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[oceanparksauthor-blog]

Fancy Dress Curse

I swear I am cursed. Any single time I wear a fucking fancy dress I cannot get laid in said dress. WTF is wrong with this?

Welcome to the life of Ocean. I have been on countless dates in which I was required to wear some sort of formal gown; sometimes these gowns cost me up to $500. Every.single.time. I am close to getting laid in one of these expensive gowns the guy comes up with some sort of reasoning on why he is unable to do this deed. 

Like what? You cannot fuck me in this dress? Recently I had a party engagement to go too. UGH. It was Ocean’s time. I took a day off work. Desperation. 

I ended up at my local mall. Went to my favorite store, Windsor, because lets face it fancy dresses are the best when they are classic but cheap. Many of the dresses I’ve worn to gala’s, weddings, parties, and events have come from this store. The last time I had on a fancy dress (prior to Monday) was for my late adopted mother’s last chance prom. I loved that fucking prom dress. I never went to prom. So this was a great night. The fucking douche bag of a date I went with requested that we leave an hour after we got there for some head banging metal concert. Now that was an experience we will discuss another time....

So alas, I ended up at Windsor. I was suckered into two dresses. One for my weekend trip away this weekend to celebrate the lover in my life who means more to me than anything. And one was for his birthday celebration. Don’t worry, we’ll discuss our sexual escapades for those who are interested. The birthday dinner dress was a cherry, sinful red. Made entirely of lace with an under bodice. It was skin tight. Literally when I moved the dress moved with me and I felt like I was one with it’s “swooshing.” 

I look fucking sexy. With the off the shoulders straps and my tits freely popping up I felt like a fucking goddess. 

Dinner was great. Food was good. Drinks were awesome. Company was better. I wore nothing under this dress. No bra. No panties. NOTHING. I was prepared. This was the night. I even prepped my boyfriend co-workers....and they joked on how tired he would be the following morning.

But yo you fucking introverts. A two hour party tired him out. I can’t really blame him, but come on.....we went home. And through a flurry of getting shit ready for bed I came out of a child’s room and found him already in his pajamas and in bed.

FUCK.

I felt like Donna from that “70′s show” in which I had perverted dirty thoughts and ideas of him throwing me on the bed and lifting up the edge of the dress. Or maybe even “forcing me to my knees.” 

Introverts are fun and unique creatures. 

I slipped out of the dress. Put on my sweat pants and sweat shirt.......

Lets try a re-take this weekend.