My Perfect Prom Date

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Everyone depicted in this story is over the age of 18.

This is a rape fantasy and meant as such, it contains nothing intended to reflect reality.

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Two months before the prom and I didn't have a date. I knew this was coming all year but tried not to think about it, now it was weighing on my thoughts like a thousand tons. Somewhere in the back of my mind for a long time this had been a lingering and horrible nightmare. I hadn't been on many, well any, real dates and this was the one day where everyone was supposed to have a date. Intense worry had blown this social ideal into a pressure so bad that layed in bed reminding myself to breathe. How did this come so quickly? Sure, with two months to go there were plenty of girls without dates, the couples went without saying, there were others you just knew didn't have to worry and then there were girls that would just eventually ask a boy. I didn't fall into any of these categories. In my 18 years on this planet I could probably count the number of conversations I had initiated with a boy, none of them qualifying a romantic interest.

My latent, no emerging, nightmare had become a cause of great anxiety. There were just so many things that could go wrong that went past the horror of nobody asking me. I was also very worried about just who might ask me, and about who I wanted to ask me. I had an ideal of my own to live up to in my mind, an ideal pieced together from bad movies and books they sell to teenagers. The details in my mind just led me to greater anxiety over the things that could go wrong. What if my mom got involved to get me a date!? That was one embarrassment I didn't even want to think about, I tried to push it from my head but it kept coming back as I layed on my side, eyes wide open staring at my purple walls. I flipped on my back and tried to keep my fingers busy and perhaps move my thoughts elsewhere but nothing was flowing there. So I pulled my PJ bottoms back up and continued my restless night.

Perhaps the worst part about all this was that I didn't feel like this was something that I could possibly control. I liked to have a measure of control in my life, no matter how elusive the ultimate realization of that was. If this were an exam or a dance performance I could prepare, I could put my mind or body to it, relieve my anxiety by will. In a social setting I just didn't have the same confidence in my abilities. So much was dependant on things I felt no control over: my looks, my social status and my ability to be interesting to other people.

The first one was a source of constant fret, I would spend hours in front of the mirror looking for better angles and invariably picking out every imperfection I could. I'd often berate myself until I undeniably caused a complex. I wasn't as skinny as I once was anymore, but in my eyes I still just saw skin and bones, my face had mostly cleared up but I would magnify every blemish, my legs and hips had even developed to a womanly form but I still tried to cover them in loose clothes. I always wore my kilt to my knees and bought my uniform pants a few sizes too big. I never had much sense of what to do with my hair, I would brush it in the morning, like my mom did for me when I was small, but I never knew anything about style. This was the early 90s, many girls were still walking around with big and wild hair; mine was just so plain.

To top it all off I had my glasses and they were the worst offender, my enemy since the fourth grade, I hated them so much. In my mind they just confirmed my social status in a comically stereotypical way. I was a nerd, it wasn't just my glasses and fashion sense that made this a truth but they certainly were a manifestation of this unfortunate reality. Social status means different things to different people as they enter the real world, however, in the fish tank that is high school, all the fish seem to instinctively have the same definition. It's a definition that is hard to put into words, but you could feel it in the hallways, the cafeteria and when it was time to go home. Especially when it was time to go home, girls like me went straight home, leaving the school we would pass the popular girls sitting on the cars, talking to boys, smoking cigarettes and seeming so alive. Popularity doesn't value the things that made me me, and I didn't know how to change that and a month didn't seem to be enough time. After all, if I didn't have a date in one month then what would be left? Everyone would have a date two months before, all that could be left would be all the people that nobody wanted to go with, a group that to my dread I was destined to be part of. I buried my head in my pillow and tried to crush my face as the proverbial clock ticked louder in my head, getting ever closer to tolling the bell, to mark the day where my failure of social life would be on display. I already hated the prom.

"Michelle wake up! Honey, you're going to be late for school!"

