I walked by my daughter's room only to be startled. Her door was open and I could clearly see her on her knees and elbows in front of a full-length mirror we'd mounted on her wall when she first became concerned with how she looked. That was when she was eleven years old, a period when she discovered her love for fashion and her own attractiveness.
I'm not sure I'd have had her father put that up if I'd foreseen the innumerable shopping trips and the inevitable strain on my credit cards, but the fact is she's learned a lot about how to look good and she's really quite pretty. Her brown hair is just beyond shoulder-length and she keeps it straight, parted to her right side. Her brown eyes are expressive, made beautiful by the judicious use of eye makeup. In fact, she's become quite adept at applying makeup.
I was the nerdy girl who came to it later in life, learning such feminine arts when I was in college, thanks to my roomie, Kitty. We did each other's nails and experimented with curling irons and various hair color systems, sometimes with humorous results. She and I remain close friends to this day, occasionally meeting for lunch and shopping or a girls' weekend.
Peeking into her door, I saw she was wearing a really cute light blue dress I like on her. The thing that really caught my attention was her underwear, or rather the lack of it. She was totally commando and I could see everything she had. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her nether anatomy was openly on display. I noted she does a very creditable job of keeping her pussy clean of any hair and I had to admit she has a really cute little pussy. It's entirely an "innie" and she has that gap thing between her thighs that seems so important to girls these days.
I was glad her father wasn't there to see it. He's quite a horn dog. It would have turned him to stone very quickly. Come to think of it, that wouldn't necessarily be so bad. I haven't been getting the attention in the bedroom I need. I've had to use my modest toy collection more and more as time passes to keep my needs met.
The truth is after walking past my daughter's display, I found myself in the kitchen with a cup of coffee thinking I needed a little "me" time. I had definitely gotten moist in my panties. My thoughts began to turn to Kitty. It had been a while since we'd had a coffee and even longer since we found some time to fool around together. Kitty was my college girl crush. I learned a lot more than just makeup from her. For a year or so, we thought we were lesbians and really enjoyed playing house together. That changed when we both found serious boyfriends and ended up getting married just before graduation. Naturally, we were each other's Maid of Honor. To be more accurate, she was my Maid of Honor and I became her Matron of Honor. I got hitched first, but we did the same things for each other, helping with planning, procuring all the various things one gets for a successful wedding, and, naturally, shopping for wedding dresses and shoes and especially lingerie.
Sometimes, one of us needed some time with another girl and we enjoyed that together. It's helped me maintain my sanity over the years when I suffered my husband's bouts of TTS, Toxic Testosterone Syndrome. Having a girlfriend to spend a bit of time with was therapeutic. Besides, she was a much better lover than my dear husband who has other redeeming qualities.
I'd decided to give Kitty a call to see when she had a few free hours to share when my eighteen year-old daughter, Katie, flounced into the kitchen. She got a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down at the table with me. She was still wearing the cute blue dress and she looked quite good in it. Sitting, the skirt covered her thighs about half way down.
"Hi, dear. Please don't let your father see you as I saw you a few minutes ago. I'm not sure what the result might be, but he wouldn't be happy to see you on display like that."
She looked at me quizzically. "Huh?"
I rolled my eyes and explained. "That's a wonderfully cute dress, dear, but you probably should wear panties underneath. You were in a perfect position to show everything off. I must say you're nicely groomed down below."
She reddened slightly and crossed her legs. "I'm sorry, mom. My boyfriend is a jerk."
I sighed and addressed this one head on. "Most boys seem to learn that from their friends if not their fathers. What did he do this time?"
"Mom, do you really like this dress?"
"Yes, it's really cute on you and the color is perfect for your complexion. It seems a bit short when you're on your hands and knees, though."
"Um, yeah, I guess so. I tripped on something last night and I ended up on my knees like you saw me. Jimmy wouldn't help me up. He just stared at me and then he tried to get on me doggy style. Right in front of his friends. I was so embarrassed, I broke up with him. He drove me home and I just don't know what to do."
I shook my head. "I hope you waited to break up with him until after he drove you home. You can always call me for a ride if you need one, dear. You know that."
"I'm not that stupid mom, but now I don't have a date for Prom and I already ordered my dress."
"I'm sure you can find a date for Prom, love. You're the cutest girl in the school."
She patted my hand and smiled. "Thanks, mom. A couple of other guys already asked me, but not anybody I want to go with. They're such nerds."
"If I was a boy, I'd do anything for a date with a girl like you. You'll find somebody."
She looked at me oddly. "You would? You'd date a girl like me?"
I grinned at her. "Pure hypothetical, dear. I'm not a boy and I'm way older than you are."
She grinned back. "You're certainly not a boy, mom. You're a very pretty woman and you're only twenty years older than me."
"Twenty-two years and that's a long time when measured in Katie years."
She was getting that gleam in her eyes that usually presaged one of her wild ideas. "Well, I have some gay friends who are going as couples. The LGBTQ club was talking about doing an alternative Prom, but it was going to be too expensive for them. Most of them wanted to see their friends at Prom anyway, so I'm sure we'll see other same-sex couples there. Most of them are nice kids, really.
"Why don't you go as my date to Prom? I know a girl who's taking her father and she's really happy about it. She said he's the only male who'd treat her nicely and he's a great dancer."
I was stunned by the idea for a second. "Prom? That's one of the Rite of Passage things. You get to learn how to present yourself in a more formal setting and it's the first chance you get to see who's going to be the class alcoholics and druggies." She giggled. "I already know who the alkies and druggies are. Also the sex addicts and Future Convicts of America. One of the boys who asked me always gets drunk. At the last dance, he threw up all over his date's dress and they had a miserable time. She called her dad to pick her up and take her home. No thanks. I'd be happier staying home and playing Scrabble with you."
I chuckled. "What a romantic scenario. Scrabble with the family and popcorn and lemonade, then early to bed."
"Nope, I want to dance with my friends and make fun of the other girls' dresses and see who does what stupid things. I plan to take lots of pictures."
"Well, isn't the idea to have a date to dance with and such? My date took me to a nice place for dinner and we danced and then afterwards we went to a hotel to change and continue the party."
"Oooh, did mom get laid on Prom night?"
I sniffed. "None of your business, Lois Lane. It's not for the gossip column anyway. What happens on Prom night..."
"Stays on Prom night. I know, but I hope you had fun. I was planning on being naughty after Prom, maybe during Prom, too. I want a Prom to remember."
