Steve lay in bed, careful not to stir. Vivian was sound asleep, her head on his shoulder, her jet black hair cascading across his chest and disappearing under the dark blue satin sheets.
He tried to remember which artist is was that did so many paintings of one person watching another sleep. Van Gogh? Picasso? He was too tired to remember for sure. He guessed that the artist was trying to convey the mood he now felt. Fundamental intimacy. Sex was intimate, to be sure. This was too, but in a different kind of way. Pure. Simple.
He looked down at her, breathing softly, her face relaxed in the innocent, untroubled bliss of sleep. Even her hair fascinated him. Thick, almost stiff. Straight, but with a lot of body. Fine, delicate wisps along the back of her neck. She was very lovely.
He could easily imagine her being a beauty contestant. He had a whole series of fantasies involving Chinese beauty contestants, all dressed up in satin cheongsams. He loved going down to Maunakea street for Chinese New Year, wading through the throngs of people to get close to the rickety stage set up in the street where, after performances of martial arts and folk dancing, the contestants were introduced. One by one they strode across the stage, trying hard to smile and look fetching. One or two would stumble slightly in her unfamiliar high heels, creating a crack in the facade of satin, jewels, and high-fashion makeup, their youth and immaturity peeking out momentarily, adding to the sensation that the girls were on display, like purebreds at a dog show, there hoping to win a prize, be it the title of Miss Chinatown or the notice of a wealthy bachelor, or perhaps just a good job at a prestigious law office or one of the local airlines. Despite his somewhat cynical attitude towards the contest, he loved watching the contestants, so beautiful to look at that his head would swim. Few things made him feel so much like he had died and gone to heaven.
Later, away from the noise and crowds, he would dream up all kinds of wild situations involving the contestants and a wicked old Godfather type, a man so important that he alone could decide the fate of each.
Every year he had the girls pay him a visit just before they went on stage. There, in his opulent office looking out over the throngs below, he put each girl through an ordeal, supposedly to test her mettle. Each girl drew a long lacquered stick from a vase on which was inscribed her sentence, to which she must submit gracefully or give up any chance of winning. The punishments including tickling of the feet or breasts with all manner of calligraphy brushes and exotic feathers, breast binding with cords of silk or finely braided leather, spankings with intricately carved paddles that left welts in the shape of sacred animals like dragons and tigers, application of secret ointments made from chili peppers to the vagina and clitoris, rubbing the clit with fish sauce and allowing a cat to lick it off, plucking out pubic hair one by one; these and more were the kinds of things the old man did to each girl, who had to remain silent throughout her ordeal.
Those who failed to stifle their cries were given a second chance, which involved wearing something wicked under their cheongsam out in public, on stage just after the meeting and during a parade later that week. Tight rubber bras and g-strings lined with sharp points. Electric ben wa balls that danced in their cunt with every step. Butt plugs. Nipple clamps. Dildo pants.
The image of a beautiful Chinese girl all dolled up, out in public, smiling and looking poised, while enduring outrageously intense, even painful stimulation created a bizarre contrast that Steve found very erotic.
His and Vivian's late night escapades had not been quite so bizarre, but almost.
"Well," he thought to himself, "she should be tired, after all that."
His mind turned to other women he had spotted earlier that evening at the gig. There were quite a few dressed in qiana, though none as striking as Vivian. One woman had on a beautiful silvery white satin gown that flowed like water over her body, like the dresses worn by movie stars in the thirties. His reverie about beauty queens had probably made the connection.
Only now did he remember that Teddi had worn a similar gown earlier that evening. He wondered if they were by the same designer, although Teddi's had been much sexier. How strange, he thought, that he hadn't remembered that at the gig. Was it possible to be so inundated with visions of women in sexy clothes that his appetite became satiated?
The sight of soft, fluid satin excited him almost as much as nylon jersey. He loved the feel of the shiny side, cold and smooth, especially when it was soft and supple like the dress he had seen that night. It was nice to look at, and nice to touch, but it didn't fulfill his ideal of having the wearer bathed in constant pleasure. The thing he liked about qiana was that it was a double knit, meaning that the inside looked, and felt, just like the outside. Most satin dresses did not feel nearly so sensuous to the woman wearing them as they did to touch, but there were exceptions. What did the trick for Steve was to imagine that it felt as good as it looked, even if that was streatching the truth a bit.