My mom woke me up from a dreamless night with an announcement that I wasn't used to hearing; I rarely needed help getting to school. The words "late" and "school" in the same sentence were enough to get me springing out of bed. I had slept barely a wink in my near delirium of worry from the night before, but now I had the adrenaline of the single purpose of getting to school on time. I didn't have a lot of time to get ready; this was basically just throwing on my uniform and getting downstairs before my mom left for work.

Everything in my room was basically purple or pink, but mostly purple. I had a strange fascination with butterflies, a swarm of large paper butterflies hung from the ceiling, more butterflies flew on the walls and even a butterfly shaped mirror that my dad fixed to one half of my swinging closet door. I had to step through, in and around my mess to get to my purple dresser.

"Underwear, bra, blouse, kilt, belt, socks!" I said out loud as if to hurry my pace and maybe make sure I wouldn't forget anything. Everything thrown on the bed, I located my hairbrush to multitask. Panties...on...bra...in place...blouse...not too wrinkled...belt...keeping it together...one green sock...one green sock...and I'm ready!

"You have one minute Michelle. I'm not late for work because of you." My mom exclaimed in her most irritated and impatient voice, I must have been reminding her of my older brother who went away for school, their morning fights were legendary.

"Mom, I'm ready! Don't go!"

Putting on my glasses and...oh fuck! One green sock...one brown sock. "Just one more minute!"

"I'm sorry honey, I have to go"

The door closed and I fell back onto my bed, the realization that a bus ride to school and a late mark on the attendance sheet was in my immediate future. At least it didn't feel so frantic anymore, I wasn't happy about it but it wasn't something that I couldn't accept. I peeled off my brown knee sock and went back to my dresser to look for a green one, my actions all together slower than they had been before. I really hated being late for school, it's not because I wanted to be miss perfect attendance, I had faked being sick before, it's having to walk into class and have everyone watch me sit down, that just felt so awkward to me.

After spending 20 minutes freezing at the bus stop waiting for the bus, my anxiety was starting giving way to hopeless self-pity. I was giving myself a number of complexes that were distorting the simple reality that not everyone who went to the prom would even have a date; while I realized this on some level I didn't understand how they could not be worried about it. Everyone but me seemed to just take things in stride. I even became jealous of that, while being completely out of touch with how successfully people can mask their fears. On the bus I started thinking of maybe things that I could do to get someone to ask me. Everything I thought of seemed stupid and impossible.

The day that started off bad to worse. I got to class with only minutes remaining, the class laughed when the teacher asked me if I invented a new daylight savings day. I don't know why he felt the need to embarrass a quiet student like me, he looked as proud as a bully soaking in the laughs of his peers. I just looked at my feet and made my way to my desk. The desk had the chair attached, that forced me to slouch over to write in my notebook, the posture made me feel uncomfortable at the best of times. Behind me some of the students were whispering about prom dates, the whispers seemed to drown out all the other sounds around me.

After the first class there is a 10 minute homeroom, during this time sometimes the teacher makes announcements and takes the opening day attendance before we move to our next class. Usually it's just attendance followed by talking. It wasn't long until I realized the reason for all the whispering. Another prom date was being made. A boy came to the front of the class and asked the teacher to make an announcement. He proceeded to single out one of the pretty outgoing girls in the class and read his attempt at a love poem. It was completely cringe worthy, but in the end the two blushing classmates had dates. I wanted to be asked I thought to myself but I really hope it's not like that. I could take the whole class laughing at me better than clapping and hollering about me; there wasn't a single aspect about this that didn't trigger something queasy in my stomach.

I blended into the uniformed crowd of kilts and knee socks and walked with my friend, Rosa, to my locker between classes. I saw a locker decorated with red and white ribbons as I got close to mine, I got a bit closer and I noticed that it was really close to mine, and when I got there no doubt was left, this was my locker! My first thoughts didn't include what this obviously was; I had long convinced myself that nobody would ask me to the prom. There was a card carefully taped in the centre of all the decorations.

