Naked Dress

My phone chimed, and I checked caller ID. It was Georges Marcineau, the recently crowned Sexiest Man Alive (at least according to one magazine).

"Georgie!" I gushed. I was smiling so hard my face was cramping.

"Hey there, baby girl!" he rumbled. Oh, that deep, delicious, resonant voice, just a hint of French-Canadian accent, causing a vibration way down in my...well, let's call it my soul. That same voice had made me melt three weeks earlier, when he said "I love you" to me for the first time, just before a limo whisked him off to Van Nuys Airport, where a private jet waited to take him to a movie location in Africa. He'd been gone since then, and I was missing him terribly and hoping for some...

"Good news!" he said. "We wrap in two days, so I'll be back in New York on Saturday!"

"Oh babe, I'm so happy!" I breathed a sigh of joyful relief. "Are you still coming to The Event?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't miss it for the world. But only because you'll be there." Even though he wasn't physically present, I blushed at the compliment.

"I can get there by 8:00," he continued. "You want me to pick you up?"

"Nope, I'll meet you there."

"You sure? It's on my way..."

"You'll see me there, baby, and not before."

"Hmmm...aren't you the mysterious one," he said. "Some kind of surprise?"

"Maybe."

"Aha, knew it! So, what's the surprise?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?"

"I bet I can make you tell me."

"If you were here, maybe...but you're not," I countered. He paused for a moment while the little boy in him desperately wanted to get an answer, but he decided to let it drop.

"Anyway, I'm wearing a pretty standard tux," he said. "Will that match up okay with what you're wearing?"

"Absolutely," I replied, then waited him out, knowing he'd ask...

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Maybe that's the surprise," I answered, in my most seductive voice.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Naked dress.

Even if you've never heard the term, you can guess what it means. It's a garment (just barely), worn by a woman (usually a beautiful celebrity) to a very public event (i.e., red carpet).

A naked dress is a classic example of the concept of "less is more." The typical naked dress is usually some combination of sheer, short, slit, plunging, backless, cut out, lacy, diaphanous, sparkly and/or flesh toned. It's designed to show the wearer in all her glory, baring legs, arms, shoulders, back, tummy, and even significant portions of her breasts. Quite likely you'll be able to see right through it and get a very enticing view of her lingerie (if any), tattoos, buttocks, nipples, or all the above.

Get the picture?

The naked dress is designed to push the envelope of fashion, and some might argue it often ends up pushing the envelope of decency. My outfit, what little there was of it, was designed to push the envelope of naked dresses.

After ending the call with Georges, I immediately called Tiffany, my stylist. My brilliant, amazing, wonderful stylist, whose goal in life was to turn me into a fashion icon. And she was getting it done.

"What's up, beautiful?" her cheerful voice asked. My answer was two words:

"It's on."

Tiffany squealed in delight. Twenty minutes later, I stepped into a limo in front of my hotel. Tiffany was already in the car, and she gave me a rib-shattering hug.

A short drive later, Tiffany was ushering me into the modest studio of an up-until-now obscure designer who went by the name Shazari. I'd never heard the name until a few days earlier, when Tiffany had recommended her to create my dress for The Event. But that was Tiffany's superpower: plucking a talented unknown fashion designer out of obscurity and offering her the Big Break She Needed: dressing one of Hollywood's rising young stars, Sonya Shane (me), for a Major Event. She'd pulled it off three times already, in spectacular style. I was crashing all the "best-dressed" lists and emerging as a major fashion force.

Tiff introduced me to Shazari, who wore tight black sweats over her tiny, almost emaciated frame. Her hair was a barely-there crewcut, and her small face was almost swallowed up by an oversized nose. She wore enormous round glasses which dramatically magnified her dark eyes. She seemed intense, dour, and extremely nervous. I gave her a big hug which at first seemed to make her even more nervous, but then I complimented her work (Tiff had shown me her portfolio), and she managed something that vaguely resembled a smile.

But she still wasn't much for small talk, so the conversation died awkwardly before it really got started.

"Well, let's do this," said Tiffany, and with that, I started to strip. (Don't look so shocked, it was a dress fitting, for God's sake.)

"Bra too?" I asked, once I was down to my undies.

