This is a little story I wrote that doesn't have very much sex in it. It's SEXY, I think, but it's relatively light on genital-on-genital contact. Please read the tags for some light spoilers, in case you'd like to know what you're in for. I originally intended to submit this for the Winter Holiday 2024 Contest but the theme didn't really come through. But I wanted to publish it anyway. Enjoy!
The Christmas spirit had hit the city, and Bleecker Street was bustling. Throngs of bag-toting tourists shuffled down the sidewalk, oohing and aahing at the window displays, stopping at awkward intervals and forcing the grumpy locals to weave their way around them, trampling the previous evening's dusting of snow into a fine slush that stuck to their shoes. The boutiques dotting the street had thrown their doors open for the thousands of Christmas shoppers who had descended on the West Village shopping district. Many of them would make their whole quarter in the next few weeks. Some would make their whole year. Sarah wondered why she bothered opening.
It seemed shoppers weren't so interested in lingerie shopping this time of year, or at least not at
Ravir
, Sarah's French-named but American-owned intimate apparel boutique. Oh, they would window shop. Everyone loved getting an eyeful of the mannequins, dressed in cheeky thongs, sheer teddies, and other baroque assortments of silk and lace. Today, they'd also be wearing Santa hats. But they would never come in. Perhaps it was the hundreds of prying eyes on the street, warning off interested shoppers from stepping inside and catching a knowing look from a curious stranger. Perhaps there were too many tourists and families on the street, and her regulars wanted to avoid the crowds. But Sarah hadn't had a shopper all day. Luckily, the online store was still busy. It was bad enough she had had to let one of the girls go, last month. If it weren't for online sales, she might have to pack it in altogether. The Bleecker Street location was beginning to feel more and more like an expensive luxury, a vanity storefront in an increasingly digital world.
Sarah was reviewing customer inquiries on her laptop when the bell above the door jingled, and a gust of wind blew in, shaking the assorted babydolls hanging on the rack near the front of the store. A woman stood at the threshold, wearing a heavy peacoat, thick scarf and a knitted cap with an enormous, poofy ball perched on top. She closed the door after wiping her heavy boots on the welcome mat, stuffing her mittens in her coat pockets as she stepped inside, eyes agog.
"Welcome in," Sarah said with a smile, her voice warm and honeyed. She crossed her legs and sat up on her stool, folding her hands in her lap.
The woman started, as if she hadn't noticed Sarah until then. Sarah's white long-sleeve top blended in with the wall behind her, and her black miniskirt, pantyhose and thigh-high black boots were obscured by the check-out counter. Compared to the pops of color on the walls and racks and displays, Sarah and her blonde bob haircut were practically camouflaged.
"Oh," the woman said, her voice uncertain as she rubbed her hands together before removing her hat, her carrot-colored hair clinging and crackling with light static as it floated back down to earth. "Um... thank you."
Sarah liked to think she understood the types of women who shopped at
Ravir
, having used surveys and consultants to develop psychometric profiles for sales and marketing purposes, and prided herself on her powers of observation. You had your Connoisseurs, those ladies who kept up on trends, regularly refreshed their wardrobes and enjoyed investing in high-end, premium pieces. You had your Functionals, who most frequently purchased mass market underwear and practical items elsewhere, but enjoyed the occasional splurge and spent significant time on research before buying. There were Adventurers, who loved to browse and seldom bought, and Occasion-Driven Buyers, who bought for specific occasions like weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries. Sarah curated her collections to please the Connoisseurs, but she had something for everyone - and, critically, a sales pitch for anyone.
It was all a matter of figuring out what a customer needed to hear.
"Please let me know if I can help you find what you're looking for," Sarah said, stepping down from the stool and making her way around the counter, walking with practiced, delicate motions. She could tell she was about two inches taller than her shopper, before her boots added another two inches, and kept her face pleasant and welcoming.
The woman was most likely an Occasion-Driven Buyer, Sarah reasoned. She looked lost in the store, looking at items as if she'd never seen anything like them before, and while Sarah took grain pains to curate a collection of limited editions, designer items, her wares were largely variations on themes. One wouldn't find unique or intimidating BDSM-inspired assemblages at
Ravir
,
for instance. Her shopper looked like she had never seen anything with cutouts in her whole life. And she wasn't an Adventurer, Sarah thought. No. Adventurers mostly got their kicks online, these days. It was easier to browse at one's leisure, easier to fantasize, and it was infinitely less awkward to close the window than to tell the eager sales associate that they'd "think about it."
This woman was an occasion shopper, Sarah decided, from out of town. From the suburbs of New Jersey, perhaps, or Long Island. She may be reluctant. It might have taken courage to come in. She would need guidance. Encouragement.
"Is there something in particular you're looking for?"
Sarah had closed the distance between them, by now, and took another look at the woman's face. She was pretty, Sarah thought, or at least had been when she was younger. The woman was between 35 and 40 years old, with a fair complexion but for the smattering of orange freckles on her face. Her cheeks retained some color from the winter air, but she was wearing only light makeup and her lips were chapped.
"I'm, uh... I'm looking for a... gift..."
Occasion it is, Sarah thought. And the way she hesitated before gift confirmed doubts, if not outright reluctance. Sarah gave herself partial credit.
"For you? Or..."
"For my husband."
Sarah arched an eyebrow.
"I mean... for me, for my husband. For me to wear. As a gift. A Christmas gift. He's out with the kids at a Rangers game and I'm... doing some Christmas shopping!"
"I see!" Sarah moved closer, looking down at the sequined black negligee the woman held between her fingertips. It was a flattering piece. A flattering cut in a flattering color, with enough detail to feel special and unique without being gaudy. But the example she held was an extra small. Her coat made it difficult to estimate her measurements, but Sarah would have bet it was too small for her, and it was the only one she had in stock. "Do you know your size and measurements?"
"It depends. I usually wear a small or medium. But measurements... it's been a while..."
"Would you like me to measure you?"
The woman thought about this, bobbing her head side to side and frowning thoughtfully before shrugging and nodding.
"Just bear with me one moment."
Sarah walked to the door, her heels softly thumping on the wood grain, and locked it, spinning the "Open" sign to its "Closed" side. Her shopper looked skeptical as Sarah made her way back.
"I'm the only one working today, and we do our measurements in the back."
Sarah pointed to the rear of the store, behind the counter and its flanking wall.
"It's... more private, back there."