The Sheer Black Dress (A short story)
Once you learn how to ride a bicycle, you always know how to, no matter how long it's been. The first time you saddle back up, you instantly know how to balance and peddle away into the sunset. So I reminded myself, as I looked at the sheer black dress hanging in my closet. Would my skin recognize the embrace of chiffon?
Kevin and I had fallen apart 4 years ago. There wasn't any single reason why our breakup happened. I once explained it as life taking away the breath out of our relationship. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember the way Kevin kissed me. All I can feel is the patch of stubble that clung to the outline of his lower lip. He was my last lover, unless you count Rudy Palms and his five brothers. B.O.B. (Battery Operated Boyfriend) doesn't count, becauseI had him while I was still with Kevin.
The sheer black dress was my symbol of awakening feminine wiles. I saw him a month ago. He was walking his boxer, Spence. I was standing by my mailbox, caught dead in a pair of torn jeans and an old sweatshirt that had "paper or plastic?" across its front. He stopped to introduce himself, as Clay, the new guy on the block.There wasn't anything spectacular about him, until he laughed. His teeth were pure white inside a slightly wicked smile.
When he asked if my parents were home, l laughed at the sincerity in his voice. His incredulous look, when I told him I owned the house, was rewarded with a smile from me. No amount of him flirting could get me to tell my age. After we parted, I went inside to take a long look at myself. Seeing no visible lines on my face, I wondered if the absence of strain from a relationship was the secret to eternal youthful looks.
It wasn't long before he developed a routine of walking Spence by my house at 6 p.m. daily. Unless it was raining, I made up excuses to be outside at that time. It took him a week before he asked me to dinner, but it took me three weeks to say yes.
Here I was, standing in front of my closet, damp from a shower, contemplating bicycles and sheer dresses. I pulled it off the hanger, trying to remember where I had put the form fitting slip that went with the dress. Eventually, I found it in my lingerie drawer, under a sky-lit bra that I used to wear for Kevin, during my silly strip tease shows. I tossed the bra into the trash. Sometimes it's best to let go of the past, by destroying the symbols of its era.
Was I truly ready for the relationship scene once again? It seemed that a rocky path was ahead of me now that I was used to my own sly forms of secret orgasmic solos. Would I remember how to be in tune as a sexual partner?
With the clock blinking at me, subtracting minutes away from blast-off, I hurriedly dressed in the cling-on slip. Holding my breath, I slipped the dress over my head, waiting for the embrace. I smiled asI realized it was like slipping on a second skin. Stockings and heels completed the picture. I couldn't help but feel nervous.
The doorbell rang. There stood Clay, holding red tulips. When he saw me, his face reflected a look of raw desire. I felt a million goose bumps run up and down my arms. A change had come over me, as soon as his eyes touched mine. In them, I was every woman I had ever dreamt of being. I remembered what I had forgotten—the power of a sheer black dress.
Kevin and I had fallen apart 4 years ago. There wasn't any single reason why our breakup happened. I once explained it as life taking away the breath out of our relationship. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember the way Kevin kissed me. All I can feel is the patch of stubble that clung to the outline of his lower lip. He was my last lover, unless you count Rudy Palms and his five brothers. B.O.B. (Battery Operated Boyfriend) doesn't count, becauseI had him while I was still with Kevin.
The sheer black dress was my symbol of awakening feminine wiles. I saw him a month ago. He was walking his boxer, Spence. I was standing by my mailbox, caught dead in a pair of torn jeans and an old sweatshirt that had "paper or plastic?" across its front. He stopped to introduce himself, as Clay, the new guy on the block.There wasn't anything spectacular about him, until he laughed. His teeth were pure white inside a slightly wicked smile.
When he asked if my parents were home, l laughed at the sincerity in his voice. His incredulous look, when I told him I owned the house, was rewarded with a smile from me. No amount of him flirting could get me to tell my age. After we parted, I went inside to take a long look at myself. Seeing no visible lines on my face, I wondered if the absence of strain from a relationship was the secret to eternal youthful looks.
It wasn't long before he developed a routine of walking Spence by my house at 6 p.m. daily. Unless it was raining, I made up excuses to be outside at that time. It took him a week before he asked me to dinner, but it took me three weeks to say yes.
Here I was, standing in front of my closet, damp from a shower, contemplating bicycles and sheer dresses. I pulled it off the hanger, trying to remember where I had put the form fitting slip that went with the dress. Eventually, I found it in my lingerie drawer, under a sky-lit bra that I used to wear for Kevin, during my silly strip tease shows. I tossed the bra into the trash. Sometimes it's best to let go of the past, by destroying the symbols of its era.
Was I truly ready for the relationship scene once again? It seemed that a rocky path was ahead of me now that I was used to my own sly forms of secret orgasmic solos. Would I remember how to be in tune as a sexual partner?
With the clock blinking at me, subtracting minutes away from blast-off, I hurriedly dressed in the cling-on slip. Holding my breath, I slipped the dress over my head, waiting for the embrace. I smiled asI realized it was like slipping on a second skin. Stockings and heels completed the picture. I couldn't help but feel nervous.
The doorbell rang. There stood Clay, holding red tulips. When he saw me, his face reflected a look of raw desire. I felt a million goose bumps run up and down my arms. A change had come over me, as soon as his eyes touched mine. In them, I was every woman I had ever dreamt of being. I remembered what I had forgotten—the power of a sheer black dress.
penned by Painter Lady at 2:01 PM
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