Haven't you ever noticed that some days seem to have a theme? Some unusual topic will keep recurring throughout the day until it gets to the point where everything seems to revolve around that subject matter.
It happens to me quite a lot and apparently it runs in the family -- my mother is often telling me of days like that, and just recently she had one where the topic was birds. She found her pet canary flying around the living room when she got up that morning, was brought chicken for lunch at her local restaurant when she had actually ordered a steak, hit a pheasant driving back home, found out that she'd won a Christmas turkey in a prize draw, and rounded off the day by watching Hitchcock's film because it was on the only channel she could get on her malfunctioning television.
Well, this little tale is all about one of my themed days, only it was a little more ... unusual than my mother's. My theme turned out to be change.
Before I begin in earnest I'd better tell you just a little about myself. I'm not thirty yet but the big three-zero is beginning to loom and I'm a happily single woman (tried the marriage thing once and found out it wasn't for me). Just to make it clear, although I'm single I do have a number of male friends and I'm never short of admirers, so my lack of a partner is through choice. I'm 'cute' according to a female friend, but personally see myself as being 'okay' -- a little over five-six, one hundred and ten pounds, nice enough figure, and a face that doesn't sour the milk.
I'm a bit of a fitness junkie and like to keep myself in good shape but it's more a matter of personal pride than for show because I'm kinda shy in many ways. I have a decent enough job at a publishing company and a nice apartment on the outskirts of London. I've a couple of close friends, Jessica and Stephie, a couple of doting parents, and a quietly hectic social life. All in all, it's a busy existence, but a happy one.
Anyway, the theme day occurred just after New Year, and it wasn't even nine in the morning before I realised what was happening.
I'd woken up to the Osbournes -- Ozzy and Kelly -- who were apparently 'going though changes', was asked for 'any loose change, miss' by an old drunk at the tube station, had to change trains unexpectedly at Seven Sisters, and was serenaded by David Bowie (ch-ch-ch-changes) in the lift on the way up to my office. Even if I hadn't been experienced in themed days, I would probably still have made the link!
After spending the morning labouring over a manuscript with the working title 'All Change' about a group of vegetarian werewolves, I was more than relieved when the clock ticked around to lunchtime.
The area of London I work in is described as an 'up-and-coming' district -- which is shorthand for 'used to be really grotty but we've paved over the High Street and built a new shopping mall'. On this particular day, this suited me fine because I was due to go to a fancy dinner the following week and there was a particularly nice clothes shop in the new shopping mall.
The weather was downright nasty that day -- freezing cold and drizzling with the sort of stuff that can permeate a wet-suit -- and I bundled myself up in half a dozen layers before setting off for the shops. Of course, this meant that by the time I was inside Grace's Gowns, I was sweating like a shaved polar bear in the middle of the Sahara. Fortunately, the shop's one sales assistant, a middle-aged woman, (Jennifer, according to her name-badge) was both experienced and considerate. As soon as she saw I was a serious shopper she offered to let me put my top coat and jacket behind the sales desk -- and I gladly shucked them off before returning to the rails.
The one great advantage of shopping in such a location is the fact that there are no crowds, and despite it being a Friday lunchtime I was alone in the shop save for an elderly woman looking at scarves and guy in his forties who I took to be her son.
As I said earlier, I'm kinda shy and that goes double when it comes to the way I dress. I'm not a prude, but I like to be well-covered and although I was looking for something fairly demure to wear for the dinner, I would still have to try it on in the store -- so the fact that it was pretty much empty was comforting.
After fifteen minutes of rejecting dresses on the grounds that they showed too much cleavage or that they were off-the-shoulder or too short or too revealing in general, I had narrowed my choices down to two. They were both rather smart and did little more than hint at what they might conceal -- perfect for me, in other words.
I asked Jennifer if I could try them on and was directed to changing cubicles at the back of the store in a little alcove that offered some privacy in itself. Despite the store's recent construction the curtains across the front of the cubicles harked back to much older days, but at least they looked as if they would provide total -- if flimsy -- privacy. Even then I might have felt uncomfortable but for the fact that the only other customers were the ancient lady and her bored-looking middle-aged son.
I thanked Jennifer, took my dresses into the cubicle in the furthest corner and hung them on the little rail provided. After double-checking that I'd pulled the curtain absolutely all the way across, I started the onerous process of undressing.
Because of the weather I was wearing a roll-neck jumper over a t-shirt, jeans and thermal tights. It was ideal clothing for the temperatures outside, but pretty much the worst combination possible for a small changing cubicle in a dress shop. Everything was tight and took an effort to pull over my head or down my legs, and the cubicle was proving to have a reverse Tardis effect -- it was smaller on the inside than it looked from the body of the shop.
