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My Bodysuit
By Elena SilverLink

Never again, I swear, am I ever going on a first date wearing a bodysuit. It's just too weird.

Actually, it was my insecurity about an approaching first date that inspired me to buy the thing. When I looked at it in the shop, it seemed to be just perfect for wearing under my leopard print dress. It's made of one of those modern microfibre and Lycra fabrics, an all-in-one trimmed with a discreet touch of lace. All that elastic control promised to give me a lovely sleek line. The underwire promised to support and enhance my bust. I certainly gave some consideration to the $70.00 cost since I don't often wear dresses. I certainly don't often wear dresses like the long, slinky jersey number I'd planned for the evening in question. Now, here was a bit of lingerie that might give me a bit of what you could call "hidden confidence," or so I had thought.

I know this might seem like a lot of effort to go to for one night out, but I was very nervous. The man I'd been falling for and flirting with for some weeks had finally got his act together and asked me on a date. I'd been out with him before, usually to some pub in town for a few drinks and a chat, but "as friends." You must know what I mean. You might not do much differently on a date than you would going out as friends, but those little differences are crucial, aren't they?

One of the little differences was my bodysuit. I certainly didn't intend to sleep with him the first time he took me out. Well, maybe I did. I don't know. The thing was, just in case he did see my underwear, I wanted to be wearing something lovely. In particular, when I saw the offending item on the rack, I wanted to be wearing something that would make me look like I had a lovely smooth tummy. Admittedly, at 5' 6", my 160 pounds left me far from waif-like.

He rang the doorbell at exactly half past seven. I heard the chime, and had my usual last-minute panic in front of my mirror. The hair was in place, the lipstick was not smudged and a quick turn verified that yes, the dress was hanging nicely. My tiny evening bag was perched on a chair by the door, and I grabbed it as I headed out into the apartment hallway.

He was waiting for me at the front of the building, and behind him was a taxi waiting to take us to the restaurant. His face lit up as I stepped out, and I gave him a nervous smile and reached up to check that my earrings were in place. It felt extremely strange, being together in this way, but very good. As the evening went on, it got better and better. We had a couple of bottles of wine over our meal, which was terribly filling, and no doubt that helped me relax. As I started to feel more warm and relaxed, I found that we had started to touch each other's hands across the table. We were leaning forward, and when our knees touched, neither of us pulled away.

We had been planning to go on to some party that friends of his were throwing, but I surprised myself by asking if we could go back to his flat instead and talk. He said his friends wouldn't be offended, and that he'd be delighted.

We went halves on the restaurant bill.

In another taxi, on the way over to his flat, we hardly spoke. Rather, something between us was speaking and it left us too nervous to use words. My hand was upon his knee, and he had placed his hand upon mine. I was curiously conscious of my breathing, which I was sure didn't sound normal, and I was worried that it must be terribly obvious how I was feeling.

He made us a pot of coffee when we got in, and we kicked off our shoes and sat down on the sofa to drink it and chat, but it was obvious by now that we were going to kiss. It didn't take long. What surprised me was how easy it was. After all the apprehension earlier in the evening, I felt completely at home with my tongue stuck in this man's mouth. His hands on my body, mine stroking his face and hair; it was all so natural. I pressed myself against him, crushing my nipples against his chest. One of my legs crossed over one of his.

Through the soft material of my dress, his hand was cupping my breast, and I could feel the pad of his thumb slowly circling my nipple. It was erect and eager, and then I realised that, yes, he probably was going to be seeing my underwear tonight after all. Without ever having made a conscious decision, I found my fingers unbuttoning the pale blue cotton of his shirt and before I knew it I could feel the dark hair on his chest beneath my palm. Somehow he'd worked my skirt up until it was riding high upon my thighs, and his hand was curled around the top of my leg, near the crotch of my underwear. Again without having made any kind of decision I found that I was making small rubbing motions against the edge of his hand. I was already very wet.

