Warning: This story contains a type of threesome at one point, public sex, and swapping partners near the end.
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I'm not a cover girl; far from it. Nevertheless, I've on occasion been told that I have the looks of a cover girl. That's a good thing, I suppose. I know one consequence was that I was popular with men. Well, I couldn't complain about that.
It was my senior year in college, second semester. I had a good grade point average, and a decent job all lined up to begin a month after graduation. My life was on track. I could party. Lord knows, everyone else in a similar situation was in party mode. Not me, though. I just don't like parties, with people getting drunk, spilling beer, groping random women. That's not my scene.
Instead, I preferred to hang out with some like-minded friends. One thing about being popular with the other sex is that, since they seem to be always available, one rarely feels a need for them. I was happy and content just hanging out with 'the girls,' smoking some dope, talking about our plans for the future, where we could get some more of those delicious brownies, and all sorts of things. And yes, of course, we also talked about sex.
One of these times when we were hanging out smoking dope, and we were all thoroughly stoned, quite thoroughly in the case of my best friend Mary, that same Mary suddenly noticed the cover picture of Glamour. A pile of magazines was laid out on the table.
You know how women's magazines' covers are, don't you? They picture a gorgeous woman wearing beautiful clothes but with her breasts hanging out, although never her nipples, oh God, no. Cover girls rarely wear bras, unless of course they're push-up bras. Or so it seems. Cosmo is the undisputed leader in this category.
But this latest issue of Glamour had a picture of my doppelgänger on its cover. She was maybe up to five years older than my 22 years of age, and I had to admit she looked gorgeous. That was not the point, however.
No, the point was that she looked just like me! We did not even look like sisters; we looked like twins. In the picture, the Glamour cover girl was wearing metallic silver pants and a lovely matching jacket that was open, and nothing else.
You could see one of her bare breasts hanging out from beneath the jacket, but of course not the nipple. Heaven forbid that her nipples were visible! Anything else goes, but not the nipples. The jacket was arranged so that it covered both nipples. Maybe that is why all men are so fascinated by women's nipples? Everyone loves the forbidden, right?
Had I been a red-blooded heterosexual man, I would have wanted to reach under that woman's open jacket to grab a handful of boob. Bear in mind these magazines are written for women to read, not for men to read. The editors know it's our fantasy to look like that cover girl; to fantasize that we could actually run around town, teasing men, showing off our boobs (but not our nipples, oh no, never our nipples, of course!).
One of the things drunk and stoned girls do for fun is to dare each other to do things. To refuse a dare is unthinkable, hence one does not dare someone thoughtlessly. For example, we would never dare each other to jump a motorcycle over a barrier, Evel Knievel style! Also forbidden is to parade around naked, for example in the men's showers in the gym. These are not explicitly forbidden, we just automatically know that they are. Streaking might sometimes be permitted, but only in the right circumstances, and only if the audience gets only a fleeting view.
Perhaps you've guessed by now? Daphne dared me to buy the cover girl's clothes and to wear them like that around campus, with my naked boobs hanging out, at least partially. In our group, a dare has to be seconded. In this case, Stephanie seconded the dare, and the third of the four of us, Mary, third-ed the dare. Mary sometimes talks like that when she's stoned.
We went on line and even though we were hopelessly stoned, we found the outfit. It was at Barneys, and it was not cheap. The price did not seem to matter, since everyone agreed I simply had to have it! "It's your destiny," Stephanie said.
It was late at night, and Barneys was closed, but Mary and I made a date to go to Barneys the next morning and to get it!
We went to school at NYU, in Manhattan, so going to Barneys simply meant taking the subway. My mother had a charge account at Barneys, and she rarely checked the details of her bills, so I agreed. We left the next morning at 9:45am, taking the W train, which goes right to Barneys, in about 15 or 20 minutes. Mary brought the cover of Glamour in her purse. Mary was committed to my doing this. I myself, however, was circumspect. I was kind of hoping Barneys was sold out of my size.
Barneys had the outfit, and they had it in my size. I tried it on, both the skirt (there was a choice of pants or skirt) and the jacket, but with a bra and blouse underneath. I had to admit I looked great in it! The outfit was to die for. The skirt was tight, and it hugged my ass. It showed off my womanly curves below the belt to maximal effect. The jacket was downright gorgeous, carefully made (in Belgium, not in China). I had to have it, no question. I even planned to get both the skirt and the pants. It's good to have options, my mother always says.
Mary was upset when I modeled the outfit for her in the store, however, because I wore it with a bra and a blouse. With a healthy dose of cajoling, she prevailed upon me to try it on without a blouse and more importantly without a bra. That way I would be perfectly mimicking the Glamour cover girl.