Twice I nearly pushed the privacy curtain open with an errant arm. The first time wasn't so bad because it was while I was pulling off the roll-neck, but the second time was when I was taking off the thermal tights -- and the thought of revealing myself in just a small bra and panties had my heart jumping into my throat. I didn't even sunbathe in a bikini and the thought of getting seen in my underwear was sobering, to say the least.
I reminded myself that I was alone in this part of the store anyway and took a couple of deep breaths before slipping into the first of the dresses. Once I was all zipped up, I pushed open the curtain and stepped into the alcove where a three-way mirror had been thoughtfully (okay, obviously) provided.
The dress was not bad... but now that I had it on, it seemed to have been put together for someone with much larger hips than me. I shrugged and smiled to myself -- I'd already kinda set my heart on the other dress anyway.
I stepped back into the cubicle and was drawing the curtain when the elderly lady hobbled into view. I gave her a smile and made doubly sure the curtain was secure before slipping out of dress number one.
Knowing that there was someone close by -- even an old lady -- was making me feel a tad vulnerable, and I didn't even bother hanging up the first dress before I took the second one from its hanger. This one was a slinky sort of affair, and a much tighter fit. So much so, that when I got it up to my hips it kinda stuck there and I had to check that it was fully unzipped before starting to wriggle it higher.
I was just thinking that this was the hardest 'change' I'd experienced this day when I lost my footing. With the slinky dress still around my waist I reached out instinctively for support. Unfortunately, I reached out in the direction of the curtain.
It won't surprise anyone to know that my hand didn't find the support I was seeking, and instead it just pushed the curtain wide open. I staggered a couple of steps before regaining my balance -- only to look up and see the old woman's son standing just a couple of yards in front of me.
It was one of those situations where shock takes a little while to make way for rational thought and I must have stood there, frozen, for a full two or three seconds before I realised that I was presenting this guy with a close up view of my boobs in their little white bra.
Now when I said 'little' earlier, I meant little in comparison to my boobs -- there was a lot of flesh on show above the lacy cups. I finally gasped and brought my arms up to cover myself before stammering an apology and diving back behind the curtain.
Once there my mind decided to be all rebellious and replayed the scene -- with a couple of details I'd failed to really notice the first time around.
For a start, the guy had looked both shocked and delighted -- and yet a little shame-faced at the same time. Now that I thought about it, I was sure that he had glanced at a cubicle further along where, no doubt, his mother must have been trying something on.
Then there was something else I'd failed to notice. That look of delight had contained something more than just pleasure -- it was the sort of delight that has its roots firmly embedded in sexuality. Not quite lust, as such, but certainly 'liking a hell of a lot in a sexual way'.
Oh, and there was one final thing that became apparent as I stood there panting in shock. A part of me -- a deep down, distant, almost entirely hidden part of me -- had felt a thrill at what happened. That I had inadvertently shown myself in a state of half-undress, in a tiny bra that was clearly never meant to be seen in public, and to a guy who was clearly delighted with the view... it had given me a shiver of what I could only describe as excitement.
The revelation -- of how I felt, I mean -- was as shocking to me as it was unexpected. For a couple of seconds I tried to deny it, but the truth of it was right there in the tingling I felt in my almost painfully erect nipples and the warmth in my groin.
The realisation that there was only a flimsy curtain between myself and the accidental witness to my misfortune sent a shiver through me -- and I almost cried out loud with the shock that this was absolute proof of my nascent excitement.
There's only so much denial that one can impose on oneself and with this evidence I was all out of it. I stared down at my bra-clad boobs and at the curtain a few inches from my face -- the curtain on the other side of which stood a guy.
I ignored another surge of excitement and took a few deep breaths. This was an aberration, I told myself, a weird response to a weirder, one-off accident. I was still the shy, timid creature I'd always been and accidents don't have to be bad.
Of all the things I told myself only two stood out as being totally true -- it was an accident and it was a one-off. I was still in complete control of myself -- and when all is said and done, it was just a quick look at my covered boobs.
But I've never been one that was slow to explore new possibilities. And it was a one-off situation... and I was in complete control...
Of course, all of these thoughts flashed through my mind in just a few seconds and underlying every notion that passed through my brain was the simple fact that I was desperately shy about showing my body. That this guy had seen what he had seen was beyond anything that would have crossed my mind at any time and in any circumstances -- and yet it had happened and my body had responded, seemingly of its own accord.
It was unsettling -- like finding out that your mother is a spy (mind you, I've often thought that mine was nosey enough to make her a good special agent).
I reminded myself that I was in control now and tried to shout out the persistent feeling of arousal. As I resumed the struggle with the dress -- careful to maintain my balance at all times -- I tried not to think about the guy who was standing outside the curtain.
