I was a few years out of college when I found an interesting friend request pop up on my screen. It was my friend Rebecca’s Aunt Chelsea; I had not seen either of them in years, so it was quite unusual for her to find me. Rebecca didn’t speak to me much after college; in her mind, our foray into intimate relations was a brief excursion and one she decided we should not talk about ever again.
I honestly didn’t care; Rebecca was not the same person after that. She was always shy, but she seemed to cut me off and distance herself from me. She started dating some guy and basically became domesticated arm candy. I didn’t think she would be happy, but then again, I live my life how I want.
Chelsea didn’t speak to me for years either, but it’s not like we had each other’s contact information. When I saw the friend request from her I was intrigued. I thought that our friendship or perhaps more could grow from it. So, I gladly accepted and of course, helped myself through creeping at her posts and photos.
Although it had been a few years, her glorious blonde hair had not faded at all. In fact, she seemed to remain shapely in all respects. I found myself scrolling through many of her photographs, especially ones I discovered from her tropical vacations. I wondered if perhaps in the near future I would be able to see her wearing a bikini in person.
Chelsea messaged me a short time later, but it was more innocent than anything else. The questions were similar to the ones I’d get from older relatives about what was going on in my life and whatnot. Likewise, I didn’t bring up the sultry events of our first meeting, even though it was practically the only thing I could think of when I was typing. There were several occasions in which I typed out something, but I didn’t have the nerve to send it.
I’m having a dinner party for a few friends on Saturday, would you like to come? she asked in a message.
My stomach began to turn. I was absolutely elated with the prospect of seeing her again, but utterly frightened of the anxiety I might experience to try and hide my horniness at the dinner table. There’ll probably be drinks. I thought to myself before crafting my response.
That sounds great! See you then! I sent back with excitement.
The week dragged on. I found myself sitting at my desk at work and watching the analog clock hands slowly tick forward. Even at night I was lying in bed with my eyes wide open and stared at the dark ceiling. A dinner party wasn’t exactly the erotic sex-fest I was hoping for, but it would give me a chance to be social instead of a binge-watching hermit.
Saturday night I was sifting through my closet trying to find the right dress for the evening when the notification I set on my phone interrupted me. When that occurred, I realized I didn’t have enough time to waffle over decisions and just had to guess. I wasn’t sure if it would be on the side of fancy or informal, so I grabbed a modest navy-blue dress with a sleeve that kind of skirted the line between the two.
When I arrived at Chelsea’s house, I was pleasantly surprised with her attire when she answered the door. I would have not been alarmed if she was in some fancy dress or if she answered the door in sweats. My eyes were wide open as I gazed at what looked like some sort of dominatrix outfit.
I mean, I was kind of hoping for a little sexual tension or maybe even some concealed fooling around, but I wasn’t prepared for her to be wearing something so revealing or obviously sexual. Her top was relatively modest, a black turtleneck sweater that firmly held her beautiful breasts in place, but it was the rest of her ensemble that made me stare. She had a short black leather skirt, and leather boots, adorned with buckles, that went up to her knees.
“Had a good look?” She asked as she could easily tell I was checking her out.
“Um… yes, I mean, I’m surprised,” I responded in a haze of confusion and shock.
“Surprised I invited you to a party, and I’m wearing this?” She gestured to her get-up.
“Well, yes. I was expecting, well, a dinner party,” I answered as we walked inside.
“It’s a party for sure, and I figured I would serve dinner with everybody here,” she said walking down the hallway, with my eyes following her lovely blond hair as it swished across her shoulders.
“It’s like a Tupperware party but for sex toys. Mostly BDSM related implements,” she said without pause.
“So, you’re planning on taking my money then?” I joked as we entered the kitchen.
“Maybe, but I figured I could at least get you drunk and maybe have a little fun,” she laughed.
When we walked into the kitchen there were two other women standing around the counter island. They were both around Chelsea’s age with brown hair and reminded me of regular soccer moms.
“So fancy!” one of the women exclaimed as she saw my dress.
“Yeah, I uh thought it was a dinner party,” I stumbled to explain myself.
“Ha-ha, it’s okay, honey, we’ve all been there before,” she laughed taking a bite out of some crudité Chelsea had set out.