The Blue Dress

The neckline plunges.
I try not to gaze stupidly but fail.
You notice and lean further forward
ostentatiously reaching for the cake stand.

My mouth dries.
I try to swallow but my tongue is 'Cotton Wool'.
You rise from you seat, 'tilt' from the hips
and admire your choices; your back almost parallel to the floor.
The fabric of the blue dress gapes, as a window opening.
Your small but perfect breasts 'jiggle' as if laughing at me.

My erection is instant, uncontrollable and obvious.
I catch your eyes as they glance at it.
I squirm, mortified.
My hands delve quickly, into my pockets,
pulling the grey flannel out, creating a balloon to hide my indiscipline.

You make your choice of confection,
placing it on the doily sheeted plate, you retake your seat.

You are speaking but I can not hear, above the drone of the blood,
fizzing through my veins.
My predicament is not enhanced, when your tongue snakes out,
encircling the cherry that sat atop the little square of iced cake.
Deftly loosening it, from its perch, before covering it with your lips
and taking it into your mouth.

Standing by the fireplace, I feel the sweat, run in rivulets,
from between my shoulders, down to the small of my back.
My legs weaken but my erection refuses to submit.

I am not sure, for how long, my torturous pleasure lasts but
the spell is only partly broken, when you stand to leave
and we walk to the door.

I do not know, whether to laugh or cry, when you move toward me,
wrap your arms around me and while lightly touching my cheek,
with your lips, whisper; 'I enjoyed that!'

Somewhere in the distance, I hear my mother's voice, as she queries;
'Did you thank your Aunty Joan, for the lovely surprise?
It's not every 14 year old boy, that receives...............'
'Thank you', I croak into your hair as I feel your nipples bore through the thin cotton of my shirt.
'Thank you too', you whisper huskily.