I spend the majority of my life in the eternal quest of devising ways to manipulate your clothes off. This morning, I am turning the tide. I am dressing you.
Those French panties with the tiny red bow are pretty, but not as comfortable as your cotton whites. I snap on your bra, reaching around from the front, so we're face-to-face. Your fresh shower smell washes over me, and I do my best to concentrate. You watch me fiddle, frustration growing in my eyes. You offer to snap the bra on yourself. I refuse the offer, then accept just as I manage to clasp the thing-a-ma-chig and claim I had it all along.
I go for the gray slacks. You approve. You lean on my shoulders as you step into them. I go for the navy blouse. You send me back to the closet for the powder blue blouse with the ruffles. I button your buttons.
You won't even allow me to make a another suggestion for shoes after I suggest those crazy boots and then the Jessica Simpson wedges. I fetch the flats you point out, slip them on your feet like Cinderella. I notice a panty line on your ass and take corrective measures. I try unsuccessfully to convince you the imperfection was real and my actions were in fact necessary.
We walk out the door together. I make a reminder: Tonight I get to take those clothes off.
Those French panties with the tiny red bow are pretty, but not as comfortable as your cotton whites. I snap on your bra, reaching around from the front, so we're face-to-face. Your fresh shower smell washes over me, and I do my best to concentrate. You watch me fiddle, frustration growing in my eyes. You offer to snap the bra on yourself. I refuse the offer, then accept just as I manage to clasp the thing-a-ma-chig and claim I had it all along.
I go for the gray slacks. You approve. You lean on my shoulders as you step into them. I go for the navy blouse. You send me back to the closet for the powder blue blouse with the ruffles. I button your buttons.
You won't even allow me to make a another suggestion for shoes after I suggest those crazy boots and then the Jessica Simpson wedges. I fetch the flats you point out, slip them on your feet like Cinderella. I notice a panty line on your ass and take corrective measures. I try unsuccessfully to convince you the imperfection was real and my actions were in fact necessary.
We walk out the door together. I make a reminder: Tonight I get to take those clothes off.
18 comments:
This reminds me of something. When we are naked women are often thinking something like, "O no I have cellulite,why did I eat that piece of pie, I'm such a cow etc etc"
And guys are just like "She's Naked! She's naked!"
Ah...the art of snapping a bra. We really should teach a class to men about it. ☺
I don't know what it is about the way you write but you succeed in creating such intimate moments that I feel almost like a voyeur. Once again, great last line.
Oooh. I might have to suggest this to MTL. Of course, knowing him, he'd then want to do the reverse process pretty much right away. Even putting my panties into the washer distracts him.
I have feeling tonight she will reverse the order of things. Starting with your shirt, perhaps. Have fun!
This is touching and fun. I love it. :)
@andrea, i love it. we'll forever be kids in a candy store. we'll always be prisoners of our boyish desires...i'm not complaining:) now these cultural influences on women not being skinny enough are downright harmful, but they can be overcome in the secret space between intimate partners, and must.
@lori, bras are as mysterious as women. when you think you've got'em figured out, one comes along that baffles you.
@alexandra, you are fine editor. will change 'powdered' to 'powder.'
:)
@teacher mommy, yeah, we get easily distracted, fuzzy-headed. for sure. for sure...what was i talking about?:)
@she writes, it's all about maneuvering for what we really want, isn't it? memorable playfulness involves transparent manipulation. who doesn't want to be manipulated into what we want to do, with a smile?
@tori, yes, touching. yes.
I might just have to read these words out loud tonight...
I'm always surprised by my reaction to your writing. This piece made me laugh. I guess I was thinking about how excited a man might be dressing his woman. It's not as exciting when we dress ourselves. It's pretty mundane, actually, unless we're going somewhere really special, or we're going to be going with someone who is.
I can smell the smoke 3k miles away. Fire at your place tonight. I'm so jealous.
Definitely made me smile. :)
nice. sounds like you are in for some night tonight...thanks for dropping by today and i will have to thank amy for sending you over. hope to see you around my playground...
@diedra, that's a fun thought. thanks!
@bike lady, i'm glad to make you laugh. it was meant to be very light, for sure. i can be counted on to be clumsy in the most intimate moments, for sure.
@thinkingtoohard, i can't ever compete with your heat, now way, no how.
@wendryn, thanks:)
@brian miller, great to meet ya. i'll be around your playground, for sure.
thanks for commenting on my post! This is my first visit to your blog and I am really enjoying your writing :) I'll be visiting again!
What a very honest and fun telling of the beauty of men and women together. Refreshing read :)
@caty, thanks for visiting, and i'll continue to visit yours.
@lisa, it is very much a together piece. some of my posts are more divided and spoken exclusively from the man's sphere. thanks for visiting:)
As always your last line is a clincher. You have a way of writing which causes the reader to SEE what is going on while reading about it...great work!
@anjuli, thanks so much. my dad used to say you want to take the reader by the hand and show them what you're saying, like giving a tour. now my dad edits my stuff from the other side...seriously, he does:)
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