Jillian
Friday night!
"No you can't help! That would defeat the purpose!"
Greg wasn't buying it but he left me alone anyway. As alone as I ever am, with a boyfriend that can see through walls.
"And don't look! Turn around!" I hollered as he retreated to the kitchen.
He was already dressed. I'd never seen him so snazzy, washed and dressed in his wool dress pants, tailored shirt, tie, even socks. Got a haircut! For a beach bum, that was really making an effort.
A jacket in charcoal made him look respectable even. Clearly Khang's work, top to bottom.
My little black dress was on a hangar to keep it from getting bent or twisted. It is pretty fragile. Over that a dry-cleaning bag, to keep it clean. Khang had wanted to cover it in aluminum foil or even lead, but I had to tell her that wouldn't work, she was thinking of superman.
Greg can see stuff, any stuff, all the way through. Not x-ray vision really, because that has stuff in front of stuff, a picture of everything inside but mashed together in a 2D picture. He sees in 3D, nothing is in front of anything else, it's all just there,
I couldn't get the dress into the condo without him seeing it, no way. But he wasn't going to see it on me until I was ready!
Kinda nervous about this whole deal. Khang called it a fuck-me dress, you know, like fuck-me pumps. In private it was her Greg-fuck-me dress, designed for me and Greg personally. She does that kind of thing for me, her sister.
And because I have boobs, a butt, hips unlike most of her customers who are tiny Vietnamese women, Khang's having a blast, designing for her little sister. I think I'm going to be wearing outrageous massively stylish clothes for the rest of my life. I just have to get used to the idea. Big sister knows best. That's how it works in Vietnamese families.
I smiled at that, like I always smiled when I thought of family. Never had one, not until very recently. Now I was part of a family, had a boyfriend, in a tight community. Respected. It was so strange!
I stripped, untangled the dress from the bag and unhitched it from the hangar. Now I just had to remember how it went on.
Stockings first! Won't be able to bend over after the dress is harnessed up. Thigh-high, silk lacy tops, wont interfere with the fit of the party dress. Bunched over the toe then pulled up, playing out the silk like stuffing a sausage. Tops laced up the back, silly pointless detail that will drive the guys wild, thinking of tugging on that bow, seeing them crumple down my thighs.
The dress opened entirely down one side, opened like a clamshell, had a silk ribbon to thread through loops, close that side. I wanted badly to wear panties, but Khang had been adamant. Only me and the dress! That meant I put my legs through two loops at the bottom, snugged it up over my hips. The dress had a sort of thong built in, so at least that was keeping me from flashing my privates in public. I'd done a little trimming to keep from being scandalous down there, what I had was pretty fine and short so not much to do to keep fuzz from sticking out.
I never wear thongs, not raised that way. I was raised with JC Penny discount underwear, usually hand-me-downs from some other foster kid. Raised on the cheap, in boarding houses by people who didn't want me, just the money from the state.
Now I'm getting used to having the best of everything. It's baby steps. Greg had buckets of money, mountains of money. He found lost things without really trying, and that included a lot of lost cash. He says it's because people carry it all the time, the most likely thing to misplace. Anyway I live in a million-dollar condo with him, wear bespoke clothes, eat anything I want. Lots of firsts for me these last weeks - bagels and lox had never been on the foster-home menu.
This was my first bespoke fuck-me dress for instance. My first little black dress of any kind. And the only other time I'd worn it, in Khang's fitting room, she'd put it on me. It wasn't so much figuring it out, as holding it up! There were no shoulder straps, no belt. It fit like a bustier/panty/skirt combo.
Thread that silk through the loops, tie it loosely. Pull the dress front up over my boobs, snug it around, make it stick where it was supposed to.
The other side got buttoned, tiny black pearl buttons through tiny buttonholes. Do them up, carefully! They were made to come off. See, Khang had even designed-in the way this dress would be removed, with Greg ripping it off later tonight! So, quick-release buttons, literally hanging by a thread.
I'd worried about all those ripped buttons sprayed around the condo, then duh I remembered Mr. Can't-lose-anything will just glance around, pick them up again, put them in a bag. So Khang can sew them back on again!
Ok, it's buttoned, the front is holding, covering my boobs without really holding them up. I'll have to wear this dress a lot! before my boobs sag and it quits working. Next snug up the silk cord, test by gently rotate hips and shoulders, get it all where it should be. Tug the cord, tie it in a cute knot and voila! I'm dressed.
Well, still nearly naked, but that's apparently how this works. Naked shoulders, naked back. Naked butt and legs. Naked chest down to my nipples!
Looked in the mirror, it looked pretty good. One more adjustment, Khang had shown me. Reach in the bodice, gently tug my tits up as far as they would go. Until maybe just a hint of nipple was showing. As daring as it could possibly be, and not get arrested.
Had to admit, it made my modest bust look like a million. Like I was made for this dress!
"How long do I have to stare at the microwave?" Greg was getting antsy.
I didn't answer, slipped into the pumps Khang had selected. One last look in the mirror, tug a stray strand back over my ear. Pull it out again, let it hang there. Was that sexy? I hoped so.
Out to the kitchen, tottering on the heels, also pretty new for me. Greg is sitting on a bar stool looking resolutely the other way, indeed right at the microwave. Checking the fuse I suppose, he was handy that way.
"Ok. You can look."
Nervously I tangled my fingers together at my waist, remembered to let go, let my arms hang. Throw my shoulders back! Stand straight! And for god's sake don't bend over!
He stood, turned slowly, respecting the moment, making it a moment. Didn't take him long to lose his cool.
There went the jaw, slack. The eyes, wide. I didn't need x-ray vision to see his heart race, his breathing stop. He was not drooling but pretty much everything else.
"MMmy God! Jillian!" He was pretty much speechless as well. His body was speaking volumes; his linen pants were too tight to disguise his excitement, I didn't need a magic eye to see that. Well! So far, so good.
I said 'Just a minute!', tottered back to fetch the little silk bag Khang had put a shawl into. Tugged it out, way more shawl than could possibly fit in that tiny satchel, spread it over my shoulders. Gorgeous black patterned lacy thing, fragile as shit, not really very warm.
Came out to find Greg at the front door, talking to the cab driver. Tipping him already? Whatever, Greg knows what he's doing, he's had money for years.
The cabbie spied me over Greg's shoulder, went into shock. Forgot to reach for Greg's money, forgot Greg existed, just stared. Shook himself, back to professional cab-driver, took the tip, held the door for us.