He had never tried rubbing his cock with satin, but he had considered it. During the gig he had gotten quite excited imagining the woman in the white satin gown tied up naked while he dragging the gown over her breasts and between her legs, then switching places and letting her tease him with it.
Also memorable had been a trio of young girls, too young for him to pursue but very cute and lovely in their qiana gowns. One was dark blue, one a light powder blue, and one a pastel yellow. They were all Chinese, with the very slanted almond eyes that he liked so much. Willowy thin, with as much of a figure as a girl that age could be expected to have. Dressed as they were, their hair done up and with just a bit of makeup, they looked older than they really were. This could very well have been each girl's first time out dressed as an adult.
He had enjoyed watching them and thinking up variations of sensual situations. He imagined that each had decided to go naked under her dress, secretly and unknown to the others. Each was very ticklish, and the feel of her gown drove her crazy. He loved the irony of having the three of them all enjoying such sensuous pleasure and not realizing that the others were doing the same thing.
Later his imaginary story changed so that they did in fact arrange to dress that way. One had told the others about discovering the special pleasure of wearing nothing under her dress, and the other two had rushed to make their dresses and join in the fun. Now it was the three of them with a shared secrete, not sure if anyone else knew about their little discovery.
He had imagined them playing little games with each other, tickling each other under the table. Sneaking off to a quiet corner of the hotel and taking turns tickling each other, seeing who could stand it the longest. Flights of fancy like these are what made the otherwise corny music tolerable. He had sworn to himself many times that should women stop dressing this way he would retire. That is, unless whatever look became fashionable proved to be just as provocative.
He carefully picked up his glass of B&B from the bedside table and took a sip. It was almost empty, but he didn't want to get up to get more least he awaken Vivian. He swirled it around, studying how it caught the soft light from the small lamp on the table, rich, warm shades of golden brown. He sniffed it, hoping that he might, in the future, associate the smell with this night, this moment.
His thoughts turned to the ever present desire that burned within him, his constant companion, a force that sometimes seemed to take control of his life out of his hands.
"It's always so different. You'd think that wouldn't be so, given that I always chase the girls in slinky clothes. But it is.
"It starts out the same. I'm a sucker for any half way attractive girl in a slinky dress. Especially a petite oriental girl. One look at that gleaming, sparkling, fluid fabric and away I go, like a race horse out of the starting gate. I always feel like they dress that way because it feels so good. 'Look at me! I'm wearing this fabulous dress, and it feels so good! Come on, Steve, touch me. Tickle me. Lift my skirt and drive your cock deep inside me!'
"And what is it about tickling? Which do I believe most, that they don't know how sexy it can be, or that they already know? To not know leaves it to me to teach them. Rather like having a virgin. Yet I enjoy thinking that the women I see dressed that way are being tickled by what they wear. That cool, light touch, that sensual feeling. That's one of my favorite fantasies, a girl wearing a slinky nylon jersey dress that tickles her, ever so lightly, a continuous titillation all over her body. I want it to tickle a lot, so that she can barely stand it. Gentle, sensual tickling torture that she is powerless to stop. Doesn't that create a double bind?
"But isn't sex like that? Good old, plain, everyday sex. There are the young, innocent virgins who don't appreciate how good sex is until a man fucks them. And the experienced, lusty women who eagerly pursue gratification.
"Maybe those old plot lines just don't hold up anymore. Role playing aside, it seems like the women I meet, no matter how young they are, know that sex can be fun. Any female so innocent as to not know that would have to be a child. And the idea of having sex with someone so young is, to me, revolting. Oh, sure, a young girl might act innocent, if she thinks it makes her more desirable. And it can. It works for me. But it really seems to be an acting job. And, when the courting rituals have been played out, they are never surprised when I reach down and stroke their cunt. No, right about then their innocence seems to disappear. They may not always be skilled, but they do want to learn.
"But aren't my ideas of sensuality a bit outside the mainstream of human sexual practice? In some ways, yes, but in others, no. What am I driving at? What am I trying to say? I guess the bottom line is, I enjoy seeing myself in the role of turning a woman on to a kind of pleasure she never knew about, yet I like to think that every woman I see in a nylon jersey dress is secretly enjoying the feel of it against her skin.
"So where is the truth? Every woman I have had the chance to share my desires with has, to some degree, acknowledged that she enjoys the special feeling of the fabric. That it arouses her, that it feels good. I even see it in fabric store ads, 'Nylon jersey, the feel good fabric' and 'You'll love the feel, soft and sensual.' And there are Carol's stories from her store, if they are for real. But does every woman who dresses that way crave to be tied up and tickled the way I like to do it? I doubt it. To crave sex is one thing, but to crave being tickled is something else. Enjoying the feel of nylon jersey is somewhere in between.
