“So how was your
anniversary?" I dipped a tortilla chip in the bowl of salsa. "I can't
believe you hit the silver one."
"Twenty-five years,
same guy," Barb lifted her glass and drew a gentle sip, "same old,
same old." The tequila went down slowly.
"I heard you went
to Vegas to celebrate. How romantic?" I looked at my finger empty of ring
and wondered one life, one man. Hmm? Nah, I love my life.
"I fell
asleep." Barb slumped against the back of the booth.
"But that was after
the candles and champagne, right?” A negative nod confirmed the anniversary
gone south.
She gazed at a couple
lost in a kiss at the bar.
"You mean not even
a little 'wham-bam'- you know - 'thank-you-ma’am'?" I pushed the envelope
of friendship.
"We have that every
night." She broke a chip in half. It dropped to the salsa and sank.
I stared at the woman
across from me and gulped, "Every night?"
"Pretty routine.
Lights out, covers back, in-and-out stuff."
"Best bud, you owe
this guy." I grabbed her arm. "Come on, we're going to Macy's
lingerie department." I dropped a twenty on the table and added, "And
boy, does he owe you."
Warm under the influence
of tequila, we trekked to the underwear department of Macy's, high on the third
floor.
Felina, Oscar de la
Renta, Calvin Klein taunted and teased. French cut, high cut, no cut whispered
in sensual vibes, "Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby."
I headed for the
Cosabella section. I loved the cut, the sensual colors and celebration of
sexuality.
“What’s that?” I asked,
wryly studying the white cotton briefs with blue flowers in her hands. “Are you
planning to go skydiving?”
A perplexed look clouded
her face, canceling out the tequila high.
I stretched the panties
seam to seam, peeking around the three-layer absorbent panel, “Then you don’t
need a parachute.”
“But they’re buy two,
get one free,” she countered and started to fill her arms with cotton bounty.
Worse than anticipated,
I grabbed her by the hand. Packages with more coverage than an insurance policy
tumbled to the ground.
"This calls for a
thong." I thumbed through the racks of delicate wisps of strings and
tapped my finger on the silver metal bar. "What size? Medium?"
"I can't wear one
of these." She dangled the strip of material on her index finger and
whispered, "Isn't it uncomfortable?"
"Of course, it's
uncomfortable." I snagged three items and held them up to the light for a
better look. "But then, you're not supposed to be in them long." I
nudged her with my elbow and smiled. "That's the point."
"Take a look at
this one." A shimmering pair of blue panties, dotted with rhinestones and
a floss of a thong wore a price tag of twenty-five dollars.
"You mean someone
would really wear these?" Her voice dropped to a bare hush.
We moved from display to
display, sifting through endowed bras to sheer-to-the-nipple. Arms overloaded
with elegant bras and skimpy panties, we paraded into the dressing room. We
stripped down to the bare necessities and slid intimates off hangers. Adorned
in our sexuality, we posed forward, backward, and pursed our lips to the
mirrors. We waved to the hidden camera operator.
"Oh my God,"
hangers rattled inside the dressing room.
I pulled the pleated
curtain aside and affirmed, "Oh my God." I covered my mouth, inhaled
a snicker, "Maybe neon green isn't your color." I choked on the word,
"Or feathers."
A defeated gaze
reflected in the mirror as she sighed, “Maybe I should just go home and soak in
a hot bath.”
“Not unless he’s with
you,” I said, noting to look for bubble bath and floating candles.
“This is so not me,” a
plucked feather drifted to the carpet. “It’s hopeless.”
"Try again." I
closed the curtain and waited for the next floor show.
"Maybe it'd be
easier to roll over and go to sleep." Barb offered from the other side.
"No way, this is
serious business. You're in trouble, girlfriend, in the bedroom
department." I shouted back, "Come on, bare that booty!"
"Okay, here I
come." She parted the drape.
Tight buns, orange
thong, what? A cartoon character on the front of her…? I pushed the little nose
on the fuzzy bear just inches below her belly button. It played a sorrowful
tune of Tonight's the Night.
I shoved her back into
the cubicle and said, "Next?"
She donned a pair of
red, easy-on-the-eye lace bra and panties and I heard, "Hmm? Yeah…",
from the other side of the curtain.
"Wait," I
hustled back to the racks of seduction-in-wait and searched for the missing
accessory. I separated delicate laces to the left, sorted to the center and
there it was. Perfect.
"Here," I
tossed the item into the dressing stall.
"Is this
a…?"
"…Yes, snug to fit,
guaranteed to please, garter belt." I leaned against the wall, arms
crossed over chest, satisfied with my mission. Score one for best buds.
Barb left the store with
a small package of lust under arm. I brought something too just because we are
friends and that is what friends do.
I hugged her goodbye and slid into my Toyota.
The next morning, midway
between my cinnamon scone and French Roast the phone rang. The voice memorized
over the years, I knew who it was.
"He loved it,"
her excitement rang rich with freshness. "He can't thank you enough."
I sensed a purr.
I leaned back in my
chair, wrapped warm in familiarity, and said, "Want to go out again next
week? I know this great toy store that specializes in…"
THE END
© 2013 Cynthia Ballard Borris
2015 Reprinted Not Your Mother's Book...On Sex
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