A Story About the Body Ch. 01

"Let's get you out of that dress," Cassandra said and I looked to her. She had dressed all but her boots, scarf and coat, which she had piled neatly onto the chair.

I slipped out of the dress. It felt freeing to be naked in front of her, to let her eyes wander my body as they did. "You get dressed and I'll put the dress away." I stepped out of the dress and handed it to her.

"Thanks," I said and then collected my clothes. I don't know why, but I took my time getting dressed—a long time. I think I liked the idea of her watching me. Or maybe I just liked the idea of being able to be so comfortable in front of someone that I could stand naked without feeling as vulnerable, or as exposed as I really was. Cassandra waited patiently for me by the door with the dress. She didn't tap her feet, anxious to leave or show me that she was, in any way, in a rush.

When I finally slipped back into my t-shirt I spoke again. "Could we ..." I couldn't decide what to say next. The word 'kiss' felt so right, but so did the words 'never do that again'.

She nodded, understandingly, and leaned her body in towards mine, tightly hugging me for only a few brief seconds.

Gathering my coat, she opened the door and took the dress back out.

"Have a good night, ladies!" Jen said kindly, passing us on her way lock the changing room back up. I smiled at her meekly, though Cassandra stopped her and gave her a goodbye hug of her own as I headed towards the counter to pay.

Cassandra touched my arm and stopped me. "I've already paid."

Most of me wasn't surprised when she said she had paid. I was actually relieved she had. It made everything else feel more right.

Once we were out of the store we traded cell phone numbers and she gave me the quick run-down about the party. It was Saturday night at her place in the Hills, the rich part of town; guests would start showing up anywhere between six and seven, and then there would be a nice dinner at seven, with the rest of the night to be spent lounging as we pleased.

We said our goodbyes and parted ways for the evening. I initiated an awkward stutter-hug with her and then we both turned our opposite ways and left; she in the direction we'd come, and I in the opposite direction. To be honest, the quickest way home for me would have been the way she had gone, back towards the coffee shop, but I wanted to be alone for a little.

I walked for what was probably hours, until the dull gold sun had started to set and the night sky had started to bleed ink-black through the corners of the horizon. I thought about Cassandra and about what had happened in the change-room. I thought about the entire situation itself and chastised myself for it. Between juggling my laptop case and a new dress, the walk became quite the workout after a while, but despite any physical discomfort I was feeling in my arms the cool night air kept me relaxed and even strangely happy.

A stranger in a coffee shop came up to me, and started playing with my hair, and I decided to, instead of running away, let myself be invited to an incredible formal—and most likely very prestigious—dinner party; and then, to make it worse, I let myself be undressed and kissed by that very same, incredibly bizarre, amazingly beautiful, stranger.

Something was very wrong with me.

By the time I had managed to walk myself home to my basement apartment, a few hours later, I was pretty worked up about what had happened. Even though I was angry, mostly at myself, I realized that I couldn't go to the party.

It would be crazy to go. I don't even know Cassandra.

It would be crazy to go.

I sat for probably half an hour in my living room with my phone in hand, a text message ready to send explaining that I already had plans for Saturday that I forgot about. But instead of hitting the little send button, I only stared at my phone growing more and more enraged about it. And the more I thought about how ridiculous everything was the more frustrated I became.

Eventually and reluctantly, I put the phone down.

I need a shower, I told myself. I started to remove my shirt and, as it passed my face, the waves of her perfume hit me again. That soft yet sharp tang of citrus filled my nostrils and made me breathe deeply. The shirt smelled like her perfume, her body and as I pressed it to my face, I could very briefly imagine once again her lips on mine.

I sat back down on the chair in my living room and again pressed the shirt to my face, inhaling deeply.

"Oh my God," I cursed out loud.

It would be crazy not to go.