"That means that it is significant to separate the enjoyment of the sensual feel of silky fabrics from full-on tickling. Many women enjoy wearing sensual evening gowns, but only a few will go so far as to enjoy being tied up and tickled."
Steve lay there, watching Vivian's peaceful sleep, and felt a sense of lightness. He had been feeling increasingly confused about his passion for tickling, and suddenly, in a brief flash of deep insight, he felt he had resolved some of the conflicts that had been bothering him.
Vivian had been as close to an ideal partner as he supposed he would ever find. They met several more times during the party, and by its end he had managed to convey his interest in what she wore and extracted a promise to rendezvous at the all night coffee shop in the hotel. She had been firm about not leaving the party together; he supposed that she didn't want to be seen getting picked up by the drummer in front of her whole family.
On the other hand, after the last set she did invite him to sit at her table for a drink, and one of the older women, an aunt, mentioned that Vivian had competed for Miss Chinatown two years ago and had almost won. The conventional wisdom at the table was that Vivian lost because she was too beautiful and didn't give special favors to the organizers the way some of the girls did.
Actually, the chase had been unusual in that he began to feel as if she were stalking him. By the time he was packed and ready to go he felt as if she sensed that he had unusual appetites, and was eager to meet such a man. He was desperately curious to know if her interest was innocent, or based on previous experience.
At the coffee shop he hinted that she might enjoy her dress a lot more without so much under it. A moment later she excused herself, and upon her return he saw at once that she had taken his suggestion. The stockings were gone, and where before her bust line and been high and firm it now had that soft, natural look. Her nipples made nice little bumps against the thin, shiny black fabric.
Grinning, she leaned across the table and whispered, "You're right. It's much better this way."
Afterwards they had gone for a walk, wandering down Kalakaua Avenue along the beach front. It was cool, with gentle trade winds. He knew that she was feeling very enjoyable sensations as the qiana slid over her bare skin. He put his arm around her waist, loving the feel of her small warm body next to his just as much as the feel of the nylon under his fingertips. He was bursting with anticipation, but forced himself to take it slow and easy. Waiting, when the end was so near and the outcome so promising, was in itself a kind of torture.
He had steered them to a shadowy place beneath a big banyan tree, and had kissed her. She returned his kiss eagerly, and in a moment he was working his hands over her ribs, waiting with bated breath to see how she would react. She began to squirm, and he kissed her harder, holding her tight with his right arm and tickling her with his left hand. Finally she pulled her head back.
"No no no, no more, please. I'm very ticklish there."
"Oh good! It would be a shame if you weren't."
"Whew! Actually, I kind of liked that. But not out here."
"I have just the place. Care to head over there?"
"You mean, where you live?"
"Of course. It's not far, just over the Ala Wai."
"Lead on!"
That had been so easy. The rest had been too, almost as if she had planned it.
She was as shocked as anyone when she walked into his penthouse apartment. It was in a very classy building, much too expensive for a musician. And then there was his instrument collection, and his storage system.
He ran through his routine explanation, about how his wealthy father had passed away a few years ago, leaving the house to his mother and this apartment to him. Along with a portfolio that allowed him to get by well enough without needing to work.
The instrument collection was a real conversation piece. For years he had been collecting every imaginable percussion instrument from all over the world. The living room was dominated by a wooden structure that looked like a garden trellis, but of very sturdy construction. A series of 4x4 posts along the walls supported a grid of 2x4s set on edge, and these were festooned with sturdy eye bolts. From these hung a dazzling array of small drums, cymbals, gongs, rattles, and things that were so strange looking that it was not easy to determine how they were meant to be played.
They talked, then kissed again, and this time when he started to tickle her she did not stop him so quickly. And, each time she did, she asked him for more.
It didn't take long to persuade her to let him tie her up. She seemed intrigued by the idea of really letting go and being incapable of twisting away from his fingers. He immediately produced a set of four fleece lined leather cuffs and strapped them onto her wrists and ankles. Then he clipped ropes to them and tied them to his instrument rack so that she was standing, legs spread, her arms outstretched and pulled up.
