08 Erotic Story: The Dress at the Back of the Wardrobe

Sara was only looking for something to wear to dinner.

Nothing dramatic. Just a dress that made an ordinary evening at home feel slightly less ordinary. Tom was downstairs making something that involved too much garlic and opening a bottle of wine they had been saving for no particular reason.

She pushed aside two summer dresses and a coat she had not worn in years.

That was when she saw it.

The black lace bodysuit was hanging at the very back of the wardrobe, almost hidden behind everything else.

[The things we stop wearing]

Sara remembered buying it.

Not the exact day, but the woman who had ordered it. She remembered sitting on the edge of the bed with her laptop, imagining herself wearing it with confidence she had apparently assumed would arrive in the same package.

It never had.

She took the bodysuit from the hanger and held it against herself.

Black lace. Thin straps. A low back. Soft cups that suddenly looked much smaller than she remembered.

Then she looked at the mirror.

Her eyes went straight to her stomach.

Of course they did.

She turned slightly, noticed the softness at her waist, the pale lines at her hips, the way her breasts had changed over the years.

The thought arrived before she could stop it.

Not anymore.

Sara put the bodysuit back on the hanger.

She pushed it behind the dresses again, closed the wardrobe and walked towards the bedroom door.

Her hand was already on the handle when she stopped.

Why exactly couldn't she wear it?

Because her body had changed?

That wasn't an answer. Bodies changed. Tom's had. Hers had. Ten years had happened to both of them.

Sara looked back at the wardrobe.

"Oh, for God's sake."

She opened it again.

This time she took the bodysuit out and shut the bedroom door.

She undressed slowly and stepped into it.

The lace stretched differently than she remembered. It settled over her hips, fitted closely around her waist and pulled slightly when she adjusted the straps.

Sara stood in front of the mirror.

Her first instinct was to suck in her stomach.

She did.

Then she saw herself doing it.

"Stop."

She let the breath out.

Nothing terrible happened.

For another few seconds she still looked for everything she might want to change. Then, almost accidentally, she noticed the line of her shoulder. She liked the way the narrow strap sat against it.

She turned.

The low back was better than she remembered.

So was the curve of her waist when she stopped trying to make it smaller.

Sara ran one hand over her stomach. Not hiding it. Just touching it.

The woman in the mirror wasn't the woman who had bought the bodysuit.

That woman had been younger.

This woman had two children, ten years of marriage, laugh lines she hadn't ordered and a body that carried a history she had spent too much time treating like evidence against herself.

She looked again.

And this time, she liked something about what she saw.

Not everything.

She didn't need to.

Sara put a loose black shirt over the bodysuit and left most of the buttons open.

Then she went downstairs.

Tom was cutting bread when she walked into the kitchen.

He looked up.

And stopped.

There was no whistle. No ridiculous comment. No exaggerated widening of the eyes.

He simply looked at her.

Properly.

Sara suddenly became aware of every inch of lace beneath the shirt.

"What?"

Tom put the knife down.

"Nothing."

"That's definitely a something."

A small smile appeared.

"You look like you feel good."

Sara hadn't expected that.

She looked down at herself.

"I'm deciding."

"About dinner?"

"About this."

She opened the shirt a little wider.

Tom's eyes dropped for a second, then returned to her face. He walked towards her, but stopped before reaching her.

"Can I?"

Sara knew exactly what he meant.

And she liked that he had asked.

"Yes."

His hand settled gently at her waist, over the lace.

He didn't squeeze. Didn't immediately pull her closer. His thumb simply moved across the fabric, tracing the shape of her body beneath it.

"You remember this?" she asked.

"The bodysuit?"

She nodded.

"I remember the box arriving."

"I never wore it."

"I know."

"I bought it for you."

Tom tilted his head.

"And tonight?"

Sara looked down at his hand on her waist.

"For me."

His smile changed.

"Good."

Then he kissed her.

Slowly.

His hand stayed where it was, warm against the lace, while his mouth moved from hers to the side of her neck.

Sara waited for the familiar urge to pull the shirt closed.

It didn't come.

Instead, she slipped her hands beneath Tom's shirt and felt the warmth of his back.

Dinner lasted another ten minutes.

They made it halfway down the hallway before Sara started laughing.

"We're terrible at date night."

Tom kissed her again.

"I think we're doing fine."

Upstairs, Sara left the bodysuit on.

That mattered.

Tom's shirt stayed half buttoned too. They sat on the edge of the bed kissing, neither of them in a hurry to finish undressing.

His fingers moved slowly along her thigh and up to her waist. He traced the lace over her stomach, then bent and kissed the same place.

Sara's breath caught.

He started to move higher.

"Again."

Tom looked up.

Sara touched the place on her stomach where his mouth had been.

"Here."

He understood.

He kissed her there again.

This time Sara watched him.

She didn't pull the fabric down. Didn't turn sideways. Didn't think about whether her stomach looked flatter from another angle.

She just let him touch her.

His hands moved over her hips, her back, the outside of her thighs. The lace softened every movement, making each touch feel slower than bare skin.

When he looked at her again, Sara was already smiling.

"You okay?"

"More than okay."

Later they stayed partly dressed, his shirt open against her hands, her black lace still between his palms and her skin. They moved together slowly, kissing whenever their faces came close enough, laughing once when their knees got tangled in the sheets.

There was nothing polished about it.

Nothing performed.

Sara felt wanted without feeling displayed.

That difference was everything.

Afterwards, Tom lay beside her with one hand resting on her stomach.

Sara looked at the black lace beneath his fingers.

"I nearly didn't wear it."

"Why?"

She could have made a joke.

Instead she told him.

"I thought it belonged to someone I used to be."

Tom was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked at her.

"I like this version."

Sara smiled.

"I'm starting to."

The next morning, she opened the wardrobe.

The bodysuit had spent years hidden behind clothes she wore more often and thought about less.

Sara moved three hangers aside.

This time, she hung it where she could see it.