He came before Dinner

The doorbell rings. Half past six, that’s much too early to be him. It’s our first date and he shouldn’t be here for another half hour. I check on my phone, but don’t see anyone through the camera by the door. I do see something that looks like a hand-delivered package. I’m curious.

Wearing nothing but my bathrobe, I hurry down the staircase. I just got out of the shower, my hair still wet, and with my first date in months coming up, I really don’t have time to waste. There it is, a small package with a bunch of roses and a small envelope. A gentle smile grows up my cheeks. It could only be from him. He has a sense of humor that is hilarious. Only then do I notice him sitting on top of his car parked a few steps away by the side of the road.

“Are you mad!” I yell at him the way I do when I mean the opposite. I’ve been looking forward to this date all day and am not one bit disappointed to find out he seems to feel the same way. He is cute, tall, funny, but I have yet to figure out what turns him on. He better not be a loser in the bedroom.

“Don’t be mad at me, I just wanted to drop off a small present and if you read the letter, you’ll understand why I had to do it before we leave for dinner. I’ll just hang out here by the car. If you hate it, just throw it all out the window and we’ll pretend this never happened, OK?” The way his voice goes up a pitch as he ends his pleading is just too adorable. Who could be mad at someone for being spontaneous, funny, a bit mad, but always the gentleman? Though to be honest, I’m hoping he has a dirty side. I’m certainly not the wild one, I wish’d I were, so he better be.

What could be in the box? I open it half way up to my apartment. It’s a handwritten note on nice stationary.

Before we go out, I have a confession to make. I’m a pervert. No, I don’t dress up in my mother’s knickers. That would be weird. Nothing wrong with it of course, but if my step-mother ever found out, she’d yell at my father for having raised a pervert. You can see how easy it is to be labeled a pervert in my family.

Anyway, that’s not my point. I love women in latex. I can’t deny it. I have a blog dedicated only to pictures of women in latex, or rubber, going from the tame to the extreme. It’s my alter ego. Others play video games, I have my blog. My name is MyLateExcameb4u. You have to admit it’s clever.

Let me just pause here for a second and check if you’re still reading or if you’ve already tossed everything out the window. ….. Good, I don’t see anything (and if I did, you probably wouldn’t be reading the rest of this so who gives a fuck) …. Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to read that part, if you’re still reading.

I keep reading his note. It’s a little longer than just a note, almost a confession. Poor guy, has carried this secret love of latex with him, living in a fantasy world, and now he is opening up. To me. That’s so sweet.

Damned, the door always locks behind me. Shit, and I had just turned the knob so that the door is locked when I pull it shut! Now I’m fucked. I don’t have anything to wear, there is a pervert waiting for me downstairs, and I like him. There better be something good at the end of this note.

It’s not a big surprise that the box has a latex dress in it. He wants me to be his latex date, the one he’s only had when he wanks off at his computer in the evening. God, he is a pervert; but such a cute one.

At this point, I don’t give a fuck about neighbors and just change out of my bathrobe right into the latex dress. No underwear, nothing. The dress fits like a glove, although I don’t really care for the smell too much. I do look hot! If he is dreaming of me actually coming out in a latex dress, his jaws are going to drop.

“I’m sorry, I had to put all the bullshit into this note to know if there is any chance of you coming out wearing the dress. If I still don’t see roses flying out the window, then I’m now going to pull down my pants, and start jerking off. I have lived for this moment a long time, and if I get my timing right, and you can forgive me for being the pervert that I am, then I should be ready to unload my cum just when you get to the car.

Of course, if you don’t show up, I’m probably going to be arrested for indecent exposure. If you show up in a regular dress, I’ll pack my junk back into my pants and hope it’s not too late. But if you do show up wearing the dress, and you want to be the one who goes out with a pervert, just keep walking.”

God, what a way to pick up your date. He’s not really going to sit on the car and be ready to cum and shoot his load across the street. He can’t be that perverted. I’m calling his bluff.

I leave everything outside of my apartment, check the way I look one more time before I open the front door to my condo building.

Why wasn’t I surprised. He is actually sitting on top of his car, legs spread, jerking off. He did warn me. And I didn’t throw his present back out the door. He looks hot, sitting there, looking at me, an enormous erection and judging by his rapidly moving hand, close to coming right in front of me.

I always wanted to do this. I walk faster, almost running. I get to him just in time and his dick is exactly at my head height. I close my eyes, mouth wide open. “Go for it. I don’t wanna be Late, or your Ex.” He comes right before me, slapping his dick in my face, unloading his sticky junk all over me.

His cum dries quickly and leaves sticky white marks over my face and dress, but not before we sit down at the restaurant and enjoy our first glass of wine together.

Masturbation Monday

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