Chapter 8: Lisa's Dream
That night Lisa had a dream. In her dream she was in high school
again. She saw herself walking down her crowded high school
hallway, wearing her green skirt - this was before it was
shortened, knee length. Of course, she didn't have that skirt in
high school; indeed, when she was in high school, she wore jeans
all the time, just as all the other girls and boys did in real
life and in this dream. But Lisa was definitely wearing a knee
length green skirt. Conservative, calm, she is stopped by a boy
she had dated. Brad.
In her dream, Lisa knows that her skirt is very, very strange.
It's length . . . changes. It changes when she is aroused. The
more aroused she gets, the shorter the skirt gets. As Lisa stands
by her locker, chatting with Brad, she is aware of her girlfriends
looking at her from across the hall. They see her finger playing
with her hair as she chats with Brad, about homework, about the
dance coming up, about television. And they giggle as they see
her skirt shrink. They know why it's shrinking! Lisa hears them
giggle and looks down: half her thighs are now visible. Her legs
are naked - she is the only student not wearing jeans, showing off
her 15-year-old thighs. They are soft and fair skinned and they
seem to glow, and Brad can see them too. Lisa is blushing, and
with each blush the skirt goes higher, because she is aroused at
the thought of Brad seeing her legs. She cannot make the skirt
stop shrinking, so she keeps talking to Brad as if nothing is
wrong. Soon her butt cheeks will be poking out, and the giggling
will intensify.
Somehow, she finds herself in French class - and now she is
wearing a cheerleader's uniform. When she will wake up later, she
will find the memory of this strange, since there were no
cheerleaders at her high school, and she certainly has never
donned a cheerleader's uniform in her life. But it doesn't seem
strange in her dream. It seems like she was supposed to be
wearing it, because the big game was that day, and all the
football players need to have their spirits lifted. So she is
wearing the uniform, for the football players, who grunt at each
other and drool as they ogle her bare legs. Her white and red
sweater is tight, showing off the shape of her perky teenage
breasts. Her blonde hair is pulled back into two little pigtails
- has she ever worn her hair that way? And of course her skirt
barely covers her legs. If her green skirt shortened as much as
it did earlier, what will become of this very open garment? And
she is still aroused, and it does make the skirt get shorter, and
shorter. The desks in the room are arranged in a big circle; the
middle of the room is empty, and she can feel all the boys and
girls in the class, all wearing blue jeans and tee-shirts, looking
at her exposed legs. She needs to stop her skirt from getting
shorter, or else it will vanish entirely. She has to stop her
arousal.
She opens her legs, and hears a gasp from the boys across the
room. Her hand slips between her thighs, to her extremely wet,
bright red cheerleader panties. When she touches them, they
completely melt and drip down her leg, making a little puddle on
the floor by her feet.
At the thought of wearing such a short, shrinking skirt with no
panties at all, her arousal doubles, and the length of her skirt
shrinks correspondingly. She must stop it! She must get relief!
She starts stroking herself, rubbing her wet clit, as the boys and
girls all watch with open mouths. The humiliation is
overwhelming, but oh the pleasure!
As her climax nears, her French teacher, Monsieur Brideaux, slaps
a ruler on the desk,
"Excusez-moi Mademoiselle!" he shouts. But she cannot stop. He
opens his mouth to speak again and says: "Beeeeeeeep"
It is Lisa's alarm clock. She wants to return to her dream. What
was her teacher going to say? She wants the orgasm - she needs to
stop her skirt from disappearing! She slams on the snooze button
and falls quickly back asleep.
She is dreaming again, but she is no longer in French class.
She's at the mall, where all the kids are hanging out. And she's
wearing her green skirt again, but this time she is wearing her
new stockings and garter. And she hears her friends start to
giggle again. Brad is there, looking at video game posters in a
store window. She is trying to get his attention, "Brad? Brad?
Do you want to fuck me? Brad?" But he is paying no attention.
As her friends' giggling gets louder, she realizes she is still
aroused. She never got her orgasm in French class! The alarm
clock had prevented it. So her skirt is still shrinking! "Brad!