"Bra too, babe," said Tiff. I snapped the strap, peeled off the lacy black bra, and bared two of Hollywood's most highly acclaimed breasts. I stood before my stylist and my designer in nothing but a brief thong that matched the discarded bra.

I turned to face a large mirror that filled most of the back wall of Shazari's studio. I didn't feel particularly shy about being naked in front of professionals, but there's always that tiny bit of self-consciousness, so yes, I checked myself out in the mirror. Standing before me was a tall, dark-haired woman with surprisingly pale blue eyes.

And that woman (me) was, according to various recent movie reviews and magazine articles, "exquisite," "statuesque," "stunning," "a classic Hollywood beauty," and "rumored to be dating Georges Marcineau, the Sexiest Man Alive." I was also in the best physical shape of my life, having recently played the very physical title role in "Queen of the Vikings," a box office smash (and critical dud) that included many barely dressed scenes of violent sword fighting and passionate lovemaking between me and various muscular blonde men.

One of the movie reviewers had written, "The only redeeming feature of 'Queen of the Vikings' is Sonya Shane barely dressed in chain mail," which became the inspiration for The Dress...

Oh yeah, The Dress...

I'd seen a rough sketch of it, but now I'd finally get to see (and wear) the real thing for the first time.

Statuesque? I felt like the Statue of Liberty when Shazari hauled a little step ladder over next to me and started to climb. Well, it made sense, she was probably a shade under five feet tall in her sensible flats, and I was right at six feet in medium heels.

Shazari had something draped over one arm that looked like a metallic fishnet scarf. At first, I thought it was a measuring device, but I suddenly realized it was...

...The Dress...

Two steps up the ladder and she was still barely on my level. She told me to raise my arms, and she still had to go up to the top step (the one that the warnings on the ladder tell you NOT to stand on) to reach me. She stretched...I felt metal rings touching my hands, sliding down my long arms, caressing my nude body...and then I was wearing it, and I looked in the mirror...

"Oh my god," I whispered, so I wasn't QUITE speechless.

"Oh, dear lord," breathed Tiffany. "You are going to burn down the Internet."

How would I describe it? A dress made of holes, maybe. The ratio of bare skin to dress must have approached 100:1. The Dress consisted entirely of rings, which were made of a shiny, lightweight metal whose color was halfway between black and silver. Each ring hole was roughly two inches in diameter, and the metal portion was thinly gauged. Yes, it was reminiscent of chain mail, but the holes were so big and the chain so delicate that it wouldn't have done much to protect me from medieval weaponry.

It had a halter neck, leaving my arms, shoulders and upper back completely bare. It hugged my waist and hips, which held the whole thing together and kept it in place. The skirt was short, not even falling to mid-thigh, highlighting my long, toned legs, somewhere near the midpoint between loose and tight, so I knew it wouldn't be difficult to walk in. With the large holes in the rings, it was obvious I was wearing a thong. It was obvious what color the thong was. Hell, if your eyes where sharp enough, it would be obvious what brand the thong was. And as for my breasts...

...WOW...

My breasts were arguably my most notable feature. They had not (yet) been publicly exposed; my movie roles had shown me in all sorts of sexy garments, even skimpy lingerie, but I had avoided nude or topless scenes.

And of course, my red carpet looks, so carefully plotted by Tiffany, had done their best to remind the world that Sonya Shane Has Amazing Tits. Deep cleavage, plenty of side boob and even under boob, and material thin and sheer enough to HINT at my dark, erect nipples...but always within at least shouting distance of tasteful and classy.

Shazari's dress was a whole new world for me. The neckline itself was modestly scooped, only revealing the very beginning of the upper slopes of my boobs. From beneath, though, the large rings gave way seamlessly but quickly to smaller rings at the lower slopes, then faded from chainmail to something more like wire mesh just before reaching my nipples. My nipples...my large, dark, thick, prominent, sharply defined nipples...

Yes, technically they were covered by thin metallic mesh, but the reality was you could see them. Clearly. I suppose two people could have an intelligent debate about whether they were seeing my breasts and nipples covered (just barely) by thin, sheer material with a lot of tiny holes...or just seeing my breasts and nipples.

My pretty titties are 100% natural but quite firm. Still, everyone needs a little support now and then. The Dress gave me just a hint of lift, making me look spectacular, but still allowing a bit of sway and jiggle that looked dangerously erotic.

