YOUR GIFT TO ME
by
copyright 2011, Andrea Dale
Published by Soul’s Road Press
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YOUR GIFT TO ME
by
The salesgirl thinks we’re just friends. She probably wouldn’t have let me accompany you into the dressing room if she knew we were lovers. They never let guys in, anyway, when I was dating them and brought them lingerie shopping with me. Then, I had to go into the stall by myself, and only if the rooms were in an enclosed area in the back of the store could I open the door and show him.
The salesgirl doesn’t have to worry about much, really. I’m not going to touch you. You know it, and I know it. The wanting, the needing makes it even sexier.
You’ve never been one for fancy underthings. You’ve always been perfectly happy in your grey Jockey For Her separates. God knows I’d find you sexy in a sackcloth, so I never complained. But you knew, didn’t you? You saw my wistful gaze when the Victoria’s Secret catalogue arrived. I didn’t mean to sigh aloud.
I know you’ve never felt your body was worth expensive, frothy scraps that revealed more than they showed. I hope our relationship has helped you with that. The mere fact that you’re in this dressing room, with its pale pink walls and framed photos of models in bustiers and camisoles and semi-transparent robes trimmed with marabou, is a big step for you.
I give you a long, lingering kiss. You cling to me, just briefly, before I sit down in the ornately carved armchair with the fuchsia cushion in the corner.
You were a little overwhelmed when we got to the store. Too many choices. You paused just inside the door, blinking as if you’d just stepped into bright sunlight.
The salesgirl was a huge help. She had a good eye for what would best suit your coloring and body type. You’ve got a luscious hourglass figure: filmy camisoles and shortie chemises would just hang off you.