She came into the bedroom with a platter of fruit, cheeses, crackers and veggies. He had brought in a bottle of wine and two glasses. They owned a king sized bed and they also had a 50" television in their bedroom and they preferred to sit in bed and watch television in the evenings. The room was their solace and after busy days at work, they retreated to their bedroom and helped the other shed the concerns of the day.
But this night, the dress she was wearing was the concern. Not the ones she wore when she went to work or to social events. She always looked fantastic and he was often proud to be seen with her. She had impeccable taste and she knew just what to wear to compliment her figure. She was petite and curvy. She didn't run or play tennis or any of that. She practiced yoga and she liked to walk. Her body was just fine with him. Her brown skin had a golden glow to it and she had big very dark brown eyes and wore her hair in very fine dreadlocks. It had been very short and she wasn't happy with it at first, but it had grown out and was longer and thicker and looked great.
She was a pretty woman and she always made him feel good except for when she put those damn dresses on. When she came home from work, she took off those wonderful clothes and put on some of the ugliest house dresses he'd ever seen. She seemed to have an endless collection of them and at first he couldn't believe the stylish and sexy woman he loved would come home and put on those old fashioned dresses like his mother wore.
Some of them were kind of faded and a few had rips or tears in them. They had all belonged to her mother and she loved them. When he first asked her about them, she had given him a strange look and said they were comfortable.
He understood that. He liked to wear sweat pants and tee shirts around the house and in the summer, he wore shorts and sleeveless shirts. Being comfortable was a plus. But those damn dresses?
He remembered that she had told him "I have to wear bras and stuff like that all day long but when I come home, I don't want to have anything pinching or squeezing me. I want to feel free and comfy and these dresses do that just fine."
"But baby," he argued, "why can't you wear sweat pants or something?"
"I don't like to wear pants much," she replied. And she did have long shapely legs that looked good in dresses and in pants.
"Old ladies wear those dresses," he grumbled.
"Why should they have all the fun?" she asked.
"Why do you wear them?" he asked.
"I'll show you," she said.
She walked out of the room and went to the kitchen to cook. She made a great meal and she had baked a pie and the subject of the dress was pushed aside. They were both good cooks and they enjoyed cooking for each other and they often compared notes and recipes.
Many evenings, they cooked together. But he loved her gumbo and always enjoyed it and with some French bread, a salad and the right beer, it was an occasion.
That night as they were getting ready for bed, he shook his head as she walked into the bedroom still in that damn dress.
"You were going to show me why you wear that damn dress," he reminded her.
She smiled. "These dresses are really comfortable. I like to feel comfy when I'm at home. But there is a signal to my dresses. This one is loose and easy."
She tugged at the neckline and pulled it up and over her head in a second. "It's too big and I can get out of it fast. Like when I have been thinking about you all day long and I can't wait for the time when we're alone here in the bedroom and I can finally ravish you like I want."
She didn't have a stitch on under that dress. And she had definitely gotten his attention. She walked right up to him as he sat on the side of the bed and stood between his legs. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He loved feeling her arms slide around his neck as she returned his kiss. He slid his hands down her back and cupped her butt in his hands
"One of my friends says I'm the luckiest guy in the world because I got the pretty black girl with the greatest ass to be with me," he told her.
"He has good taste," she said softly.
She tangled her fingers in his brown hair and gazed into his blue eyes.
"Do you and your friends often have discussions about my ass?"
"None of their wives have one like yours, baby. I'm lucky. And no, we don't often have those discussions. Usually only after you come to see me and you turn and walk away and they see this thing and they can't help it," he replied.
