Gone A-Go-Go

by Swimfan

 

The rest of the week was a nightmare of guilt and humiliation. I was deeply depressed about what I had done on Tuesday night. I couldn't bear to show myself in public, but everyone left in the dorm wouldn't stop teasing me about the makeup I was wearing, and how I had lost my body hair. I had no explanation, no witty retort. I had no desire to go out anywhere, but I had to force myself, to avoid the constant jokes at my expense.

Worse, Corinne's tight little pink hotpants constantly reminded me of my terrible sin. I would have thrown them away if they weren't hers. Instead, I had to keep them somewhere, yet hide them from sight somehow. At first, I left them on top of my dresser, but I couldn't stand the sight of them. Then, I put them in my dresser, with my underwear, but this was worse: it was as if letting them mingle with the rest of my clothes made them my own, and I certainly couldn't allow that. I hid them under my pillow, but again found them tempting me at night, invading my dreams. I could have called Corinne and given them back to her, but I couldn't bear the thought of seeing her again. I was so ashamed! In the end, I left them with my seldom-used gym clothes.

I was bumming around town, looking for work, when my cell phone rang. I hadn't had a phone call all week. I wasn't expecting to hear from anyone. My heart skipped a beat when I allowed myself to imagine that it might be Corinne. The number was blocked, so I had no way to know who it was. Reluctantly, I answered it.

"Hi, Robbie!" said a maddeningly feminine voice. "It's Corinne! Where have you been?"

The world went black around me for an instant. I cleared my throat, gulped, and answered, sweating, "uh... Hi Corinne."

"I haven't heard from you in days! Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. What's up?"

"Are you doing anything this evening?" she asked. Was that a slight twinge of nervousness in her inflection?

"Nothing," I said, grinning with anticipation.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me tonight..."

"Dinner sounds good."

"Then maybe we can go watch a movie or something."

"Sure! That sounds great!" Maybe I betrayed a bit more excitement than I wanted to.

"Cool... do you like Thai food? How does the Thai place on Main sound?"

"I love Thai! What time?"

"Let's aim for 7:00."

When I hung up the phone, my heart sank with guilt, while my hands shook with excitement. I had promised myself to not hang around her anymore, but I was so happy about hearing her voice that I couldn't resist accepting her invitation. At least now I had a pretext for giving her back her hotpants, and I would never again have to think about what I had done.

Our date started off better than I could ever have expected. She looked positively stunning, as always, in a tight blue tank top, a knee-length white skirt, and strappy sandals. She was breathtaking even when she wasn't half-naked and shaking her booty in a nightclub. We talked, and laughed, and enjoyed a delicious meal together. We held hands as we strolled to the movie theatre. neither of us mentioned the events of Tuesday night. We were both caught up in the moment, enjoying each other's company, as the world faded into irrelevance around us. I don't remember much about the movie we saw. I had my arm around her most of the time.

We slowly ambled out of the theatre, arm in arm, when reality cruelly sunk in again.

"I missed you these last few days," she lamented. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I was afraid," I answered lamely.

"Afraid of what?"

"Let's face it: you're way out of my league. I have no business expecting you to talk to me."

"Oh, come on!" she retorted. "Didn't that kiss at least give you a hint that I wanted to hear from you again?"

My mind reeled with the memory of her tongue in my mouth, her perfect curvaceous body pressed against mine. "No, I just didn't know what to think."

"I even gave you my hotpants! Didn't you think I'd want them back?"

"See, that's exactly the problem."

"What?" she said, hurt.

I stopped her and looked right into her beautiful, delicate brown eyes. "That was one of the most crazy, fucked-up experiences of my entire life. I'm still horribly confused about what happened that night. Do you realize that I'll never hear the end of it from my roommates?"

"Oh, come on! You were fabulous Tuesday night! You told me yourself what a great time you had! And you made some pretty good money, too!"

"You let me go home with makeup on!"

"So what? I go home with makeup on all the time!"

"What was I supposed to tell my roommates?"

"The truth, maybe?"

"The truth?" I exclaimed, "Do you realize how embarrassing that is?"

"Shhh! You're raising your voice!"

"You expect me," I continued, ignoring her, "to tell everybody that I dressed up like a skank and danced in a gay nightclub for money?"

The silence was deafening. The crowd milling about us was staring at me. I heard giggles.

"Come on, let's get out of here," she said, leading me by the hand. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

She brought me to a little cafe, where she sat me down and bought me a cup of tea. It was practically deserted -- a great place to talk about my little crisis.

"I'm sorry I yelled," I said, contritely.

"It's ok. But you have no reason to be upset."

"Sure I do! I humiliated myself. Again!"

"There's nothing wrong with dressing like a girl," she said, soothingly. "Even if you're a boy."

"Well, it sure doesn't feel right."

"Didn't you enjoy yourself doing it?"

I turned away from her comforting gaze. "That's exactly the problem," I said softly, almost inaudibly.

