"I would rather go to a root canal than an office party," Dan told his wife when she finally got up the nerve to ask. "But you go and try not to get yourself fired. And if, I mean when, you drink too much, have somebody sober drive you home".
Lisa pouted. "And when I get home, I suppose you'll want... something...?"
"I just might, if I've been watching porn instead of the Jets."
A week and a day later, Lisa stood by her window watching a gentle but depressing rain. She was choosing her outfit for the party and hated everything she tried on. Everything was too old or too out of style or too tight.
"Or I'm too fat!" She yanked off the blouse so furiously that her camisole went with it, leaving her in a skimpy red lace demi bra (a festive color) and white half slip. Across the street, Roger, her elderly neighbor, had just lost an argument with his wife and stomped out to go to the mailbox. He was halfway when the motion in Lisa's window caught his eye. He stopped, in semi-shock as his demure neighbor bared her back, then turned half way around, not quite enough to see him, had she been looking. He could only see down to just below her shoulders, but he walked very slowly to the mailbox and leaned on it for support. The figure in the window raised her arms and ran her fingers under the bra straps, which vanished from view and fell to her elbows. She she reached behind herself for the catch and the bra fell to the floor.
Roger fumbled for the mail as the figure in the window floated away. His reaction, even in jeans, was more than evident. He walked slowly backwards in the rain, hoping she would return. She did, still naked from the waist up as best he could tell, and she slipped a black cocktail dress over her head.
"Damn!" She looked hotter with the spaghetti straps barely covering her shoulders. He would have unspeakable fantasies for the rest of the day. His wife eventually asked him why he kept looking out the window. "Just watching the weather," he mumbled.
Prefering not to drive in the 5-inch heels she was going to wear, Lisa called one of the men on the tech crew to come pick her up. "Bring friends," she giggled, "I don't want the neighborhood to think I have a date." The she put on enough make up and perfume for a month of dates. She finished her look with gleaming mahogany nail polish, and sat down with Dan. She kept her fingers spread, and Dan noticed the dark color.
"What ever happened to wearing red?" he groused, then he turned on the TV. A woman with long mahogany-colored fingernails was selling scotch. She noted that the color matched her dress and and mood at having to go alone.
He was watching the pre-game and Roger-the-neighbor was at his window when a car, with 3 well-dressed mid-20s aged guys stopped in front of her house. The empty seat was behind the driver. Lisa, in that black dress that almost hit halfway between waist and knee, black patterend "stripper-stockings" and 5-inch black heels, danced down the sidewalk, around the car and unaware that she was giving her neighbor heart-failure, she got in non too gracefully. She didn't bother to smooth her dress back down.
Roger, his tongue hanging out, turned from the window. His wife commented that he looked like he had seen a ghost.
"No, quite the opposite." he allowed. She looked out the window, but only saw a car driving away in the rain.
Lisa was more careful with her dress, making sure that too much did not show at the office party, and all the ladies could relate to her struggle with finding something appropriate in her wardrobe. As far as she knew, the men, including her boss had no complaints. She danced the night away, first with one, then another. She was very aware of whose husband she was dancing with, and kept distance and did proper ballroom steps with those men. With the unaccompanied guys, she was less restrained and more than once let herself melt into the arms, and throbbing groin of a partner.
As most of the partiers got deeper into spirits and too tipsy for a work-related event, she chose only single men and none from her department for dance partners. The last half hour, she spent limp and breathless in the embrace of a man she barely knew. He was a great dancer, strong, and made her feel 25, thin and desirable. They danced so tightly together that she could feel him twitch and throb, and a time or two she thought maybe her waves would be coming, but each time they waned. She was so warm her hair gel had lost its will and her perfume, expertly dabbed behind her ears, knees and ankles, had become an aura of its own. As the last danced ended, he expertly dipped her, then kissed her full and open-mouth. Lisa nearly fainted. Through her haze she realized she did not want it to ever end.
As goodbyes were being said and people from her department were drifting, or wobbling, out, her last dance partner walked up. "I should have introduced myself, I'm Brad. I'll see you safely to your car, may I?"
Lisa glanced around. Her gal-pals all had had too much to drink and were getting rides. "Um, well, ok... but it's home in the garage. I came with the I.T. crew and they have all left.
His eyes glowed. "May I have the pleasure?" He didn't wait for an answer, but took her hand and led her away. As he helped her into the passenger seat of his car, his eyes fed on her stocking clad thighs and his throat tightened. He drove and they made small talk, most of it being his compliments about her appearance and dancing skills. He placed his hand on her leg well above her knee.
"Um I don't think you should do that, dear. I am a married old lady, you know."
