Fancy a fetish ball?
October 5th 2006 07:23
She’s tall, slim and stunning. And she invited my boyfriend and I to a fancy dress themed fetish ball. She was going as a zebra – which basically meant she would be naked – bar a few black stripes strategically placed over her white body paint. So, there I am. Not tall. Not slim. Not stunning. And I’m going to be wearing - get this - a shapeless lump of blue shiny fabric tied around my torso with a long mermaid’s tail and a dodgy blue wig. Mind you she had offered to measure me and make a proper mermaid's outfit but I couldn't bear the thought of her slender hands taking my humungous measurements. Just couldn't face it.
So I chickened out which gave me several weeks leading up to the event and many, many agonizing hours to obsess over how I would feel when she revealed her magnificent breasts to the world - and to my boyfriend.
You think I would have worked out for hours every day and got myself the killer outfit, but no, instead I spent every moment binge eating and conjuring up any pathetic excuse in the world not to go. But my boyfriend was having none of it.
So the night finally comes around. She’d invited us over to hers to get ready. It was the countdown to absolute terror. I knew from past experience that it would involve us assisting her with - the spraying of the body paint. She answered the door dressed in a robe and not much else. I could feel the moment coming – approaching like a train crash. I tried to telepathically convey my fear to my boyfriend with a narrowing of the eyes and frantic nods to the door - a sign for him to leave the room. But in what seemed like a split second it was all too late. And then it hit. Bam! The robe came off. And she coos, "can you guys give me a hand with the spray paint?" And so we did. I just closed my eyes every time her breasts and buttocks came into view. Thinking the way you did when you were five. Somehow if you couldn’t see it, nobody else could either.
Once the deed was done we set off to the club. She wore her robe on the tube keeping her modesty in tact until we arrived at the club when she disrobed. In spite of all my worries we had a great time. I had a dance and got over my phobia of feeling like the Dumpy Friend and shed the silly blonde wig (it looked much better on my boyfriend anyway).
When the next fetish ball came along and she said she was going as a jellyfish – my mind conjured up images of her not quite wearing a transparent plastic sheet. I was right. She was. She looked stunning. And I got over it. This time around I decided to use her as a source of inspiration. Rather than be intimidated – I’d pour the energy into my own outfit. I’d go all the way. I’d wear that corset and not quite there PVC mini. And I’d feel hot, sexy and proud that she was my muse.
You think I would have worked out for hours every day and got myself the killer outfit, but no, instead I spent every moment binge eating and conjuring up any pathetic excuse in the world not to go. But my boyfriend was having none of it.
So the night finally comes around. She’d invited us over to hers to get ready. It was the countdown to absolute terror. I knew from past experience that it would involve us assisting her with - the spraying of the body paint. She answered the door dressed in a robe and not much else. I could feel the moment coming – approaching like a train crash. I tried to telepathically convey my fear to my boyfriend with a narrowing of the eyes and frantic nods to the door - a sign for him to leave the room. But in what seemed like a split second it was all too late. And then it hit. Bam! The robe came off. And she coos, "can you guys give me a hand with the spray paint?" And so we did. I just closed my eyes every time her breasts and buttocks came into view. Thinking the way you did when you were five. Somehow if you couldn’t see it, nobody else could either.
When the next fetish ball came along and she said she was going as a jellyfish – my mind conjured up images of her not quite wearing a transparent plastic sheet. I was right. She was. She looked stunning. And I got over it. This time around I decided to use her as a source of inspiration. Rather than be intimidated – I’d pour the energy into my own outfit. I’d go all the way. I’d wear that corset and not quite there PVC mini. And I’d feel hot, sexy and proud that she was my muse.
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