And my god, it felt incredible. It hugged, it touched, it caressed me like an intimate lover. The look and feel of it triggered my arousal. My first breath caught in my throat.

The fit was amazing. Shazari, working from photos and measurements sent by Tiffany, had absolutely nailed the fit, on the first try, without ever seeing me in person.

Well, at least I thought so. Shazari scowled, growled, and shook her head. "Way too loose," she grumbled. She grabbed a tool that looked like a screwdriver filed down to a sharp point, like a shiv (I was in a prison movie once, I know about shivs). She advanced on me with it, and for an instant it looked like she was going to stab me. But then she hooked a finger around a ring on my waist, touched the shiv to a spot on the ring, twisted, and the ring popped open.

What the hell. What was this, some kind of futuristic nanotechnology? Apparently, the rings weren't solid, but opened and closed with tiny invisible locking mechanisms. She popped off a few more of the rings, and I was suddenly thinking about the danger of a wardrobe malfunction. I pictured the bottom half of the dress coming off, leaving me on the red carpet in nothing but panties and a chain mail crop top.

"Those won't open when I..."

"No. Not without the tool." She sounded so dead certain that my fears vanished instantly.

Then she was picking up some new rings from a little bin on the table and snapping them into place. I worried that this could take a while, that she could be trial-and-erroring all day, but just like that she finished. The new rings must have been slightly smaller and stiffer. The Dress was now tighter and firmer around my waist, really making my curves stand out, and feeling a little bit like an armored corset.

The visual impact was significant. The Dress went from fitting me well to fitting me perfectly. Eyeballing myself in the mirror, I was certain I'd never looked sexier. Maybe NO ONE had ever looked sexier.

I glanced at Shazari in the mirror. She had a look of triumph on her face. This odd, tiny, androgynous creature was a freaking genius, and she had created the masterpiece of a lifetime. Nothing could take this moment from her. Well, except maybe if I didn't like the dress.

"Is it...too much?" asked Tiffany. Her voice was shaky, and angst filled. Glancing at her face in the mirror, I saw fear. Fear that she may have gone too far, crossed the line of decency, broken the powerful trust she'd forged with me.

And what was causing that fear? I looked at my own face in the mirror and saw...stunned bewilderment. My jaw was hanging open, but my upper lip was curved and twisted. My eyes were wide open, but one eyelid was somehow arched higher than the other. My head was tilted sharply to one side. I was still feeling shocked and awed by the dress, and I looked...

I looked...stupid.

So of course, it was impossible for her to know what I was thinking. In this fragile moment, Tiff was fearing the worst.

"Too much?" she repeated.

"Way too much," I said. Tiffany's face displayed her rising anxiety. Shazari's look of triumph was gone, replaced by one of horror.

"You're not gonna wear it?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"It's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen," I replied. Then I let out a loud whoop and did a spin in my heels. "OF COURSE, I'M GONNA WEAR IT!"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Well, that wasn't quite the end of the fitting session. There were a couple of accessorizing issues, like...

"Nipple covers?" I asked.

"You mean PASTIES?" asked Tiffany in horror. "Girl, please..."

"I guess you could wear them," said a frowning Shazari, in a tone suggesting she wanted to end her sentence with "if you're an idiot."

"Free the nipples," said Tiffany. "You're a big star now, time for the titties to have a coming out party." My tummy fluttered with nervous butterflies at the thought of being so exposed, but...yeah, I wanted to do it.

Which left only the question of...

"What about the panties?" asked Tiffany, gesturing at the black thong I was wearing. "Obviously, that won't do."

"No, not this," I agreed, because obviously it was way too small.

"No, not that," agreed Shazari. "It's way too big."

Huh?

"You wear this with it," Shazari said, handing me a very, VERY tiny scrap of sheer black material.

Gulp.

Well, I guess I needed to try it on. So, I reached up under the dress and slid my thong down my legs...

"Oh...my..." said Shazari.

"Um," said Tiffany. "Might need a trim there..."

And then I pulled the tiny G-string up my thighs and into place. It ALMOST covered my bush. A quarter inch, possibly a half-inch, of curly hedgerow peeking over the top of the panties. But the panties were black, and my hair is very dark, so you couldn't really see it...could you? I tried pulling it up a little higher, to cover more bush, but then the tiny gusset just slid up into my pussy. No, that was definitely worse.

