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 It was a simple negligee.  Not one made for wearing outside the bedroom. 
Your mother never wore this as she flipped the pancakes or made the eggs.
Apricot in color and cut to the mid-thigh, with a white fringe of lacy on
the bottom.  Made of satin as soft as a babies skin and little more than
paper thin.

   When I tried it on, it hugged my boobs and my bottom and there as a
discernible V shape where my pubic hair was..  It was almost like a coat of
paint wherever it touched my body.

   I'd never worn real satin - even as a blouse, skirt or slip, my mother
preferring rayon during those rare times she bought my clothes not made
from denim or t-shirt material.  It was the first thing I ever owned in the
way of real lingerie.  Something not bought in a three pack at the Five and
Dime, stolen from a clothes line or a cast off from a friend when I was
sacking out on their couch and had none of my own to wear.

   It was beautiful and it made me feel beautiful.  The feel was so
luxurious it made me hold my breath when I slipped it on.  The soft feel of
it against my body made me wet every single time.

   I wore it just for him - my boyfriend who had bought it for me as a
gift. On a rare occasion, when I was feeling daring and when Dennis felt
like showing off, I might also wear it to make his guys breakfast after a
night watching the stash or the cash we had in the house.  I remember that
practically turned translucent under the light of refrigerator bulb.

   Due to what Dennis did for a living he was often gone at night, but when
he was home I wore that negligee as a nightie.  During more athletic nights
it would wind up on the floor, but on evenings when a fuck was just a fuck
he would spoon me, slip the material above my waist and take me in that
position.  I had no complaints.

   One night he was playing a bit, sliding himself against my covered ass
and he got a little too excited and he came.  We left the next morning
early from somewhere, and when I returned I realize that his "liquid
excitement" had turned into an unsightly chalky stain on my beautiful
nightie.

   Had I simply rinsed it out it probably would have been fine, but I was
not trained to care for the fabric and the label and long ago been cut out
of torn off, so I used some advertised laundry spray.  It created a
permanent stain that was big and blotchy and it made me cry.

   It was still the only nightie I owned, but I no longer wore it most
nights.  I lay unused on the window seat in our bathroom.  Finally, one
night Dennis returned from a few nights away and I wore it for him, though
it didn't stay on long.  In the morning when he asked me to wear it to make
breakfast (A little ritual - a way he enjoyed showing me off to his
friends.)

   I refused.

   One did not refuse Dennis.  It wasn't that he would hit me or anything -
it's just that it wasn't done.  So I explained my embarrassment at the
stained fabric, and how it made me feel so bad that I had hurt something so
beautiful and that I loved so much.

   Dennis listened with sympathy as I shared my regret and dismay.  And
then, being a man, he laughed.

   Then he promised me that I'd have a replacement as soon as he got back
to St.  Louis where he'd bought this one.  And then he slipped it back over
my head.

   We never got around breakfasting that morning -or lunch.  Instead all
weekend we snorted coke, made love and had sex, Dennis laughing
periodically as he would "take aim" at my negligee whenever he felt ready
to shoot his seed or dribble his juices.

   By the time he left, that poor used piece of satin looked like a
Rorschach test or perhaps a piece of camouflage one might wear to hunt. 
The number and depth of the stains were actually kind of impressive in a
really perverse way.

   The next negligee was emerald green with black trim.  He always knew
that it was my favorite color.  Then one of baby blue...  and on and on. 
Turning each new nightie into a laundry woman's nightmare became something
of an obsession with Dennis.  As each became too stained to wear it was
hung up on a hook behind the bathroom door like some odd trophy.

   I have no idea what guests using that bathroom might have thought, and
really never cared.