Rosa sidled right up next to my locker, her beaming face told me that she had an idea about what this was. I started to realize too, this put my anxiety into absolute overload, and I felt other eyes looking at me. My butterflies in my stomach had flown all the way up to my throat and settled into a giant lump, they had actually flown to other parts of my body as well, my vagina was tingling but not in the same way as when I felt horny. I reached out with my shaking hands and quickly dashed to letter into my bag.

"Aren't you going to open it?!" There was a giddy excitement in Rosa's voice and he eyes were ultimate expression of anticipation.

"Not here!" I said back in a hushed whisper.

Excitement wasn't what I was feeling, nor was I feeling relieved. I felt like I wanted to hide, also at the same time, I wanted my friend to come with me; there was no way I was opening this by myself. It never occurred to me that the author of this letter, this invitation, this chance at salvation could be in the same hallway waiting for my response. And part of me did see this as a chance for salvation, but a greater part of me saw it as a potential social nightmare that I didn't want to formulate thoughts on. What if I didn't want to go with the suitor? How on earth would I tell him? Letting people down wasn't my strongest suit. I don't think I knew how to turn someone down to their face. What if I had to give a firm "no"?

"Rosie, where can we go?" I pleaded with her to just take me somewhere.

With her inclusion no longer left to assumption, Rosa took me by the hand and led me out of the loud and crowded hallway to the stairwell at the far end.

"Just wait here until everyone is in class."

"NO! Not here. What if a teacher checks for smokers?"

"ummmm, ok what about the cafe?"

"Too crowded." I said with some urgency in my voice.

"You want to open this now right?" Rosa's tone gave away her growing impatience with her frazzled friend.

"Rosie, I just want to get away from here, it's too close."

I had never, in my entire high school career, outright skipped a class. This seemed so monumental to me that even class seemed completely insignificant, not even something to be considered.

Rosa's eyes widened at my veiled suggestion and a mischievous smile came across her face, "Mich, you mean skip?" The emphasis was on the "you" as Rosa didn't really share my apprehension in general about attendance.

"Sure, let's go to the food court at the mall." She responded to my affirmative nod.

The food court at the mall closest the to the school was mostly empty, aside from similarly dressed kids who obviously had absolutely no apprehension about missing class. Most weren't seniors and there was enough room to find a quiet place so this suited my opening needs as best as any place we could have gone to.

"You open it!" Was all I could come up with after minutes of staring.

"I can't...it's for you." Rosa's voice was pleading and encouraging.

"You know who this is from?" There was something in her tone that just gave it away and now she was giggling excitedly.

"Tell me!" I really wanted her to tell me, deep down I was expecting to be disappointed and it would be easier coming from her.

"Mich...just open it..." Were the words that came from Rosa's clenched jaw.

I swallowed my courage and decided that I would use the band-aid method: quickly. I would scan right to the name and read the rest later. I didn't want to rip the envelope and this wasn't leading to any quickness in this matter.

"Just rip it!" Rosa said. I think without her there this would have never come to a conclusion and I'd still have the unopened letter somewhere in a box.

I ripped the end open, destroyed the pretty red envelope and took the letter out from inside. It was folded and the top side said, "There's a prom this year and...", one fold, "I only want to go...", next fold, "If you do too...", one more fold, "If you go with me..." last fold, "I'll go with you too!" The bottom said, "Michelle will you go to the prom with me? Taylor"

It was so sweet and so nicely folded, I could tell some care went into this sappy piece of poetry. As for the guy, I knew him from elementary school and we talked when back then when we were like 12, never spoke at all in high school. I certainly never thought that he had any sort of crush on me, but I have to admit that I had one on him when we were younger.

