I dress him up, I dress him down.

I deftly dropped to my knees and took the head of his stiff penis in my mouth. His hand silently squeezed my shoulder as I pinched my eyes shut and also struggled not to moan. I dared only to push my face down so far for fear of losing myself; no slurping aloud. My eyes fluttered open and the image of my flushed face penetrated like the eye of a needle by his cock looked back at me.

I couldn’t help myself: “Mmmm.”

We both cringed at the noise. I kept watching the woman and man in the mirror for a few moments more, then reluctantly released his rod, stood up. He grabbed a breast and hefted it out of my bra and dress in order to sink his face onto it. His lips and tongue a biting heat on my nipple.

His free hand began to gather up the hem of my dress and then it was at the joint of my legs. His fingers dipped in between the wet folds, slid into my hole, and began to curl.

“No!” I exclaimed and broke the embrace all together. “You can’t. I’ll make a mess!” I’m pained, but I refuse to create a puddle here. We looked around the dressing room with the scattered clothes and shopping bags and can hear the din of voices on the other side of the door. He smirked agreement.

The day started with The Neighbor asking me if I liked the mall. “Really?? I love the mall!” was my demure reply. I might have even hopped a little. I only had a hunch as to what he wanted to do there. Over the course of the last six months TN has reshaped his body and decided his look should be next. His clothes, typically too big now, are what you’d see the average software engineer wear: sneakers, baggy jeans, a nondescript polo shirt. Bleh. He recognizes that I know fashion, design, and food and frequently relies on my expertise for guidance for design and food, but he’d yet to tackle fashion until Sunday.

You know those stupid movie montages where a couple goes hand in hand on the boardwalk and he wins her a stuffed animal at the ring toss and she later loses a balloon as he kisses her at the end of the pier? Well, yeah, minus that stupid shit, that’s how the day went for us.

We tried on sunglasses at Nordstrom and surreptitiously fondled each other when the blue-eye-shadowed lady behind the counter wasn’t looking. “You should buy her a pair for helping you,” she suggested at one point. TN, clad in classic Ray Bans and looking like he should jump into a 1963 Chevy leveled a look at her and told her not to “help.” I laughed and made sure more of my cleavage was showing.

Double-wire Ray-Bans in hand we headed out for shoes next. I had a very specific idea. He had none whatsoever. “Black with a thick white bottom,” I explained, “can be dressed up or down. You can wear them on a date or to the lake.” If he’d had a pen and paper I’m pretty sure he’d have taken notes.

For the shoes we ended up in a space-ship-like storefront where I plucked 4 different shoes off the wall. The salesman only brought back the left shoes of all of them. Since when did you have to specify both shoes when trying on a pair?? Each time I found a new pair and had to say, “Both, please; the left and right,” my sides hurt with laughter and The Neighbor giggled as he hopped around on one shoe-clad foot for added effect.

Now armed with glasses and shoes we headed out for jeans. J. Crew caught my eye. “Let’s just go in and you can tell me what you like and don’t like and we can go from there,” I said as I steered us inside. A blue plaid short-sleeved button-down was quickly snatched up. I ran back and forth bringing him jeans and other shirts. The salespeople smiled at us, the cute “couple.” — Oh, the irony.

Eventually, I found my way inside the dressing room while he was pulling on a new pair of jeans. The sleeping bulge in his crotch hard to hide. I reached around and grabbed its roundness. “How the hell do you hide this thing??” I wondered aloud.

“I’ve never noticed it before now.”

“How could you not! Jesus Christ, it’s all you can see!”

Such is the burden of a well-endowed man, I suppose.

We left the store with him wearing his new sneakers, a new pair of jeans and that blue shirt that matched his own pale blue eyes. The spring in his step was noticeable.

He’s not the first man I’ve ever made over. My ex-husband benefited from me overhauling his look, as well, as did another ex-boyfriend. Women yearn for smaller sizes and often stuff themselves in ill-fitting clothes just to have that little number on her tag, but men are the exact opposite. They want to be XLs and Ls. Is that somehow more manly? TN left with smalls and mediums and a lesson in where the shoulder seam should hit his form. He looked fucking fantastic.