I waffled a bit, but decided I was safe inside Barneys, and why not? It turned out fine that I caved to Mary's pressure, and I did it. I don't think there was a man on the entire floor, except for two salesmen, and they were almost certainly gay.
I came out of the changing room and strutted about, modeling all sorts of poses for Mary's eyes and also the saleswoman's, while I nervously giggled constantly. Mary had the Glamour cover and she held it up right next to me. At Mary's request, the saleswoman took a picture of me next to the Glamour cover. I assumed the same pose as the cover girl had taken.
You would have thought it was I in the cover picture. Literally only minutes later I was modeling the jacket for all of the sales force on that floor, including the two men, with my boobs (but not my nipples!) hanging out under the wide-open jacket.
Mary sandbagged me by looking for the label to see of what materials the jacket was made, and she opened the jacket wide to take a look. This showed off all of my boobs, including my nipples, to everyone on the floor. I felt like screaming at Mary, but this was typical of her obliviousness, so I let it go. The jacket was made of a blend of silk and merino wool, with metallic threads intertwined.
I got a little thrill being inadvertently exposed like that, and just the idea that I got such a thrill by exposure, surprised me quite a bit. Actually, I think Mary may still have been stoned from all the dope she had smoked the previous night, which was a lot. I myself, however, felt normal. I was trying to puzzle out why I got such a thrill, instead of an extreme embarrassment, when my boobs, nipples and all, were shown to everyone on the floor.
I bought the suit outfit, jacket and skirt, and Mary insisted that I wear it, nude underneath (above the waist, that is; Mary graciously allowed me to keep my panties on...), all the way back to our dorm room. "You're not serious, Mary?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, I am. It's part of the dare, Joanie," she said. I'm Joanie, by the way.
"Well, then we can't take the subway. We'll take a taxi, or a Lyft, or something," I said.
"No, no, we'll take the subway. I'll protect you. You've spent enough money this morning!" came Mary's reply.
Before we left, the Barneys saleswoman asked a favor. She asked if she could call the Barneys photographer to have a quick photoshoot? Maybe the store would like to use some photos of me wearing the jacket in their web promotions. If they used the photos, I would be compensated, of course.
Barneys is the kind of store where actual amounts of money are never explicitly discussed. I imagined I would have to sign a release, and then I would be compensated according to the terms of a contract or something. She said they had a new theme, "Look like a cover girl in a Barneys outfit," or maybe it was, "Barneys girls could be cover girls." I don't remember, exactly.
I was perfect for their campaign, or so I was told. They wanted 'ordinary people' to look spectacular in their outfits, with the hope that customers in general could think they too would look special. I guess I was about as 'ordinary' as a person could be.
Mary was hyper excited on my behalf. I was mostly circumspect. I met the store manager, the Barneys fashion photographer, and his assistant. I was shown some contracts to sign. My Dad is a lawyer, and I knew my stuff thanks to long, tedious, family discussions growing up. I read the entire thing, crossed out things I did not like, initialing where I crossed them out, and I added a couple of caveats of my own, which I had the manager initial. I'd like to say I impressed them with my legal knowledge, but in New York, people do not impress easily.
We went to an outdoor patio situated high above Fifth Avenue, on the east side of the street. The patio extended from a set of glass doors at the 20th floor of a building next to Bergdorf's men's store. Central Park to the north spread out in the background, below us. The photographer was excited because since we were up so high (20 stories) it was quite windy, and my hair would naturally blow in the wind. A hedge fund controlled the patio, and we had to walk through their offices to get to it. Hedge funds are very male. Very.
I took some suggestive poses leaning against the railing on the north side of the patio, with Central Park forming part of the background. The photographer's assistant, Steve, kept adjusting my arms and legs by holding them and moving them into the arrangements Mr. Dixon wanted.
The wind was strong, and my open jacket would on occasion blow wide open, exposing all of my breasts, nipples included, to the two men and of course to Mary. The first time this happened and I rushed to close it, but that set us back, since Steve had to come over and carefully manipulate my arms and legs into the correct position, all over again. Mr. Dixon had to re-start his instructions regarding my facial expressions, too. It set us back a good 20 minutes.
The second time it happened I tried to act more like a professional. I simply held the pose, exposing my boobs to the camera, the two men, and Mary, but with what I hoped to be a model's professional mien. The wind changed, the jacket returned to normal, and no time was wasted. I did notice, however, that Mr. Dixon took plenty of pictures with the jacket wide open and my boobs on display, nipples and all.