Taylor was a sort of popular boy, thought he was funnier than he really was, but he wasn't a bully; he was a nice guy. He did hang out with girls, I suppose the card invitation was more my inapproachable nature rather than his social awkwardness. On top of that, he was really quite handsome. He was tall, over 6 feet, had blonde hair with dark roots that he combed up and to the side with gel (this was a style at the time), his face was always clean and his bright blue eyes invited people the think they were his friend. He laughed and joked around a lot, something that got him into a bit of trouble with the teachers. It was mostly good natured, but he did have a tendency to talk back when he felt he was being mistreated, and that got him sent to the office from time to time. For some reason, that bad streak made him all the more appealing to me. He didn't do that well in school, but at that moment in time I was undisturbed by that fact. In many ways he was my opposite and in that I was proud that he was the one who asked me to the prom.

"So..." Rosa's breath was baited. I had become lost in the whirlwind of my thoughts and had forgotten her presence. "What are you going to saaayeh?"

"Yes" I managed to say almost in disbelief that it was actually happening. Part of me had a hard time believing that it was happening and not some sort of mean episode of bullying designed to break my very soul.

"Weeeeeeehehehehe" Rosa squealed with delight. Causing people sitting plenty of distance away to look over casually and then look away after seeing nothing truly interesting.

This was the real thing, this wasn't a trick, I could tell as much from Rosa's reaction. She had clearly been consulted about the likelihood of a positive response and encouraged the method of delivery. It was no accident that she walked with me to my locker that morning.

"So when are you going to tell him!?"

"Oh fuck! I have to tell him?" We both started laughing at this point, I was so excited that I would figure this one out. Even this gave way to some form of nervous energy. "What if he asks someone else? I have to get to school!"

We literally laughed and carried on the entire way back to school. My brain was so overloaded with serotonin that it felt like happy waves were moving back and forth. In this state we devised a plan to tell him. I refused to write on the letter he wrote to me, I was keeping that forever, in no way was I tarnishing it. Saying it to his face was out of the question. So I settled on a ripped piece of notebook paper. It lacked all the charisma, care and romance his gesture provided... but time was a factor in my mind and it was all I had. "Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!" That and my phone number I slipped into the side of his locker and skipped the rest of the school day in an attempt not to ruin one bit of what had turned into the greatest day ever.

Eventually we even did come together to talk and actually agree to the date face to face. This was a very awkward time, I didn't want to mess anything up, and as a result I couldn't find many words. He did most of the talking, I was unable to pick up on some obvious hints that he might have wanted to see me socially before the prom, as a result I didn't give responses that gave hope to that idea. We didn't really talk much over the next two months, a few looks in the hallway and a few one sided phone calls. All I knew was that I had a date for the prom, I never gave any of the other expectations too much thought.

Life went back to basically normal, which to me, meant studying for finals. The thoughts I had for the prom were mostly about my dress. This was beyond a big deal to my mother, she was my main source of preparation. I think it actually scared her that I would go to the prom as myself and not go for glam. She took care of my hair appointment, nails appointment and had catalogs of dresses (this was before the internet). Despite her most persuasive urging I didn't want an evening gown. I compromised somewhere in between, I thought it was a lovely dress. It fit below my shoulders and went to my knees, black with a floral pattern that bordered the bust and the hem; I couldn't find butterflies. This was the most skin I would ever be showing outside of a ballet recital.

My thoughts about Taylor were mostly confined to the fantasy realm of my private late night thoughts in my bedroom, and the random day dream. I built him into the perfect guy, chivalrous and caring; hot and empathetic. I masturbated about him almost every night, thinking about his body, his voice and the fact that he liked me. I was not stranger to masturbation, but in these two months it was a lot more often. If I didn't the dreams would have never let me rest. He was a real person, but I became better acquainted with the fantasy Taylor.

When the big day came it was all about me. Taylor was a complete afterthought in the mayhem of appointments and fusing. My mom led the battle charge, and thankfully did mostly all the talking at the salons, reminding everyone how important the details were. The pick up time got closer and my preparations were nearly complete. I was standing in my parents room while my mom adjusted my dress, and holding different pieces of jewelry to my skin, when I noticed myself in her full length mirror. I was looking in the mirror the whole time, but this time I noticed that I didn't look like a kid. I felt beautiful looking at me, this wasn't a feeling I was used to.