College - Peeking Out

In college I had exactly the same amount of luck. At first it was more difficult, because fashion had swung away from clothes that turned me on and I was trapped in lower classman hell, in which women my age dated older guys. Eventually nylon jersey hit the scene. Then the problem was that the girls who dressed that way were the cream de la cream. The cutest, most vivacious social butterflies or the hot, sexy, musky girls who looked as though they ate men instead of pizza. I tried my best to get a date with such women, but all I ever got was a sniff and a "No, thank you" that might as well have been "Dream on."

During my senior year at college I tried a different approach. I was going steady with a girl I loved very much, but who's education took her out of the state. I set myself the goal of giving her a gift of the kind of clothes I liked. At that time my number one hot look was slinky bell bottom pants, which I have depicted in a piece entitled The Bell Bottoms Sighting. In the end I opted for a dress made of nylon jersey, so that fit would not be so much of a problem. It had a Greco-Roman look to it, draping softly from the shoulders, a bit of elastic at the waist, a long, full skirt without any slits.

She loved the dress. The first time she tried it on was right after a bath, when she just happened to be totally naked. When it slithered down into place her eyes were wide with amazed delight, and she exclaimed "Wow! It feels so good!" I had taken a bath just before her, and was only wearing a towel. I let it fall, drew her to me and kissed her, basking in the glorious feel of the cold, smooth nylon caressing my body. I was dying to know how ticklish it would feel to run my fingers over it. I waited, because holding a woman in a jersey dress was something I had dreamt about for years. At last I gave it a try, letting my fingers glide gently down her sides. I felt her body stiffen, and she kissed me even harder. I was slightly disappointed, as I had hoped she would twist away shrieking with laughter. I tried it again, taking my time, testing her sides, then her ass, and finally her hips. Then it happened. She yanked away, stepping quickly backwards, a glorious peal of laughter echoing around the room. "Stop! I can't stand it!" she cried, holding her arms up as if to defend herself. "Something about this fabric. When you touch me that way. It feels really good, but it tickles so much."

My cock revealed my reaction. Seeing it, she came back, grabbed it and said, "Hmm, it looks like somebody wants to play!" She started to take the dress off but I held her and pulled her towards the bed. "I'm not wearing this beautiful dress to bed!" she exclaimed. "We'll mess it up. I want to wear it out first."

I was there for three weeks that summer, and she never wore it again. I tried not to push it too hard, but the times I did suggest it she said either that it was too fancy or that she did not want me to waste so much money on a fancy restaurant. One day she said, "Don't worry. I'll wear it for sure this fall. Last year I had to attend several social events where I felt really dowdy because I had nothing to wear. The dress you gave me would have been perfect." "Fine for you," I thought, "but I won't be there to enjoy it."

In the following months we wrote lots of passionate letters, and I gradually revealed my special interest in the dress. I did not go so far as to say I wanted it to feel ticklish, only that I liked to think of her going out naked under it because it felt so good, and that the feel of it would turn her on. I even described how I wanted her to wear it, with at most a thong bikini panty and knee-high socks.

Just before Christmas she wrote me a letter in which she described in great detail how she had done just that, to a dinner party at the Dean's house. It was snowing, so she arrived all bundled up in a heavy overcoat. Once inside she felt practically naked. The big house was a bit chilly inside, and she found herself orbiting between the fireplace, where she could get warmed up, and the food tables at the opposite end of the large room. Away from the fire the dress soon felt very cold. Whenever that happened it reminded her of that first time she had worn it, when I had held her so tight and tickled her. She said she would stroll around munching on celery sticks and sipping champagne while slowly going mad from the feel of the cold nylon caressing her skin. The celery became my cock, the dip my cum, and the icy cold nylon my fingers tickling her through the dress. In no time her panties were soaked. As soon as she got home she threw open a widow and stood there in the dark fingering herself while thinking about me tickling her.

Truth, or a lovingly written fantasy meant only to entertain? I'll never know. She said she wore the dress several more times, always with the same result. I could not wait for summer and the another chance to be with her. Alas, it was not to be. She met another guy, and that was that.

Sandy Beach

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