the Little Black Dress

I quite love your little black dress. Are you in need of a personal slave? A mochaccino? Massage? Anything at all! I'm you're dude!

If I am Super Man then the Little Black Dress is undoubtedly my Kryptonite, rendering me into a state of enervated goo. It's quite a pathetic site really. However, I cannot help this; I'm genetically predisposed to be wooed silly by any woman, regardless of the shape or size of the woman who dons the Little Black Dress. Why? When or where did this obsession come from?

Maybe I masturbated to one too many Sears catalogs as a youth… errr.. or as a thirty something. Who knows?

I know that this fascination of black dresses began at a funeral. When I was a kid, Stan Levi fell from his roof to his sudden demise. The back story with Stan is that the man was a bit of a perv and he loved wearing overalls. I've since come to the conclusion that overalls and sexual depravity are mutually inclusive. Anyway, the funeral was littered with women and these black dresses, most of them not so little. Except for one: Mrs. Farnsworth, my 5th grade teacher; when Mrs. Farnsworth was my teacher I didn't notice her, women and girls still had cooties and were generally gross. At the funeral I was in 7th grade and I'd grown more curious and fond of girls… But Mrs. Farnsworth; something clicked within me. I had an instant crush on Mrs. Farnsworth and those legs! Even if she didn't quite remember me (I was a creepy turd of a kid that people would rather not remember… kind sounds like my adult life, too. Shut up!). I would always remember her.

A well worn Little Black Dress exudes confidence all by itself; just add woman, serve sultrily. The trim and cut add another dimension. Just how much of the “show” will a woman let you see? The Little Black Dress taunts me; it demands my attention like that asshole at baseball games that keeps on calling players' sexuality into question. You know THAT guy, don't you? It's probably your dad. Just sayin'.  Needless to say, the call of the Little Black Dress is relentless as is its raw sex appeal.

Most any first date with a woman wearing a Little Black Dress ends with me wanting more, sometimes getting it, if not then ,even more exciting , I'm left wanting, yearning, for more…

Is it possible for a little piece of clothing to make a woman walk… sexier; to make that woman saunter? With each click-clacked step her raw sexuality is put on display; she cranes her head from one side to the other, playfully flicking her hair about exposing the nape of her neck and her shoulders. What I would give to gently caress them for but a second; with each step she makes her legs flex and ripple with every slink and sway, much like a beckoning “come here” motion from an index finger… I am powerless; I am gawking; I am stupid; I am Jack's pensive futility… Without question, my answer is resoundingly “yes!”

You women; you don't wear a Little Black Dress. It wears you! When put together, you make me so very, very imbecilic.