was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the house reading a book. When she heard me drive in, she looked up and her face radiated a kind of happiness I'd never seen on it before. Stephanie Cameron has always had a beautiful smile, but today, it was absolutely breathtaking.

As I came around to the passenger side to unload my gear, Stephanie came almost skipping down the front walkway toward me. Again, if there was a woman who could possibly be more beautiful than my mother, it was Stephanie Cameron. At 47 years old, she looked not a day over 30 and for a woman who'd given birth to four children, two at one time in Scott's two oldest brothers, Stephanie's body was immaculately shaped and exquisitely ripped with incredibly sexy feminine muscle definition.

Her stomach is perfectly flat while her waist is sexily narrow and sinfully trim. Her arms are long and beautifully toned, much like willow branches, and her legs - Oh My God! Long, lean and so sexy; especially today, for they were wrapped up in a tight pair of faded blue jeans that accentuated her heavenly hips, thighs and ass. Wearing a soft white, low cut top that clung tightly to her lean and slender torso, her pert and sumptuously round 36 D-cup breasts and cleavage shouted MILF to the entire world.

Stephanie's hair, like mine, is long, full and flowing as it drapes down between her shoulder blades in a gorgeous shade of shiny brown without the slightest hint of grey and today it is pulled back in a ponytail. While most women her age prefer to wear their hair much shorter, Stephanie's looks too perfect to even consider such a travesty; and the way it cradles and sets out her beautiful face is nothing short of divine inspiration. Yes, my boyfriend's mother is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen and the fact that she is single mystifies me.

Stephanie and her husband John divorced when Scott was only seven; nearly twelve years ago. John Cameron moved up to Traverse City, Michigan and took custody of the twins, Allen and Craig, who are now 24 and both studying for their Master's abroad. Stephanie kept custody of their third son Luke, who is now 21 and going to school at Michigan State in Lansing, and of course, Scott.

John Cameron remarried within two years of their divorce and has since divorced and remarried again. Yet for some reason, Stephanie has never remarried or to my knowledge, ever seriously dated anybody. Even though I've only known her for a couple of years, Stephanie and I have become rather close. In a lot of ways, I'm the daughter she never had. For some reason, Scott would always have me over on Saturdays and Sundays, along with all his friends to watch all the college football and professional football, basketball, baseball, auto racing - all that shit! Sorry, if you're a sports fan. Anyway, once the boys would get all wrapped up in their games, it gave me and Stephanie a chance to talk and overtime, we became close friends. I love Stephanie very much. Sometimes, I think I'm fonder of her than I am of her son. She's a very special friend, a wonderful person and I'm honored that I can fill the void of the little girl she always wanted.

Stephanie was as giddy as a school girl as she took me in her arms and squeezed me in a very warm embrace and I breathed her in deeply. Stephanie always smells so clean and fresh; that combined with Coco-Chanel, her favorite perfume, makes her overall aroma intoxicating and hypnotic. I love to hug her. Stephanie asked if I wouldn't mind pulling my car into the garage because her landscaping crew was coming by that afternoon to mow her lawn. I pulled my car into the garage and Stephanie helped me collect all my stuff and then led me into the house.

I'd never seen her so exuberant before and that's when it finally struck me that this was like a dream come true for her. Having had four sons, Stephanie has never had the opportunity to help a daughter get ready for a wedding, a prom or a date or anything of that nature. Even though my own mother was heartbroken that she couldn't be here for me, I took comfort in the fact that she had already had this experience with Lynn and Casey; but Stephanie had never had it at all, so I was delighted that I could do this for her.

Stephanie led me upstairs to her bedroom and sat me down in front of her rather elaborate make-up station. Though I'd spent a great deal of time with her in this house, I'd never seen her bedroom before. It was a cavernous room with enormous bay windows, double bay doors that opened out to a small balcony overlooking the backyard, not to mention a huge closet and presidential size bathroom suite. There was a four posted king size bed with a canopy on top and draped with see through silk curtains. The room smelled of a delectable aroma of equal parts cinnamon potpourri and Coco-Chanel.

As Stephanie went to work on my face, we chatted like a couple of giddy sisters and I brought her up to speed on what Lynn and Casey were up to. Stephanie was a die hard Obama/Biden supporter in the 2008 Presidential Race and when she learned that Casey was now on President Obama's White House staff, she was constantly dogging me about how she was doing. I think she was more interested if Casey knew and was friendly with First Lady Michelle Obama.

About half an hour went by and Stephanie was really starting to get excited as she was seeing the fruits of her labor take shape on my face. When she finally let me look at myself in the mirror, I nearly fell out of my chair. I didn't recognize the young woman staring back at me; not in the least. Whoever it was in the mirror was without a doubt the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. She was a goddess of immaculate beauty and divine grace. She was gorgeous; and believe it or not, she was me. Again, I about started to cry; not so much because of how beautiful I could be, but because I saw the look on Stephanie's face in the mirror behind me - it was indescribable and it filled me with a warmth and a contentment I'd never known. I was so humbled that I could make this beautiful woman so happy just by letting her be a part of my life like this. It meant the world to her and it meant the world to me too.

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