Changing Room Ruse

I gave her a wide smile. "Actually, Jennifer, I think you did mean to say that!"

"Well, yeah," she countered, "but what I mean is, it just kind of slipped out and—"

I held one hand up to silence her. "Hey, it's okay. You slipped, then the words slipped. No big deal. Frankly, I probably would have said something worse!"

Then I turned serious, leaning forward toward her so a certain part of my anatomy was a little less in the limelight. Of course, it was still at her eye level. "You're okay, right?" showing my concern. "You're not hurt are you?"

"That's sweet of you to ask, but, no, I'm fine," she responded, looking me in the eye. She took a moment to get back up on her knees, then up to her feet. "The problem is ... we'll it's ... it's hard doing this in this dress." She looked distressed, chewed her lip for a moment, then continued fishing for her words. "I mean, like, I'm trying to be 'proper' ... and, you know, not offend you by ... well, by unintentionally, you know, um, ... showing things that aren't covered too well by my dress." Everything after the last "um" came out in a rush, as if she just decided to blurt it out. She looked at me apologetically, one of her hands squeezing the fingers on her other one. "You're a customer!"

It seemed surreal to hear her stress over the possibility of offending me when I'm sitting naked in front of her. Still, I took a moment to consider how I should answer. If the dress was bothering her, I could think of solutions ... like removing it, for example. Clearly I wasn't going to suggest that, as much as I would welcome it; I wasn't ready for this encounter to be over yet.

I decided on an approach, first by displaying my innocent, disarming smile again. I probably would have reached up and put a hand on her arm, except that it isn't quite the same when you have a big ball of elastic wrapped around it. Instead, I looked her in the eye so she could sense my sincerity, and I said, "I understand how you must feel, Jennifer. Obviously, neither one of us planned this," I lied, "but I won't be offended, and I won't think less of you if ... well, if you can't be as modest as you would ordinarily be. I know it's because of your kind heart that you're helping me. That's what matters."

"We are both adults and we can handle it like adults," I continued. [Maybe like in an adult movie, for example. Oh, sorry. You know how my thoughts get a little carried away sometimes.] I shrugged to emphasize that I thought it was no big deal. "I think we both recognize this is ... well, an 'unusual' and ... um, let's say 'awkward' situation, but I think we can get through it."

Jennifer exhaled, and her shoulders dropped back down to the normal position from their former high-stress position. "Okay," she nodded. "If that's really how you feel ..."

[Pretty soon, Jen babe, you'll know how I feel in a more literal sense. Oops, did it again.]

I smiled. "If one of us needs to be concerned about showing too much ..." I said, then paused for a moment to return to my former position, with my back leaning up against the wall. At the same time, I looked down and made a sweeping gesture down over my body with my hand, as if to call attention to my current state of undress. I knew her eyes would automatically follow. "... I don't think it's you! "

She giggled, blushing, then nodded her head. "Yeah, I guess I can't argue that point!"

"And Jen?" I said, which had the effect of drawing her eyes back up to mine. It was the first time I had used the shortened, more familiar and relaxed form of her name. When I had her attention, I cocked my head and gave her an exaggerated wink. "I won't tell if you won't!"

She laughed out loud at this, recognizing I had just turned the tables on her.

When her laughter subsided a bit, I followed up. "So ... we have a deal then?"

She tilted her head to the side slightly, in (I think) an unconscious show of resignation, but the smile left over from her laughter was still there. She took a deep breath, then nodded as she let it out. "Yeah ... deal."

It was a bonding moment. It had the feel of two lovers reconciling after a spat; like a warm hug (except that we were three feet apart). Movie directors routinely put those scenes in, too.

Nothing was said for a moment, then Jen moved slightly so she was down by my feet and facing me again. "I guess we'd better get this show on the road, huh?" It wasn't a question, but a pronouncement.

Although I know she didn't intend it, it was an appropriate choice of words. After tucking her hair behind her ears to keep it out of her face (that practiced move that is a favorite of women everywhere), she squatted down and leaned forward to work the pant legs up my calves. Although she didn't look up at me to see if I might be watching, true to her word she didn't seem at all concerned about what she was flashing.

