But the thing is that my mom and I are just fundamentally different. It’s not like I’m not interested in sex. But so far, none of the acne-ridden boys in my high school have inspired me to lust. What I need is a man. Someone big and strong, with rippling muscles and a deep voice, someone who’d know what to do with my body, someone who’d take me. Someone who was seriously hung with a huge, thick cock. Someone like the men in the romance novels I like to read.

But who am I kidding? Those novels are fantasies. Men like that don’t exist. And even if they did, they’d never be interested in curvy, nerdy, Janie Martin.

Although there is that guy who just moved next door. I think his name is Trent – his mail was sticking out of his mailbox one time and I secretly stole a glance at the address. I bet he’s hung, all right. He’s very mysterious and I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but on those occasions I felt as if the lust I’d only experienced reading my romance novels had been manifested in the flesh. Vivian and I had been unloading some grocery bags from the car and there he was, working on his car in the driveway. His shirt was off, showing off an incredibly muscled upper body covered in tattoos. His black hair was combed back, glinting in the sunlight, one strand falling over his brow as he tinkered with the engine. Vivian had practically dropped the brown paper bags, tripping over herself to go and say hi. I’d died of course. This was my mom, after all.

But since that day, I haven’t seen him since. Trent’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen and if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit I’m incredibly turned on by him.

But back to the problem at hand.

“At least try it on for me,” wheedles Vivian, and I’m aware I haven’t been listening to a word she’s been saying. Not that she’s noticed.

“What would be the point, Mom?” I say, finishing off the second baking tray and placing it in the oven. The warm waft of sugariness of the first tray blasts me full in the face, making my mouth water. “The point would be for me to at least be able to see it on you! Just once! Even if you’re too ungrateful to actually wear it out,” she retorts. I roll my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, and untying my apron I stalk to my room, snatching the dress from Vivian’s hand.

Impatiently, I unzip my jeans and throw them on the floor and yank my T-shirt over my head. Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I stand looking at myself in underwear. Uck, I’m all folds and jiggles. I pull a face and hastily drag the black, silky material over my head and chest and down to my legs – where it ends, much to my disdain – high up on my thighs.

Great, I think. Thanks for nothing, Mom. But then I glance up at the mirror and I have to admit, the dress is flattering.

My arms may be soft but my shoulders are small and so is my waist, two facts that are highlighted by this particular cut. My huge tits aren’t crushed by the material, as is the case with most dresses I’ve tried, but are liberated by the incredibly low neckline and are pushed up and together. The material clings to my soft belly rolls and wide hips in a way that doesn’t make me look like beached whale, but rather a diva. And turning around to admire my large ass, I’m pleasantly surprised by the way the material ends just under by butt cheeks for a flattering fit.

Yes, the dress is slutty – but I find myself wondering what that guy Trent would say if he saw me in this. What would a man like that do? I can’t help it as a shiver runs through my frame … because I desperately want to find out.



“And?” comes Vivian’s muffled shriek from the other side of my locked bedroom door, startling me. I start peeling the dress off. “Well?” she asks insistently.

“It’s okay, I guess,” I lie.

“Aren’t you going to show me?” she continues.

“Maybe another time!” I call back, throwing my regular clothes back on. The sudden baggy softness is comforting. What was I thinking, putting on a dress like that?

“You’re so ungrateful!” Vivian says in exasperation before stalking off. I roll my eyes and unlock the door before peering outside. Good. My mom’s gone. Finally, a moment’s peace.

For a moment I stand staring at the dress, playing with the idea of putting it back on and “accidentally” walking past my bedroom window. What would our hunky neighbor do if he saw? But as I glance out of the window, which affords me a full view of his backyard, pool and all, I can see he’s not even out there right now. Sighing in annoyance at myself for such a ridiculous idea in the first place, I put the dress on a hanger in my wardrobe. Vivian will have to return it.

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