Nigthwatch (Part Two)
I took the dress
off the mannequin. The fabric of the dress felt smooth and real. I
let my fingers run over it. Then I remembered I had to take off my
uniform first. I glanced at the camera hanging from the ceiling. I
trunt it of ten minutes ago. Malfunction. Happens sometimes. The red
light was out. So I undressed. In my underpants and my new shaven
skin I stood there trying to remember to breath. I grabbed the dress
and lowered it over my head.
It fell perfectly.
I zipped it's back. It hugged my waist. I smoohed it down over my
legs. I never knew that there was something in this world which could
give me such a feeling. This dress felt different, titghter than any
clothes I ever wore before. It felt snug and seamless. One piece from
my shoulders to my ankles, when I moved my shoulder or one foot or
one arm I could feel the fabric slide over my body like solid water.
I had a raging
erection. My penis pressed hard against the inside of my underpants.
I took a few deep breaths. In and out. Then I began to walk through
the department. Long Dresses and soft skirts to the left of me,
elegant blouses and tops to the right and my dress sliding over my
thighs, every step tense and shaky. My hands tried to get even more
of this wonderful feeling of being inclosed and caress by something
fluid. I wanted to feel it from the inside and from the outside. I
wanted it all over me.
A sigh brought me
back to what I was doing. But it wasn't a call to reality. Reality
was this incredible feeling of this dress. No, I snapped back into
this mode of observing, one inch removed from my body. What was I
doing? Did I just sigh? Did this dress make me so horny I sound like
a porn actress? And than came the killing question: What kind of
pervert am I?
Hot shame got a
hold of me. Was I the kind of guy that will sneak into shady, cheap
hotel rooms, carrying a briefcase, eager to spend the night in ladies
underwear, while my future wife will think I had to work late, but I
was just a pervert who could only get it up wearing a garter belt and
high heels?
I rushed back to my
pile of work clothes and the naked mannequin. The fluid feeling of
the dress rushing over my thighs was now soiled by guilt. What did I
do? That's not me. I'm a man. What if someone saw me?
My face was red hot
as I fumbled with the zipper and stepped out of the dress. I put my
uniform back on and hastly pulled the dress over the mannequin. Then
I just stood there for a while. Everything was back to normal, I told
myself.
But the coming
nights of course proved me wrong. I didn't put the dress back on the
next night. But I had to push my desire to do so back down. I knew
the dress felt good on me – not only good but great, fantastic,
right. Nothing was back to normal.
I had to put it on
again. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I dreamed of the white
smoothness flowing over my body. Since my puberty I never came when I
slept. But after this fateful night I put on the dress I had several
times when I woke up, feeling cold and sticky cum in my pants. My
body told me I had to wear it again. I received the message and only
held back to satisfy my inner observing, judging eye that it was
wrong what I did. After all, it was 'Friedmans Finest' dress, not
mine. But they will never know. I took care of the cameras.
My second time
wearing the dress was as exciting as the first time. I wore it
longer, nearly my hole shift I spent in the ladies department.
Occasionally I imagined someone breaking into Friedmans Finest the
first time after 50 years and finding the night watchman in a wedding
dress. But I didn't think about it too long. Nobody robs a clothing
store at night. Clothing stores get robbed when they are open, by
school skipping teens and thrill seeking housewifes. One guy from the
security of one of the daytime shift, he called himself a 'detective',
once told me for the shoplifters it wasn't about money but an inner
urge to steal. That was an issue for the daytime shifts, never mine.
Then I suddenly
realised that what I was doing was technically stealing. I grinned
and blushed. Well, basically, I said to myself, I'm not taking
anything, I was merely using them and putting it back in perfect
order. Just trying it on, that's all.
Many nights of
trying on ladies clothes of 'Friedmans Finest' followed. I tried on
everything, from business costumes to evening gowns. But I never put
on ladies underwear. And my feet were slightly too big for ladies
shoes. So I galavanted around 'Friedmans Finest' barefoot, night
after night. It were the best nights of my life.
Then, one night, I
had just put on a very light and very short cocktail dress, I heard a "Hrmhrm" behind me. I froze.
End of Part Two
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