You have agreed to help me shop for a new dress to wear to a friend's wedding. I also need a new pair of jeans. You sit in an armchair outside the fitting room as I take in a couple of different dresses and a pair of jeans. We seem to be the only ones there at that particular time of day. The dressing room is quite large. It has a bench as well as two full-length mirrors: one on the door and the other on the back wall so that you can see the clothing from the front and the back.
In the change room, I hang the clothes on the hooks and quickly get out of my shorts and t-shirt. I slip into the first dress. It's peach-coloured with short sleeves and falls just below my knees. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I'm not sure whether I like the dress or not so I unlock the door and walk out to get your opinion.
"What do you think?" I ask as I turn around.
"It's nice but it's not you," you say. I look in the mirror and see that you're right. It's too old and ultraconservative. I head back into the dressing room and change out of it and into a green knee-length dress. The dress is a sleeveless A-line with a matching jacket.
"What about this one?" I ask.
"It's definitely not you," you tell me. "You're 29 and going to a wedding, not 45 and attending a business function."
I return to the dressing room and change out of the green dress. The next dress I put on is a little more daring...definitely something I'm not used to and don't really think I'd buy but I think it might be fun to try it on anyway. I put the dress on and walk out to you.
"Well?" I say, turning around. I'm wearing a navy blue halter-style dress. The halter-top style accentuates my full breasts and leaves my back bare down to my waist. The flowing skirt ends a couple of inches above my knees. I'm nervous as I await your reaction.
"Holy shit," you say. My face flushes under your intense gaze. I fight the urge to look away.
"I take it you like it?" I ask, trying to be flip about it.
"Definitely," you answer. "That is the perfect dress for you."
"I don't think so," I say. "I feel so exposed." "Trust me, it's the right kind of exposed," you reply. You stand up and approach me. You put your arms around me and pull me closer to you. Instinctively I place my arms around your neck. Your hands rest on my hips. "Imagine you're dancing at the wedding reception with your date. This is the dress you're wearing. He pulls you close to him and your breasts touch his chest, the friction of the fabric against them making your nipples harden," you say, pulling me even closer to you so that my breasts are touching your chest.
"Greg, what are you doing?" I ask, blushing as I feel heat begin to consume my body. "We're in public!"
"Relax, Jayne. Nobody's watching," you say. "You're dancing to a slow sensual song with your date at the wedding reception. This is the perfect dress to wear for that occasion. The fabric feels so good against your bare skin, doesn't it?" I nod, unable to deny the fact that the material feels amazing against my braless breasts. "It's a great dress for your date too. It allows him to lower his head and place a kiss on your shoulder." I gasp with pleasure as your lips touch the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder. "His hands can caress your back, teasing you. Hinting at how he wants to touch you when you're alone." Your hands move over my back gently and when you reach my neck, you thread your fingers into my hair and bring your mouth down to capture mine. "Is everything all right back here?" The question from the chipper-sounding salesclerk reminds us of where we are and we break our kiss.
"Everything's fine," I say, blushing with embarrassment.