"Look, it's not like I think any less of you. I put you through it, and I still think you're sexy. Who cares what other people think?"

"You think I'm sexy?"

"Of course I do! Especially in your go-go outfits..."

"But I can't do that anymore!" I was close to tears at the thought of it.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to turn into a fag!"

"Don't worry about that," she purred, "Do you think I'd want to fuck a gay man?"

"No."

"And besides, I can tell you like girls by the way you stare at me. You like girls a lot, don't you?"

"Oh, God, yes!"

"Now, let's go to my place and you can tell me all about it."

We practically ran to her apartment. I threw her on her bed, and kissed her passionately. My cock throbbed with anticipation. She responded just as enthusiastically. She ground her hips against mine for a few seconds, before pushing me off of her. "Slow down there, little buckaroo," she joked. "Aren't you supposed to show me how much you like girls?"

I practically tore my clothes off, and jumped back onto the bed, where she lay fully clothed. "How's this for proof," I said, pointing at my raging boner, and moving towards her.

She turned her sharp stilleto heels in my direction and commanded me to stop. I froze in my tracks. In that position, I could see her panties covering her snatch.

"We're going to play a little game," she cooed. "We're going to do this nice and slow. Trust me, you'll enjoy this more than anything you've ever done."

"What are the rules?"

"You get to sit over there, and I'll stand here. You're not allowed to touch me, but you can touch yourself as much as you want. You get to tell me, one by one, which article of clothing you want me to remove. Once it's off, you have to describe to me the body parts I've exposed, and how much you love them. Just remember, you can't touch me. That's how you're going to prove to yourself how much you love girls."

"Sounds a bit slow to me."

"That's what's so fun about it."

I have to admit, the idea didn't appeal to me all that much at first. I wanted to go through it as fast as possible, and then shove my big fat cock into her and fuck her brains out. "Off with the skirt," I said, eager to get to the good parts.

She turned her back to me, unzipped her skirt, and shimmied out of it, shaking her panty-clad ass in my face, and exposing her gloriously soft and tanned legs.

"Now tell me what you like," she commanded.

"I love the texture of your legs, the shape... I love how long and slender they are. I love the way they move. And your ass is so wonderfully round, and firm..."

"You can't see my ass."

"Sorry." I didn't even want to see it naked yet. Somehow, I felt like I would be spoiling a surprise, like eating dessert before dinner. "Off with the tank top."

It wasn't difficult to discern her hourglass figure while she wore her tank top, but now it was impossible to keep my eyes off of it. "Your waist, your belly... so curvy, so smooth. I love the way everything wants to converge at your crotch. I love the way the roundness of your naked belly draws attention to the size of your hips and your boobs..."

"Do you like my underwear?" she asked, taking me out of my reverie.

"I love your underwear!"

"Is that why you didn't ask me to take off my panties first? Because you wanted to see me in my undies?"

"Yes," I admitted, "you look fantastic in your undies!"

"You know that I had you wearing these panties on Tuesday? Did you recognize them?"

Suddenly, my mind raced back to that evening, when I tried on several of her go-go dancer outfits, including the white panties she was modelling for me now. "Yes, I did wear those," I answered, uneasily.

"Tell me what you like about them," she asked.

"Well," I stammered, "I love the texture. They're silky smooth. And they have that girlie lace trim on the top. They're outrageously feminine, and pretty. Especially on you. And I love how they caress your hips, really draw attention to them, and how the cut makes your thighs look longer and slenderer. And the best part is how snug and comfy your pussy looks in them."

"How do you like the matching bra?"

"Oh, the skinny little straps show off your delicate shoulders. And of course, I can't stop looking at your boobs. They must feel so nice encased in silk and lace like that. I love the lace back, too. It's a very pretty bra."

"It does feel nice. Do you want to feel it?"

"Sure."

She reached behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra, and shrugged the straps off, releasing her divine breasts. "Here," she said, flinging it at me, "try it on."

My hands shook as I touched the silky microfiber and lace. It felt foreign, yet heavenly. It was an artifact of female beauty, something that I had no right touching, being a mere mortal male. I remembered how snug and sexy the sports bra was when I danced in it on Tuesday, and very much wanted to feel a real underwear bra on my own chest -- especially one that had harnessed the indescribably lovely Corinne's titties. I was overcome with desperation to feel her femininity on me. "May I, please?"

She laughed, and helped me put it on. I felt like I was surrounded by girlishness, and I wanted to explode with sexual joy. She retreated, and said, "how do you like this game now?"

"I like it a lot!" I giggled. "Off with the panties!"

As soon as she complied and flung them at me, I hungrily pulled them on. I fondled the soft fabric and the stretchy lace on my own hips, and danced around a bit, luxuriating in the overwhelming femininity. Meanwhile, wearing only her strappy shoes, Corinne slid up beside me, and put my hand on her hip. "Now you can touch me," she said.

