The Dress
I had often been asked to accompany her on "decision" trips to the store. These outings were of use to her in validating an item of clothing or accessory that her inner shame told her she wasn't worthy of enjoying. She could never be good enough or pretty enough in her eyes but to me she was gorgeous, clothed or not. I had loved this woman for more than half my lifetime. Everything about her, her warmth and compassion to the downtrodden was a welcome beacon shining among a world that had become too harsh for our liking. For my part these small vacations from the day to day were enjoyable mostly for the chance to see her in something newly spectacular. Generally I agreed with her choices and as she valued not only my opinion but also recognized my taste in what looked good on her, the outcome was usually agreeable.
We had a couple of important events coming up and had gone through the usual back and forth over whether she needed something new to wear. She had mentioned this particular item would be perfect for the little get together on the next Friday evening and I knew that the initial description told me this particular dress was something I knew I would want to see. My motivations in these visits were certainly complicated. The desire to see her happy had always been a driving factor, always seeming to fulfill a basic personal need in me in some small way, but in truth it was just for the chance to see her glow.
The appointed hour came; we met around five in the afternoon haze and took her car up the freeway toward our destination. Sometimes a frugal shopper, she could spot a bargain anywhere and always made any item look like it cost tenfold what she had paid for it. The store was quiet; the ladies working there were pleasant, not overdressed and not overly attractive. This was going to be easy, my companion already had the edge in lighting up that room. She was nearing sixty yet had the body of a much younger woman and the too often hidden personality of a talk show host. The confidence that had been stolen from her had nullified any prospect of her being able to pursue such well-suited career choices. Sacrificing career for raising two wonderful children had taken more of her self than anyone deserved, but to me she was simply the best at whatever she decided to do.
I made my well rehearsed introductions to the store ladies with a customary little joke about not knowing who this woman were and I always knew that the slight foreign accent would work its charm and I would be accepted into that inner circle so often dominated by the opposite sex. Once the early formalities were complete, one of the pleasant ladies brought out the items in question from that secret place where they keep on-hold requests and handed them to my companion. I was summoned or if that is too harsh a word, beckoned toward the changing room area and relegated to enduring that uncomfortable moment when the decision whether to accompany her into this inner sanctum or to sit on the usually sparse seating available had to be made. My basic instinct is always to go in if at all possible to witness the undressing and redressing this entails; I have always found pleasure in observing the inherent beauty of this wonderful creature undertaking such intimate actions.
On this occasion however, the available seating was a long chaise type bench with a small pillow that was conveniently propped against a steel pillar. It was perfect for relaxing and trying one's best to look nonchalant in dark glasses anticipating the mystery of what would soon appear from behind the slightly translucent curtain. I had been in these situations many times before and had usually been pleasantly surprised or excited by the vision that emerged. It was easy to tell what looked good on someone with such perfect figure; shape has everything to do with fashion and hers made most things look better than they often deserved. A few minutes past, then out from the muted light of the changing room came, "The Dress."
I had constructed in my mind some preconceived ideas of what this particular dress would be like. Any time there is talk of "fitted" and "full-length zippers", imaginations are bound to set the deepest erotic zones of the mind into full racing mode. There were two color choices to be made and it was left to pure chance and her choice, which one was to see the brighter more piercing and revealing light of the mirrored area first. As the curtain parted, my heart beat a little faster as the vision that unfolded in front of me set off a series of thoughts and emotions that made me sit up from my comfortable slouch and compelled my eyes to gaze a little longer and deeper upon the beauty of the form before me.
When we arrived she had worn black exercise leggings and athletic shoes, the leggings well fitted of course and she had brought other shoes that would better show the dress in its rightful context. She wore the dark choice first and I knew right away that I didn't need to see the lighter one. I gazed from the floor up, noting the smooth white outline of her calf muscles being pulled taut by the higher heels. The perfect length, the clinging of the soft cloth to her body was intoxicating. In a word it was stunning. That was a word I had often used before but this truly lived up to the description, vivid colors on the front and back that popped out in a burst of joy and enough solid black down the sides to accentuate the acute elegance of her curved outline.
We went through the usual "what do you think" chat but I don't know if I even heard what she said, I knew this would be the one. As I said before, there were two choices and so we had to go through the formalities of seeing the lighter color and so the exquisite vision disappeared again into the inner sanctum to return wearing a much lighter version of the same dress. This is where it always gets tricky; especially if one knows her initial preference is for the one you don't favor. Sometimes one might be tempted to tell a little white lie in order to ingratiate and curry favor that might be expected to return rewards later. Not this time, I knew.
I loved this dress but it simply had to be in the darker and splashier color that became so much a part of her that it looked like it just, well... belonged. I asked to see the original again; she obliged and once more emerged from the shadowy light of the dressing room. This time my eyes were drawn to that indelible part of my preconceptions, the full-length frontal zipper. Erotic thoughts were now dominating my senses and it took all my effort to somehow rationally explain my preference for this particular one.