We left the mall and he took me to lunch and a movie and then to a couple more stores where I needed to go. I was exhausted and my back was killing me, but sexy banter and boob-grabs can take me pretty far, apparently.

Exhausted, we headed home. The idea of fucking was heavy on my mind, but I was also thinking I could do without, so great was my back pain and so great had the day been I didn’t want to push it. We decided to part ways for a little while so we could both recoup on either side of the plaster. Around 7:45 I remembered Game of Thrones was coming on. I mentioned it to him and we agreed I’d come over to watch.

An hour, a bowl of popcorn, and a hydrocodone later I was ready to go home. I got up to leave. We hadn’t touched each other during the show. I didn’t have it in me. “Well, thanks, TN. I had an awesome day.”

“Me, too. It really was a lot of fun.”

I headed toward the door and he seemed surprised. I don’t blame him. I mean, I’m the one who scratches at his door like a lab rat waiting for that pellet — operant conditioning and all that.

“Wait,” he said and reached out to grab my arm.

“No, really. I have to go home.”

“Ok, but do this: text me when you go to sleep and I’ll be there in an hour.”


“Text me when you go to sleep and I’ll come over an hour later,” he said more firmly.

Maybe it was the drugs, but I still wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. I must have looked confused because he came to me and kissed me and pulled out a breast and held its ripeness gingerly as he suckled. Ok, I get it now.

I tried to leave again, but he stopped me. Again. There may have been “5 seconds” worth of cocksucking before I managed to make it back to my place still clothed.

After working on a canvas for about an hour, and a glass of wine, I headed to bed. It was 11:26 when I texted him, “Bedtime.”

I slipped into a druggy haze of cottonball clouds and warm water sliding over my naked body. I was a heather boom blown in the wind, fragrant and fuzzy. No cares touched my grey matter; heavy and rich as it was. Suddenly, my heart pounded and my body was poised for flight. I heard a noise, felt a warm presence behind me.

A hand pulled back the down laying lightly on my side and it rested on my hip, slid down to my buttocks, dipped into my exposed folds. I moaned and stretched as I rolled over onto my back. The Neighbor was naked above me. “Do you always sleep with a candle lit?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I replied as I guided his massive erection into my mouth. I’d barely opened my eyes.

He moaned and I grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper into my throat; his hands skated across the hills of my body. We fucked old-fashioned style — him on top — and he reached new depths inside of me. He was enormous this night. I bit and nipped his neck, he kissed mine. I dug my heels into his flanks to drew him deeper and my pussy did its best to roll out the wettest of welcomes.

He raised back and drilled into me. I felt an orgasm at the end of a long hall, dimly back-lit. I began to cry and The Neighbor lost it all together and violently poured himself into me. I lay beneath him shaking my head, shocked that I’d felt an orgasm bud.

He stroked me a few more times then grabbed my vibe. I lay on my back, still interlocked with him and he positioned himself to my left, beneath my legs. Seconds later his thrusts tumbled me over into a haystack of glitter.

I cried, my arm flung over my eyes. I coukdn’t bear to let him see my tears. I couldn’t stand the emotion, the sadness, the happiness. It was all too much.

He crooned to me and I crawled over to his nook. We said almost nothing until his warm deep voice broke the candlelit silence, “This was all just a dream, Hy. You were dreaming.” He rolled over, got dressed, kissed me one last time and left wearing the new Gap underwear I’d picked out for him earlier that day.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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20 thoughts on “I dress him up, I dress him down.
  1. I have my second child due to “a dream” like that. In mine I thought I was on a new ride at Disneyland. My daughter knows she was unplanned and teases me about being my “love child”. You definitely deserved a reward for being TN’s (very)personal shopper.

      1. It’s only fitting that she is a full-on character, too. Being her mother has been a kick in the pants. I’m really thankful for that “oops”.

  2. Oh confusion…sometimes it is bliss not knowing exactly what was conjured by our imaginations and what was reality.

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