From grobert@soho.ios.com Mon Feb 24 15:28:36 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: NEW STORY - The Dressing Room
From: grobert@soho.ios.com (TheEditor)
Date: Mon, 24 Feb 1997 12:28:36 -0800

                             The Dressing Room

                           Copyright 1997 Tissot

     Distribute freely, but only with attributing authorship to Tissot.



  She enters her dressing room, probably having just rushed in from running
some errands.  She looks warm=97this is southern Texas, after all=97and
somewhat harried.  It is sometime after three in the afternoon.  She
must=92ve decided on a quick shower to clean up before returning to her
office.  You see, I had, as is my habit, my vice, come to my in-laws=92 hous=
e
at this hour in the knowledge that it would be unattended.  I had been
upstairs in my mother-in-law=92s dressing room, immersed in a world of=
 feminine=20
odors and caresses, a familiar place, when I heard the door to her car and
quick footsteps on the back steps.  Jolted from my reverie, I bolted for
the darkness under her bed, seeking sanctuary. =20

  Eschewing the lights in her haste, she sits down in the chair I have only
so recently vacated.  I wonder if she notices its relative warmth in the
coolness of the room.  She gives no sign of it.  She makes a call to her
secretary, explaining that she has been delayed and asking about her
messages.  While on the phone, she quickly begins to unbutton her blouse.
From her half of the conversation, though, it seems that her=20
absence has not been noticed by anyone.  Moreover, her four o=92clock meetin=
g
appears to have been canceled.

  Hanging up the telephone, she takes deep breath, visibly relaxing.  Her
blouse is unbuttoned, hanging slightly open.  Apparently deciding to take
her time, she leans back in the chair and shuts her eyes.  Through the
semi-darkness, I watch her blouse fall open as she reclines.  Her breasts,
encased by her bra, are small, very petite.  To see them in their entirety
and at my leisure, not stolen with a furtive glance catches my breath.
Reaching up to run her hands through her graying hair, I notice again the
beauty of her breasts and the increasing stiffness of her nipples.  In my
inner heat, I had forgotten the coolness of this room. =20

  Having satiated some appetite, renewed, she sits up and completely
removes her blouse.  She seems to be staring off into a space directly in
front of her, but then I recall the mirror there.  She must be studying her
figure.  Reaching up behind her, she unclasps the bra, removing it
leisurely.  Still looking at the mirror, she studies her breasts in the
semi-darkness.  Her hands lift themselves from the darkness, beginning to
caress the regal chest.  They are regal, I think, stately.  No buxom
garishness, but elegance.

  Her eyes close again, this time, however, losing herself in sensual
sanctuary from the heat outside.  Her hands continue their exploration with
what is, it seems to me, a certain familiarity.  Is this a common
occurrence, I wonder?  Just then, her mouth parts slightly, seeming to
betray a pleasure. =20

  Finished, apparently, she stands, reaching to unbutton her skirt.
Clutching one corner, the fabric, having been wrapped around her, falls
down and around her legs.  What remains, then, is pale illicitness encased
in white.  My thoughts reel with this first glimpse.  Her legs, long and
slender, flow up in defiance of gravity, some unlikely wave of sculpted
marble, culminating in enticing roundness.  Standing there in=20
nothing but heels and hose, she pauses again to gaze into the mirror,
probing, judging herself.  I think I haven=92t breathed in some time, wantin=
g
only to watch.

  Turing away from me, she stretches, reaching for her toes, apparently to
work out the kinks wrought by a hectic schedule.  In doing so, I am
presented with an amazing sight:  there, encased in white pantyhose is her
backside.  Through the darkness, I think I can make out another darkness
between the slightly parted legs.  Nothing more, though, for almost as soon
as she reached her toes, it seems, she straightens and stretches her arms
to the ceiling.  To be on the other side, to witness, to take in!

  Lowering her arms, she tucks her thumbs under the waistband of the hose
and, bend over slightly, she pulls the nylon down to her calves.  Only just
briefly do I catch sight of the hair between her legs before she sits to
fully remove the material.  Then, turning toward my hiding place, I see,
for the first time her completeness.  He nether region is encased in a
moderate forest of dark hairs mingling with silver ones. =20
Beautiful.  More than I had imagined, she is breathtaking, inspiring.
Occasionally, I have found in this place what must have haled from this
very mass, dark hairs and silver ones.  But here, not ten feet away, is the
object of my most moving fantasies. =20

  Fear, desire, and elation seem to spiral up within me, amassing, forming
a triple helix, initially distinct in its elements, but merging, swirling
into a single strand of pulsing emotion, a cyclone to steal my breath.  My
vision blurs, succumbing to this thing beyond thought.  I hear her
movements, taking her away, but I cannot see.  In a stay from what must be
a caring God, I explode in moans and effluence just as the=20
shower comes to life with splashing noise.  My mind clearing, I regain my
sight to find she has left the dressing room, apparently working her way
deeper into these ostensibly private area, seeking the cool of water. =20

  Thankful I was not discovered under her bed, I crawl out and head for the
door.  As I descend the stairs as quietly as I can, I feel the initial
warmth in my shorts beginning to fade and cool.  There=92s likely a huge
stain of wetness, but I concentrate on my exit.  Out the door, around the
block to the retail parking lot, I reach my car.  As I drive away, my knees
begin to shake, but I know I will be back.