He assured her that with the windows closed she could make all the noise she wanted and nobody would hear. Then he had really gone over her, tickling her through the nylon gown, searching out every ticklish spot. She laughed, screamed, moaned, and begged him to stop. He would have, in an instant, if she had said the magic word they had agreed on, but she never did.
At first he carefully avoided her cunt, but as the minutes passed he began to caress her there, pushing in on the front of her gown so that it rubbed ever so lightly against the outer lips. Then he took out a soft camel's hair paintbrush, the kind used for pinstriping, and, lifting her skirt, used it to tickle her cunt for a long time. Her frenzy built to a fever pitch, and she begged him to stop, and to press harder. He did neither, enjoying her anguished pleas.
This was one aspect of his sessions that sometimes bothered him afterwards. He took great pleasure in tormenting his partner this way. Not the torture of the whips and chains folks, he liked to think, but rather the torment of doing something that felt unbearably good.
That prom queen he had scored with a few weeks previously had been a case like that. She had balked at being suspended from his rack, but did let him tie her to the bed, without her prom dress on. He had picked up her dress and dragged it over her tits, producing wild gyrations as she bucked and wiggled frantically, laughing hysterically and swearing at the top of her voice even as he fucked her. He had loved watching her suffer that way, as he had watching Vivian tonight. Afterwards she assured him that it had been the most wonderful sexual experience in her life. So had Vivian.
Finally, when he guessed that Vivian had had enough, he had let her down and laid her on some big, soft pillows on the floor. He tied her hands to one of the vertical posts, and suspended her ankles from the rack so that they were spread wide and pulled up almost over her head. Then he had fucked her, long and slow, all the while tickling her tits and ribs, running his fingertips over the slippery nylon. She tossed about so much from the tickling that for a long time he hardly had to move himself. She came, several times, bucking and screaming. Then he did too, an explosive orgasm that swept over him like a raging, wild animal, drawing from him all of the pent up energy from a long day of being highly aroused.
At the peak of his drive, just before he came, images of Teddi and Carol flashed before him. Teddi, so young and sultry, tied to that table as he dragged the cool nylon between her legs. Carol, in her wicked pants, tied up for him the way Vivian had been. His fingernails running up and down between her legs. Feeling the hard bump of her clit beneath the slick fabric, hearing her scream as the tickling blended with sexual release. Then he saw himself spanking her ass with a bamboo switch, the slinky pants rippling over her legs with each blow, giving her what she wanted most. Even that prom queen, so incredibly beautiful, her luscious, swim suit model body arched, straining against the ropes as he fucked her, still torturing her breasts with her jersey prom dress.
He pumped, rocked, and swayed in every way he knew to give Vivian as much pleasure as he could. In deep, put pressure on her clit, ease it almost out. A few quick thrusts, then deep and hold. Beneath him Vivian was delirious, both from the good fucking and his unrelenting torment of her breasts.
Then, as his passion was galloping at full speed, he found himself thinking about the three young Chinese girls from the party. He cast aside his concerns for their immaturity and imagined having them all here in his apartment, standing in a row, their wrists tied up to his rack. Tickling them, trying hard to spread his attention equally between them, all of them howling with laughter and begging for mercy. Their young, tender breasts, never before caressed, were especially sensitive. Running his nails in circles over the smooth nylon that covered them, flicking their nipples, driving them all wild. Their cunts were incredibly ticklish. Each time he pressed the slinky fabric up and brushed their cunts with it they fought to get away, shrieking and pleading with him not to tickle them there. Three little Chinese dolls, all dressed the way he liked and tickled out of their minds. And a real one, older, less innocent, but in many ways more desirable, bound for his pleasure and begging him to stop.
The one in the middle started begging him to come inside her, and the other two followed suit. He lifted the blue dress and slid his cock into her sopping wet cunt. The girl squealed and bucked in sheer ecstasy. He let go of the hem, letting the cool, slinky nylon fall over his cock. The fabric bunched up over his cock, and each time he thrust it into her his pelvis pressed it hard against her clit. He reached out with both hands and lifted the dresses of the other girls, slipping the middle finger of each hand into their pussies and rubbing the nylon over their clits with his thumb. All three writhed and moaned in concert. He lasted a long time, finally coming in a tremendous orgasm that was so strong he couldn't remain standing. He dropped to his knees and used his tongue on her clit, still diddling the others with his hands. He kept going until they were all limp and exhausted.