And flash she did. Suddenly I was presented with the choice between Jennifer's satin-encased breasts up above, and her satin-encased pussy down below. The light in the changing room was again almost ideally illuminating the front of her, and my view was exquisite. I couldn't decide between them, so I chose both.

Now that Jennifer was focused on the task without being self-conscious, the process of bunching the pants up onto my calves actually didn't take very long. The time was sufficient, however, for the visual stimulus to have the expected effect on my male anatomy. My trusty friend had pulled its head up off the side of my leg where it was previously resting. It wasn't raised in full salute yet, but the change in length and girth was noticeable.

"There!" my sexy lingerie model said, when my second foot appeared out the bottom of the pant leg. "I think you can stand up now ... so I can pull them up the rest of the way." That little pause in the middle of her sentence happened because her eyes were making the trip up from my feet to my face for the first time since she squatted down. There was a short but perceptible interlude in the middle of that journey where her eyes registered the change I just mentioned. To her credit, she recovered very quickly, and by the time her eyes met mine, they and the rest of the expression on her face looked normal.

"Okay," I replied simply. [Simple answers are good when the blood flow to the brain has been temporarily diverted elsewhere. I had thought about my next action ahead of time, so it didn't require much brain power.] I stood up, intentionally placing my feet a little further from the bench—and a little closer to my changing room companion—than I normally would. I thought it was a good time for her to meet my cock up close and personal. On the other hand, I didn't want to poke one of her eyes out with it.

I gauged the distance pretty well. She was still in a squatting position when I stood up in front of her, which meant my package was hanging right about the level of her forehead. My shaft wasn't sticking straight out, but was pointing downward right toward her nose. The introduction had just been made. [Had I been three or four inches closer to her, it would have been a perfect position for ... well, I think you can figure out what it would have been perfect for.]

Again, there was a momentary pause but a quick recovery on Jen's part. She put her hands up on my thighs to steady herself (that was great imagery!), then glanced up at me with an apologetic smile. "I hope this is okay, but I need to push back just a bit." She proceeded to do that, shuffling back just a few inches.

That she hadn't felt the need to ask me before putting her hands where they were—on my bare thighs about halfway up—confirmed my earlier diagnosis that she was a toucher. Not that I minded. She could touch all she wanted, anywhere she wanted. Of course, if we just held this position for a while, that would be fine, too, since I again had a great view down the front of her dress, though now at a fresh angle. I did want to reassure her though. "Yeah, no problem."

What happened next happened fast, but like some earlier details in this story, I think it's worth allotting some word space to it. It was memorable for me, despite its brevity. Before I do, some background is necessary.

Having never worn one myself, I'm not an authority on bras, but I had a girlfriend once who educated me a little. Now that I had had a more leisurely look at the one my Jenny was wearing, I realized it was actually a bralette. The same girlfriend explained to me that many women prefer them—especially young women who don't need the support, and smaller-busted women who don't need the support either—because they are more comfortable, lacking the underwires and rigid cups and all that. This one scooped low across Jen's chest, with the lace edging nicely embellishing the shiny satin.

Any man who has been in the right place at the right time to witness what I'm about to describe will immediately understand. Leaving one hand where it was, Jen twisted her body slightly as she reached down with her other hand to grasp the waistband of the pants. Because they were dress pants made of a lightweight material [yes, something you already know I had thought of] they were no longer bunched up around my calves, but pooled around my ankles. The extra distance she had to reach made the difference. It was during the twist that a gap opened up between her breast and the lacy edge of her bralette, and for one memorable second or two I was treated to a side view of Jennifer's pretty pink nipple. It was standing up nicely—maybe Jen's were always that way, I don't know, but I like to think it was in that state because of our rather intimate interaction.