I need you to fuck me now!" But Brad has started playing a demo
of some game. Her skirt is still rising. It is now at the top of
her stockings. "Please, Brad! Hurry!!!"
"Hey Lisa," calls Samantha, one of the girls, "nice stockings!"
Her skirt is now two inches above her stocking tops, and she
cannot pull it back down. There is simply not enough material any
more. She tries to look nonchalant as her friends giggle, but she
knows everyone can see her naked thighs above her stockings.
Soon, her short skirt will expose her bare pussy. The skirt rises
higher. "Brad! Fuck me now!!!"
Brad turns to her, annoyed, and says "Beeeeeeep."
Oh dammit, Lisa says. She looks at her alarm clock. She is going
to be late for work.
This is not the first time she has woken up from an erotic dream
with her right hand on her crotch, so wet her pajama pants are
soaked through leaving a small puddle on the sheets. No, it
happened one month ago. And probably a month before that. This
is the time of the month when Lisa is at her horniest.
Of course, she remembers that last month she had no men in her
life, nothing sexual in her agenda, and so she lay in bed for
nearly an hour fingering herself to multiple orgasms. As she
arrived at work, late and exhausted, she rationalized her guilt
and emptiness in a language of hormones and biological necessity.
This month was different though. This month - this Monday of this
month - Lisa had an agenda for feeling better. Yes. She was
going to don a new skirt, Steve's stockings, a sexy top, and she
was going to march right up to Steve, fresh and on time, and
apologize for not following his orders on Friday. She would make
it clear that she was still . . . available. For she would be,
she drilled to herself: she will do what he asks; heck, what
/anyone/ asks, and she will not selfishly amuse herself, no. This
time, she will not masturbate without permission.
Her morning shower almost made her late again. She could not get
her mind off her dream. Brad had never fucked her - neither in
her dream nor in real life. Her college boyfriend, Eric; he was
the first, and as she recalls, the last, since she decided since
then that her own hand did better work than the only cock she ever
felt. But she had a feeling that Steve would be different; and he
is clearly interested. Lisa realizes as she has these thoughts
that she is again stroking herself under the spray of warm water.
She snaps back into focus and turns the water off. I must be
fresh for Steve, she thinks.
A little wet from the shower, legs freshly shaved, she examines
her nude body in her mirror. Her skin is fair - almost pale, but
very smooth and unblemished. She notices that her nipples are
hard from her arousal. She picks out a bra - as she did last
week, she chooses a white, lacy bra that adds a little lift and
covers her pointy nipples well. She picks out panties: white,
simple, functional. She then puts on her new garter belt and the
stockings Steve gave her, rolling them very carefully up her legs.
She looks at herself again in just her underwear; she looks sexy,
but still herself, she thinks. Yes. This is me - the new me.
Her spirits brighten when she pulls her new skirt out of the
closet. To think, before a week ago she did not own a single
skirt; only two formal dresses. But now she has a skirt that she
bought just for today, her third, and the excitement builds in her
as she considers what it means. This is a skirt. When I wear
it, I am making myself vulnerable. Sexually vulnerable. And at
least one man knows it, and today I am going to remind him.
Suddenly, an image comes to her mind of Steve with no pants and a
large, erect penis, nearly ready to plunge into her own very wet
slit. She smiles as she pulls up her skirt. She needs this.
This morning she pays more attention to her shirt than she usually
does, trying on several before choosing a thin, pale blue sweater.
It is sufficiently tight that the shape of her breasts is very
clear, and it shows off how thin her waist is. It is a little
short, and the skirt is a little low on her hips, revealing about
an inch of flesh at her waist when her arms are raised, or behind
her. Perfect, she thinks. She notes how the outfit shows off the
curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts. She has never
felt this sexy - this attractive - in her entire life, and as she
drinks a quick mug of coffee, eats a cold bagel, slips on her work
shoes, and runs out the door, she thanks Joan again for allowing
her to look forward to her day.
