[F4M] - Subbing in for my twin: Playing the part of ditz or a party girl, for an older, heavyset, or dangerous guy

I kept fighting the urge to tug down the hem of my dress, and failing. The problem was, it was split pretty much to the hip, so no matter what I did, I was going to feel exposed. Red spaghetti straps arced over my shoulders, working overtime to support my hefty d-cups. Barely 5 foot tall, I was about as tiny as Latina girls got, and this dress showed every curve and jut of my slight frame. The shiny pink fabric hugged my figure tightly, dipping in at my hips, outlining my tummy... but I was scared to move in the thing, feeling like the straps could snap at any moment. And despite spending a good 15 minutes in the mirror, turning this way and that, I was still worried that a wrong move or ill timed lean would expose my underwear. G-strings were a new experience, but there really was no other choice when it came to a dress like this, if you didn't want everyone to see the outline of exactly what panties you had on.

Why would anyone choose to dress like this? Give me a baggy sweatshirt and jeans that were well worn enough to be comfy any day. But that was just the thing, wasn't it? This wasn't exactly a choice...

My sister and I were as opposite as people could be, for being identical. While I was into books, she was into boys. I studied, she slacked. She had a string of seemingly interchangeable boyfriends, I had... gotten really close to being asked out once, I was pretty sure.

Which was to say, I'd never have gotten myself into a situation where I'd be obligated to go on a date with a guy a guy at least 10 years my senior. And I definitely wouldn't have needed to "act interested", or "just make sure he has a good time". But my twin sister, who, admittedly, never asked me to do anything for her... had committed herself to just such an obligation, and then had to flake. Just one date, she said. It was _important_.

I lifted the campaign flute to my lips, leaving a plum red smudge on the lip. The bubbles tickled, making my button nose wrinkle. I resisted the urge to scratch it for all of 5 seconds, before giving in, rubbing it furiously with the back of my hand, before snatching the offending limb down guiltily, masking the gesture by flicking back a lock of freshly straightened, jet black hair. How did other girls manage to look so effortlessly graceful in this kind of getup? I felt like a fraud.

But anyway. It was what it was. Focus. I look at the man sitting across from me, and laugh at whatever it was he just said. That's right. Act interested. Try to stick to words of two syllables or less.

How hard could it be to act a bit dumb?

(So, for some reason, I have to sub in for my twin sister to play the part of a giggly, ditzy party girl for a guy I normally wouldn't be seen dead with. Maybe it's an important client she's trying to shmooze. Someone she's in debt too... or a dealer?

Either way, I'm a little _too_ successful at playing the part of an easy ditz. Which ends with me getting reamed by a man who's more dominant and rougher in bed then I could have anticipated...)