It is amazing how quickly a man's penis can react to such a sight. Jen was looking down right then, so she didn't see it happen, but my shaft raised another notch upward and bobbed slightly, as if to say to her nipple, "Wanna come out and play?" That would have been fun if it had, but once Jen started to straighten up again, the shiny material of her bralette returned to its assigned position, and I wouldn't see her nipple again the rest of the night. [Fortunately, other events yet to be recounted more than made up for it. Read on.]

I think my nubile dressing room assistant was trying to avoid another close encounter with my cock so soon after the first one, so after pulling one side up enough she could reach, she removed her steadying hand from my thigh and grabbed the waistband of the pants in both hands. Then she rose to a standing position, successfully pulling the pants all the way to my waist. On her way up she leaned to one side to avoid any obstacles she thought might be in the way had she chosen the straight-up path.

Now standing close in front of me, she glanced up with a smile, clearly pleased to be at this point. "There we go!" she said. We'd been in this room together more than a few minutes already, and now I think she felt some satisfaction in knowing that at least one prospective purchase was finally (almost) on her wedding-attending customer. This is why she was here, after all. [Well, that's what she thought anyway.]

"Almost" does apply here, though. There was one significant step left to complete, and I was the only one in the room that anticipated the challenge that step would present.

When I'm fully erect and standing (the first term referring to my penis, the second to my posture), my shaft typically points up a few degrees north of horizontal. I wasn't fully there yet, but I knew the continued proximity to my blonde skin-baring helper would get me there very quickly. For Jen, it was going to be increasingly difficult to pretend my cock wasn't there. That was okay with me.

The open fly on the pants formed a "V" around my shaft, nicely calling attention to it. Jenny moved her hands to each side at the top of the V, then stepped back and leaned forward just a little so she could see better to fasten the button at the top. [For those readers that are wondering: yes, I am enough taller than Jennifer that I did get yet another view down her front. If not for the belt around her waist, I might have been able to see the floor through her neckline.] I think she realized at that point that just getting the pants buttoned wasn't going to finish the job, and it might make more sense to consider that problem ahead of time.

She paused for a few seconds, still holding the top of the V from each side. I could sense she was pondering how to go about this without crossing another line of propriety. But I decided to remain quiet and see how she solved it. After that few seconds, I was surprised and delighted by what she did next.

First she looked up at me, then at the obvious occupant of the V, then back at my face ... and after several round trips, she stopped at my face. "So," she said quietly, through a twisted smile and with raised eyebrows, "is this how your friend here"—she gave a little nod in the direction of my crotch to indicate the 'friend' she meant—"always greets a lady?"

I laughed. I couldn't help myself. Fortunately, Jennifer laughed with me, knowing she had thrown me another curve ball. "Actually, yeah ...," I responded after I quit laughing, "put him in the same room with a beautiful woman and he just has no manners. I try to reason with him, but he just won't listen."

Jen rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way. "Yeah, sure, I've heard that excuse before!" She wasn't mad, just playing along. She couldn't quite suppress the smile that was threatening to escape. Though they might protest, the girls I've known like to hear the term "beautiful woman" applied to them.

"But seriously, Jennifer," I said, changing my tone of voice to match my words and reverting back to the more formal version of her name, "I hope you're not offended. I don't mean to flaunt my ... well, that part of my body in front of you." [As you already know, reader, that was fully my intent, but it was still in my best interest that she not think so.] "This is pretty embarrassing for me, you know." [Poor me. I'm just an unlucky victim of unfortunate circumstances. Those were my thoughts exactly, as I looked down again at the pretty blonde face now smiling at me sympathetically, then a little further down to her satin-and-lace covered breasts, then a little further down to where her hands were poised inches away from my erect cock. Yes. Poor me.]

She let go with one of her hands and used it to give a dismissive wave. "Oh, I know. Don't worry about it. The same thing happens to my boyfriend," she said.

I clutched my hands to my chest melodramatically and staggered a little. The hand still holding my pants had to go along for the ride so they wouldn't drop to my ankles again. "Your boyfriend!? Oh, Jen, you just broke my heart!"

She giggled, then used the back of her free hand to deliver a little playful swat (on my upper arm, where else?). Then, thinking of a different response, Jennifer gave me a doe-eyed look, laid the back of her wrist across her forehead and tipped her head back to emulate the melodrama I had just employed, and delivered the line, "It's true! My heart belongs to another!"