All of those images swept over him, in an instant that stretched to infinity, their cries and laughter blending into a crazy chorus of boundless ecstasy. He could feel Vivian's cunt pulsing, twitching, as if to suck his come right out of his dick.
It had been grand. One of the best ever. When it was over she was barely conscious. He had quickly untied her and carried her to his bed, slipping off her gown, by then soaked with sweat. And here he was, at two in the morning, watching her sleep and trying to understand this wild passion of his.
He wondered as he had so many times before how many women had enjoyed wearing the kind of clothes he liked so much that very night, just in the last few hours. And how many couples had enjoyed their special erotic qualities. He always found it difficult to get a real grasp of the numbers. His mind just seemed to give up when dealing with such large orders of magnitude, like trying to comprehend how many stars there were in the universe.
He had read somewhere that there were about two thousand kids in the public high school senior class. This gave him a starting point. Now, weary, gazing with affection at Vivian sleeping so soundly next to him, he started to extrapolate the way some people counted sheep.
"Two thousand. Half would be girls, that's a thousand. Assume half as many again in private school, that's fifteen hundred. Suppose one third were just not sexually active, and we're back to a thousand. That's for one class. Expand this to include the juniors and the college aged girls, that's six years in all, six thousand. Six thousand what, single girls who are at least somewhat sexually active? Some of those will get married, but some of the even younger ones could be included, so that's a wash. And besides, its not that they're available to me, it's that they are young and sexy, desirable to me. Being married doesn't make then ugly, not that fast.
"Based on my observations, at least half of the girls at proms and weddings wear gowns made of qiana. The styles are not often outrageous, but the main thing is that they wear dresses that felt wonderful to touch, and are delightfully sensuous to wear as long as they skimp on underwear. Three thousand pretty young girls with a qiana gown in their closet. Three thousand girls who might just dress that way on a date, out for dinner, dancing, or a party.
"Surely that could mean several hundred on a given weekend. Is it too much to imagine that a few percent find the feel of the fabric so sensual that they like including it in their sex play? I have had sex like that with a woman on the average of once every two weeks or so, and there must be others doing it. Is it too far fetched to imagine that every weekend, on the average, there are between five and ten girls somewhere on Oahu who enjoy the special feeling of this fabric? Who let their boyfriends tickle them with it, drag it over their naked bodies, or just enjoy the feeling all over their bodies as they make out in the back seat? Or even just enjoy the feeling of it as they dance, letting it arouse them, slowly heating their passion until they can't stand it any longer and drag their partner to a secluded spot for a good fuck?
"And how many play with themselves, alone at home or after their parents go to bed, taking out their dress and putting it on, masturbating to the accompaniment of its sensuous touch against their skin? Given three thousand active young girls, is it too much to imagine that somewhere in a house on Oahu this very night a pretty young girl has made herself delirious with pleasure by laying on the edge of her bed and dragging her qiana gown between her legs?"
A girl dragging her prom dress between her legs was currently his favorite turn-on, but there were other scenarios that he found equally erotic. Two girls, or even a small group, all dressed this way and playing with each other. Girls who let their boyfriends tie them up and tickle their feet with feathers, or drag qiana across their breasts, until they were frantic to come. Girls who tied up their boyfriends and dragged their qiana gowns over their dicks, the way Carol did to him. Ah, how she loved to torment him that way! And how exquisite a torture it was! But he doubted that this was a common occurrence, at least in this small city. No, he thought, what he was thinking about were things that were reasonably likely to happen, and he couldn't help feeling that tonight, within the last two or thee hours, as many as a dozen young girls had reached orgasm accompanied by the sensuous touch of qiana, and that thought made him feel very good. He tried to imagine what those twelve girls looked like, moaning and shuddering as they reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.
He also thought about all three thousand, gathered together in a big hall, where one by one they came up on stage and presented themselves to him. He was naked, and would drag his cock over each dress to see how good it felt. When one came along who was especially attractive he strung her up and tickled her, stroking her cunt ever so lightly through the silky fabric, slowly bringing her to orgasm. After inspecting them all he would pick the prettiest girl there and tie her spread-eagled and naked to a big brass bed, whereupon he would tickle her bare feet with soft fluffy feathers and drag her dress over her tits. Finally, her body covered with sweat from her long ordeal, he would make love to her, long and slow, while a group of girls he selected tickled both of them with feathers.
At last, with his vision of being surrounded by the most beautiful young women from the island dancing in his head, and with one such beauty sleeping contentedly beside him, he drifted off to sleep.