From the day I reached puberty... I've always loved cotton dresses. All
of the women wore them where I grew up. Soft clingy dresses that molded
around the thighs when they walked and swished with the movement of their
hips. You could never tell whether they had pants on or not because the
cotton kept their secret.
The first time I copped a feel from a classmate she had on a cotton
dress. It was summer and the square top was cut low for comfort in the
July heat. The dress was far from new and she was almost grown out of it.
Her tits were like fresh... golden dinner rolls swelling over the top of the
soft material. She bent forward to let my hand invade the top but balked
when I tried to undo the buttons. The feel of her firm young boobs was
wonderful and the dress... stretched tight across the back of my hand... a
sensory bonus. Later that evening... she had second thoughts and told her
mother what had happened. They arrived at my house... resplendent in their
cotton dresses... adamant that I was to be punished for my heinous act.
I stood mortified as the woman castigated me to my aunt... characterizing
me as the vulgar little letch who had pawed her...