We both laughed. I liked Jennifer, I really did. Too bad she was already taken. That knowledge did click somewhere up there in my (dirty) mind, though. I wasn't going to walk out tonight with her phone number written on the receipt, and "Call me!" written beneath it. This was a one-night stand, so to speak. I could go for broke with nothing to lose.

I decided to shift focus and move on with my original plan. I had more pants to "try on."

"You do realize we will be in here all night if we don't make more progress here," I said.

"No, we won't," Jenny responded, flatly. "We close at nine." Then she giggled again.

I responded with a good-natured roll of my eyes.

"But you're right. You can't go to a wedding without pants," she added. She looked back down at my crotch to reassess the situation.

"Too be honest, I think there's something wrong," I said.

Jen looked back up at my face with her cute, slightly-crooked smile, raising her eyebrows. "And you're just noticing that? I thought we talked about your friend and his manners." More giggles. I smiled, too, but gave her the eye roll again. I was actually pleased that she felt so comfortable around me. That would work in my favor.

"What I mean is," I said, working the unwrapped fingertips from one of my hands under the pants' waistband, "these feel a little too snug. And they're not even fastened yet."

Jennifer didn't respond verbally, but bent back down a little and tugged the top of the V together ... or tried to. There was still a good two inch gap. "Hmm," she said, "these are your usual size, right?"

"I think so," I responded, innocently. "The size says 34-34, doesn't it?"

Without losing her grip on the sides of the V, my Jen dipped her head down low to read the size sticker down below my knee. "Yes, it does," she confirmed. Lucky for my ill-mannered friend down there, when she lifted her head back up, she lost track of her proximity to him, and her blonde hair trailed over the top of his head. He gave a little bob of acknowledgement and appreciation, which she noticed. She glanced up at me and said, "Oh, sorry."

"S'okay," I responded, trying not to reflect the enthusiasm that my friend was encouraging me to.

"The size is usually printed on another tag somewhere," my assistant stated, exchanging her dual forefinger-and-thumb grip for a full-hand grip on my waistband. "Maybe they are mismarked. Can you turn around for a sec?"

I complied without words, and she checked the little card attached to the back pocket. "Nope, nothing there," I heard her say behind me. "Turn around again. Sometimes it's on the inside on one of the pockets." I was interested in how she might go digging for it. It sounded like it could be fun, so I turned right around.

"Thanks," Jen said automatically, showing great focus on her size-hunting mission. I think that focus caused her to temporarily forget about the obstruction she would have to work around. Once I was facing her again, there was a short pause while she seemed to be considering her options. She wasn't paying attention to me right now; it was just her, the pants, and my boner.

She solved the problem by squatting down again and lowering my pants just enough to clear the last item on the list. [Except for the short break when I had my back to her, my eyes had been enjoying more or less uninterrupted access to Jen's lovely bosom, which played no small part in my cock being at its current full extension. Now the object of my eyes' admiration was a little farther away, but the light was improved; the shine of the satin was once again easy to see. I was becoming pretty envious of that bralette, though, since it got to hold Jen's breasts and I didn't.] Jen pushed her hand through the open, now-vacated fly, and fished for a pocket lining. Locating one, she pulled it out into the light to check for a printed size, but not before her knuckles brushed against my balls. She realized it, and looked up at me and mouthed a silent "Sorry!"

I just shrugged one shoulder to acknowledge her unneeded apology for doing something I had hoped for.

The first pocket liner proved to be a winner. "Here it is ...," Jen said, tilting her head to read. "30-34. No wonder! They are mismarked!" She simply let go and let my pants pool around my ankles again, then leaned one hand against my thigh for support while she stood up. She let out a big sigh and put her hands on her hips. "After all that."

I mimicked her sigh with one of my own. "Bummer."

Jennifer perked right up though. "Well, I'll go get the right size. You can step out of those, right?" She didn't wait for my answer. "I'll be right back."