"You can't really see it," said Shazari, "but I'll adjust the G-string so it gives you a little more coverage."

"Or you could just shave the beard, Cavewoman," said Tiffany.

But I didn't want to shave it off because...

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

I had started growing it out right before we began shooting "Queen of the Vikings." I was studying the script and doing these horrific workouts to build muscle and I was trying to get into character as this badass Viking warrior goddess. Prissying around with my pubes just didn't seem like something a badass Viking warrior goddess would be doing.

And afterward...I felt that shooting the movie had been an incredible experience. Demanding, physical, empowering...I loved the headspace I'd been in, and I decided to stay there by keeping up the beastly workouts even after we wrapped. And physically, I just loved how my body looked and felt. The bush felt like part of the package, so I never got around to shaving it off.

Flash-forward a couple of months to Premiere of "Queen of the Vikings." I was still looking badass and feeling badass, but Tiffany had put me in this dress I thought was a little bit cutesy for a Viking queen (kind of a Little Black Dress variation with some pink highlights), but I trusted her because she'd just hit two massive home runs for me in the outfits she selected for me at the Oscars and the VMAs, and of course she turned out to be massively right (again) with the cutesy dress, and...okay, I'm digressing.

Anyway, at the Premiere after-party, there was Georges Marcineau, reigning Sexiest Man Alive. He hadn't been in the movie, but he'd shown up for the Premiere because he was friends with Henri LeConte, the director. I hadn't met Georges before, so Henri introduced us, and I was absolutely mesmerized by the guy. Tall, really tall, like six-foot-five; narrow hips, massive shoulders, and chest; a jaw you could smash beer bottles on; dark hair, obsidian eyes, kissable lips, brilliant smile, easy laugh, this little smirk that told you he wasn't taking any of this too seriously...he was simply irresistible.

Apparently, he was into me too, because his eyes locked onto mine and never left me for the rest of the evening. We talked and laughed and flirted and stared into each other's eyes, and everyone else was giving us plenty of space to make the magic happen.

When he asked me to go back to his room (in the same hotel as the after party), it was an easy yes. When the door closed and we were finally alone, we kissed, groped, started to undress each other...

...and then I remembered that I still had that thick, luxurious beaver pelt...

...and he was just staring at it, and I found myself trying to apologize and explain, and I was about ready to ask him to give me ten minutes in the bathroom and let me borrow his razor...

...when he scooped me up, threw me on the bed, and put my legs over his shoulders and buried his gorgeous face in my muff and went down on me like I'd never been gone down on in my life. And when he finally came up for air, half an hour later, I'd lost track of how many orgasms he'd given me.

Even after all THAT, for some reason I still felt shy about it and told him I was planning to shave it all off. And he said that if I did, he'd die of a broken heart.

I didn't want that on my conscience.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Yeah, adjust the panties," I told Shazari.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

And then came the night of The Event. There were five of us in the limo (not counting the driver), but I was the only one who would be getting out, in front of a crowd, in my smoking hot little naked dress. Fuck yeah, I was nervous.

Tiffany was there, of course, along with a hair stylist and makeup artist. The fifth was Monica, my assistant, who was on the phone with Event Security, coordinating my arrival. There were three cars in front of us...then one drove off, and we were now third in line.

Tiffany and her team were chattering and fussing over me and driving me insane, so I made a hissing noise, and they went silent backed away. I immediately felt guilty when I saw the hurt looks on their faces. I was the product, but we were a team, and they were doing their best. I apologized, they smiled, and the vibe was back to positive.

One car in front of us now, and they were taking their sweet-ass time...

"Yeah, just Sonya," murmured Monica into her phone. "Okay, yeah, we're ready." The car in front of us drove off, and our car rolled forward into the drop-off zone.

"Ready?" asked Monica, looking at me.

"Ready." I glanced at Tiffany, who had tears in her eyes, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from bawling right along with her.

"My god," she said. "You look so fucking beautiful right now." I wanted to hug her so bad...no, we weren't lovers or anything like that, simply good friends, but we were both huggers, and I felt scared, alone, and naked, and I really wanted to feel the comfort of her body.

But we didn't dare. Everything was perfect; we couldn't risk a makeup smudge or a couple of hairs out of place at this point. Instead, I just scooted carefully over to the door and waited.