Now, though, it was time to take control of the situation. I pulled back and, despite a little belated embarrassment, managed to ask him if he had anything we could use. He knew exactly what I meant, and nodded. It can't have been difficult to guess, after all.

I can recall wondering if he was as surprised as I.

He stood up and half-walked, half-ran through the back, to his bedroom. Whilst he was gone I stood too, and pulled my dress over my head. I dropped it to the floor, followed by my tights, and lay down upon the sofa. When he returned there was a slightly incredulous look upon his face as he slowly gazed over my body, sleekly encased in nothing but a lace-trimmed one-piece bit of underwear, and the bulge in the front of his trousers seemed to leap out at me.

He dropped three or four little silver packets on the coffee table next to our still half-full coffee mugs. His shirt quickly followed my dress to the floor.

Next, it isn't quite clear what happened; or at least I rather lost track.

He was lying on top of me on the sofa. The bulge in his trousers was rubbing against the soaking wet crotch of my bodysuit. He had pulled the cups of the bodysuit down, so my breasts were bulging out the top, and he took one in his hand and raised the nipple to his lips. I felt a burning overtake me, and all of a sudden I had no idea where or who I was, so lost was I in the feelings of the orgasm that swept through me. I know I made a lot of noise then, probably a low, slow moan. When I came to my senses, I would take no more messing about. I wanted him badly. When I told him so, he moaned too.

I unzipped his trousers, and he stood up and pulled then off together with his underpants. He grabbed one of the foil packets, and standing up he took a moment to roll a condom onto his cock. I writhed slightly looking at him, keeping the lovely sensations between my legs alive. Then, he knelt between my spread legs and reached down to unfasten my bodysuit. He was initially unsuccessful, and after some fumbling I did it myself rather than let it put him off his stride. As the little press-studs came undone, the elastic fabric sprung up, exposing my pubic hair and my soaking wet private parts. I was so moist; it was incredibly easy for him to slide inside me.

With a little wiggle, I adjusted my position so that he could sink all the way inside. He was kissing me fiercely, and was obviously very aroused. I knew that it would only be moments before he came. I was as excited as he was. After all that build up, it really was no problem at all to bring myself to orgasm as he humped me, and I felt the first spasm of my second orgasm just a moment or two before I realised that he was coming too.

We kept rocking back and forth, eking out every last bit of pleasure. Even after the feelings subsided it was very nice. My whole body was warm and relaxed and felt heavy. After a short while, he pulled back and slipped out of me. The condom was dropped upon the coffee table with the unused ones, and he lay back softly on top of me. His penis was smaller now, and I could feel it upon my leg as he rested. It was wet and warm with our juices.

Oh, it's a glorious time, those moments after sex when you feel so close and so lost in warmth. I didn't want it to end, but eventually it did and I was suddenly aware of feelings of awkwardness. Not long ago we had been just friends. Now, we had shared the most wonderful sex I could remember having, and I wanted so badly for it to work out. We were silent; I wanted to say something but I didn't dare. It was a moment of warmth, yes, but also of terrible fear.

It was just then that I realised I still had my bodysuit on. The cups had slid down my breasts in quite an appealing way, but the bottom where I had unfastened it had rolled up around my waist, and the elastic fabric was cutting in to me. My stomach bulged out of the bottom, and all in all I felt that I must look quite ridiculous.

At that moment, when I was feeling ugly and unsure, he said just the right thing. He said that I was beautiful, and he gave me a little delicate kiss on the lips. His eyes told me that he meant it. His eyes lingered and he whispered his approval. It was a cliché but it made all the difference.

I smiled, and things became easy again. He left for the kitchen and returned with ice cream which he sensuously spooned into my hungry mouth. As the weeks passed, I experienced how sexy feeding can be.

I have not worn that particular bodysuit since then (simply because I know I can't). I have progressed through several larger sizes. If I'm lucky, I'll never have to go on another first date, either. Nowadays, I do feel very very lucky. My husband makes sure I do.

Copyright © Elena 1999 - silverlink@altavista.net