I caressed her naked body with my hands, eager to fondle each and every one of the parts I described to her earlier, and then fondling myself in the corresponding spot. Moments later, I was smelling her pussy, kissing it gently as she began to grind it into my face. She moaned with pleasure as I put my tongue into her, and sucked her clitoris.

This went on for I don't know how long. We were both in absolute bliss, completely unaware of the passage of time. I worshipped her femininity. Each time I came all over myself, she didn't let me stop. I didn't even have to touch my cock, it was so happy in her exalted white panties. All I could think about was how my body and soul were completely immersed in the utmost girlishness, and I didn't want it to stop. When we both gave up, exhausted, I cuddled up to her like a little pet kitten.

"So, how do you feel about having dressed up in my clothes now?" she asked.

"I love it," I purred. "It's like I'm constantly in touch with something feminine, and it makes me so horny!"

"See? That only proves how much you like girls! You should be proud of wearing girlie clothes!"

This only made me horny again, but my penis was sore from all the rubbing. It hurt just to pop a boner. I guess the idea of loving girls so much appealed to me on a very deep level.

"Let's go brush our teeth," she suggested, "and then we can put on some nighties and get some sleep."

She put on a short little black silk nightie with pink trim. I picked an electric blue one with matching panties. We crawled under the covers together, and she quickly fell asleep. My heart was still racing. For what seemed like hours, I rolled around in my soft satin nightie, feeling my body slip and slide in it with each movement. I couldn't help but think about how I was even more awash in femininity now than when I had my face in Corinne's crotch. As I dozed off, I thought to myself, as good as this feels, and as much as it proves that I love girls, masturbating and sleeping in women's underwear is unmistakably fucking gay.

I woke up to her getting dressed in casual pants and a t-shirt. My nightie was encrusted with dried semen. She saw me stirring and gave me a dirty look. "I have to go run some errands," she said. "You have to go now."

I docilely crawled out of bed, feeling a little awkward in the nightie. I saw my own clothes piled up in the corner, and went to pick them up, the skirt of the nightie swishing erotically on my upper thigh. Corinne did not look amused.

"You've made such a fucking mess!" she exclaimed, angrily, as I struggled to get out of her clothes. "You'd better clean all this stuff up for me. I hope you haven't ruined it."

She gave me a pink laundry basket, and insisted that I clean her bedsheets, too, and replace them with clean ones from the linen closet, immediately. I didn't even have time to wash up. Before I knew it, I was standing outside her door, thankfully wearing my own clothes, but holding a basket full of her bedsheets, two nighties, a bra, and three panties, watching her stride purpusefully down the street without even saying goodbye.

Bewildered, I headed back for my dorm. I would have liked to go straight to the laundry, but I had to pick up my detergent first. I hid Corinne's lingerie within the bedsheets so that my dorm mates wouldn't see anything. Luckily, the laundry was deserted. I separated the bedsheets from the rest and tossed them into the washing machine, which was already filling up with water. I held Corinne's blue nightie in front of me, picturing her divine body in it. There was dried semen all over the front on the inside. Yep, I thought to myself, that's how much I love girls. My penis throbbed painfully as I thought about it. It occurred to me that I should pay attention to the washing instructions, to avoid damaging these sacred garments. I had already desecrated them enough with my foul ejaculate. My heart sank when I realized that all six items had the same dire warning: HAND WASH ONLY -- LINE DRY.

I hustled back to my dorm hall, with nothing but sexy lingerie in Corinne's pink laundry basket. I feverishly washed the nighties, panties, and bra in a sink in the common washroom, when, ws luck would have it, Gary walked in.

"That's some awfully frilly underwear you got there, Robbie," he said. "Should go nicely with those pink short-shorts of yours."

I nearly blacked out from humiliation and rage. "You want to know where I was last night, Gary? I was at that go-go dancer's apartment. I slept over. Understand?"

Gary was clearly taken aback by this. "Did you fuck her?" he asked, at length.

"Well, no," I answered, realizing that I hadn't. "But I did get pretty intimate with her, if you know what I mean."

"Obviously. You're washing her underwear. So why didn't you fuck her? Was she bleeding?"

"No, she wasn't bleeding." I was getting angry and frustrated. "It just didn't come to that."

"It didn't come to that? What, she wouldn't let you? Was it because you wear makeup?" Gary burst into laughter and continued towards the showers. "Hey Robbie, I'd appreciate if you didn't peek at me while I'm showering!" He was only joking, but it struck home nonetheless. I certainly couldn't tell him that I had experienced by far the best sexual experience of my life by frolicking in lingerie with the most beautiful woman either of us had ever seen. Again, I felt the numb pain of my bruised and battered organ springing to action.

A few others came through in the short time that I took to hand wash the lingerie, and each of them snickered to themselves or made another snarky comment. I ignored them, and practically ran back to my room so that nobody else would see me. I hung everything in various places around my room, and cried into my pillow for an hour or so, feeling utterly ashamed, and struggling with my poor overworked penis, as I repented my dirty, terrible sins, vowing never to commit them again, yet gushing with anticipation of the next time.

  

  

  

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