Rebecca sat and blew across the top of her coffee. On the table, a small lunch bag she had bought along with the coffee, but she wasn't really paying much attention to either the coffee, or the bag. Her eyes were, as always, on the store opposite. That's really why she came here every day. It certainly wasn't the coffee, or the soggy sandwich in the bag. It was close to the bank of course, and none of her work colleagues came here, which was a bonus, but it was the about the store opposite, and its contents, that held her attention.
The clothing store was of what Rebecca would have called, "risque". Tight leather skirts, provocative blouses, shoes with long pointed heels at total odds with her quiet, somber clothing, as befitted someone working in a bank. She was very professional looking, but somewhere inside her, she wanted to go beyond the professional business woman, the soccer mom. Her eyes moved over the leather and latex skirts and dresses. She took in the other window, a revealing top was on special today she noticed, a rather shocking looking leopard print, open to reveal the fake cleavage of the model. She took another sip of the ultra hot coffee that wanted to scald her tongue. In her mind she imagined it on her, imagined how it would look, and who might be looking at her wearing it. She'd look like a whore she decided, and looked at the lunch bag.
She wasn't sure how, or why, but she slid from the plastic bucket seat, leaving the lunch bag and coffee behind, swinging her handbag over her shoulder and walked across the way to the store front her nose almost pressed to the glass, looking at that top. She could feel the call of it in her mind, "Try me. Try me, Rebecca." She turned slowly and looked around the Mall. People walking to and fro, but no one she knew. She had time, just, to go try on the blouse, maybe the leather skirt too, maybe. She walked into the store, and went straight to the rack with the blouse, she began to pull her size too to her, but then went for the next size down, she wanted it to hug her. The next rack over were the skirts, she looked for her size, found it, and folding them over her arm, looked for the changing room. She saw it, way in the back. As she walked she saw an older man slowly walking the store, looking at the clothes on display, but not handling anything, but she had the distinct impression that she was being watched. That some how his eyes were watching her move to the back of the store. He could see what she carrying, part of her quailed inside, wanting to run back out, but she pulled herself together. What she was doing was totally normal, nothing odd at all, and even if he was watching, what did it matter? She was a customer trying on a new outfit. Totally normal! Totally, she told her self. So why was her heart beating so fast?
The check out desk was half way down the store, and the sales assistant was busy with someone else, and as Rebecca passed she merely looked up for a second and then looked away again. By the side of the changing rooms, were the shoe racks, another impulse, and she had grabbed at the first pair of heels she saw. There were eight changing rooms, very tightly packed into the back of the store. There was barely any room to get changed, especially with the bench in there. She could barely see herself in the mirror, she was so close. She kicked the flats off her feet, under the bench, hung the blouse and skirt, and then discarded the turtle neck, pants and heels to the bench, and taking the skirt down she wriggled into it. Fuck, but it was tight! She draped the blouse over herself, and then she took it off again, removed her bra. The blouse was designed to hold her breasts, and put the blouse back on, the gathered material cupping her breasts. It required her not to button it up, or its effect was lost. She dropped the heels to the floor and pointing her toes she got them on her feet. Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was too close to truly see herself, but her hands went up to hair and she casually piled it on top of her head, leaving it loose and big there. She reached for her purse, pulling out the phone to take a picture, and realized yet again that she was really way too close for the full effect. She didn't really realize who she was in the mirror. She hadn't worn anything like this even when she had been carefree, and single. Her mind thought about stockings, no, maybe pantyhose, the skirt was way too short and tight to allow for the garter belt, and make-up, something bold. With a hesitation, she pushed the door back open and stepped back once, twice, and finally three times, and raised the phone. She snapped the picture, and stood there, looking at it. Who the hell was in the picture? She had a feeling of deja vu. It was her, and yet not her. Rebecca the soccer mom, and bank manager, replaced by, by who?
Reba came into her mind then. Reba, the woman within, the woman who in total contrast to Rebecca wanted to wear clothes like this, Clothes that would attract the attention of men and women. Their glances, and some outright stares. She could see Reba walking through the mall, striding, not in flats, in a painfully conservative pants suit, but in this outfit. She had read somewhere that they were called fuck me heels, the ones she envisioned. Confidently walking through the mall, the sound of clicking heels, and the eyes, all those silent eyes. The ones who thought she looked attractive, the ones who were disgusted, but still looked anyway, because they couldn't wear these clothes because they were too uptight themselves to under stand that sex was good, and attraction was good. What did it matter if you looked like a whore? Weren't they women too? Fuck! She looked like a whore, and inside her mind Rebecca was trying to claw her way out, the conservative soccer mom, but Reba was too strong, and now she was about to get help.
She felt his presence. Her steps back had taken her beyond the range of the door, and she turned her head and saw him standing there, looking at her. He was barely five feet away. She was looking directly into his eyes. She could see that he was looking right at her, taking in her appearance. Had he noticed her before, in the store, the change from professional woman, to, to, a slut? Her breasts on display, the tightness of the skirt making it difficult to move and her hair piled on top of her head. So different from who had walked into the changing rooms. Had he followed her? What did he think? What the fuck did it matter what he thought. She looked like a whore. That's what he was thinking, That she was a whore! Rebecca and Reba fighting for control of her body, and who she was, and wanted. Did it play out over her face, or was it all inside her head? He was close enough to hear his breathing now, but she could also feel his lust. Lust, for her? When was the last time any man had looked at her like that. When had she last sensed that a man wanted her? Her husband, and his perfunctory weekend fuck, when the kids were in bed? Two minutes of grunting and rolling away from her, like it had never happened? But she could feel the heat off this man She seemed to be locked into a dream, and he was moving forward again. She felt his hand curve around to her back, and after a quick look over his shoulder, he gently pushed her inside the cubicle again, and where Rebecca would have fought back, Reba wanted it. She wanted the attention of a man who wanted her.
