Sweetness

"Wow."

"Yeah. The stories that came out after told about how it was a slow build up. He knew it was wrong, of course. Your comment now, your 'wow,' shows that you knew it was wrong too. Anyway, that first time had to be the hardest. Jim knew he shouldn't do it, but he had to eat, right. So, he did it. He used his company card to buy groceries. That freed up money to pay some other bill. After that it became easier for him. The first time he leaped a giant hurdle; each time that followed was easier. That's how yesterday was."

"Oh, we can't have thing be easy on you."

She said it with such playfulness that despite the fear her words brought I still smiled. "Today wasn't easy," I said. "Not at all. I'm just saying it was a tiny bit easier than yesterday. Like Jim, the first hurdle was the hardest."

"Did anyone say anything today?" She took another sip of her pinot.

I shook my head. "No. Today was another relatively normal day. When I started my company, I never took lunch and after I'd grown the business enough to have a personal assistant, Gayle, she always took lunch, she seemed to pester me about eating. So, I made her a deal," I shrugged, "I'd buy if she picked it up. She jumped at the chance. Free lunch."

Our waitress brought our meal and refilled my tea. She asked Peyton if she'd like another glass of wine. "No, thank you. I'll stick with water."

"Enjoy."

The waitress left us alone. I told Peyton how I had stayed tucked away in my office only leaving when I had to use the bathroom. I told her about my walk, how I shuffled my feet to hide the sound all heels made. She laughed at that, "So you drew attention to yourself?"

"I don't think so." But did I? I thought about that as I took a bite of my asparagus. I had tried to hide my shoes by sliding my feet along the floor. Did that attract undue attention to my feet? Gayle hadn't said anything so maybe she hadn't noticed. If she did, she didn't say anything and was that worse?

Peyton laughed, "definitely cute."

I sent her a live-action emoji of a face with its tongue stuck out that caused Peyton to laugh even harder.

The conversation flowed. She told me about her get-together and how she had wanted to invite me, had even thought about it, but was having such a good time with me that she didn't want to share with her friends. "Not yet, anyway. I did tell Janey about you. She's my best friend; we share everything."

I thought of the heels I'd worn to work. I thought of Peyton's panties, the ones that I was still wearing. I thought of the foolish bet I'd made and about what was coming next. "Everything." My voice cracked.

"Yup." She gave me a coy little smile.

Peyton put her fork down and reached across the table for my hand. "You have nothing to worry about. I trust her, and I need you to trust me. I didn't tell her about everything."

"That's good," I said, finally able to swallow again. Peyton finding out about me, while working out well, hadn't been planned. I didn't like the idea of someone else finding out. Of course, wearing my heels to the office meant I'd be discovered, right? Why were things so confusing and why was I enjoying it so much? Why did it feel like I needed it?

"Yet."

I let out a weak squeak. Peyton squeezed my hand tighter. "Trust me."

I nodded. The thing is, I did trust her. Maybe that was foolish. I'd known her less than a week, but I felt a connection that was undeniable, and I was certain Peyton felt it as well. I'd already raced beyond my comfort zone and while frightened, I was anxiously anticipating where Peyton would next lead me. I liked how she hadn't invited me to her party. It was far too soon for me to meet her friends. I wanted to be an addition to her life, not a substitution for it and that she was still able to do things without me showed that she was well adjusted and mature enough to stand on her own and not need me. That was important. I needed her to want me in her life, not need me in it. I'd seen it before, a woman trapped in an unhealthy relationship because she couldn't afford life on her own.

She pulled her hand back and took a bite of her fish. She downed the last sip of her pinot and took a sip of water. She was watching me, "trust me."

I nodded though I wasn't sure if she had asked a question or not.

"Good."

We finished dinner, the conversation turning to different topics. She told me about her day and I learned how horrible being a nurse could be. She talked about her newest patient, an elderly woman in pain who would cry, "help me," in a frail, timid voice for hours at a time no matter how much pain medicine she'd be given. "It's heartbreaking," Peyton said, "she has no visitors and she just hurts so much and there isn't anything we can do. I'm not sure if she is really in as much physical pain as she says but she is hurting, and it breaks my heart that I can't do more for her."

My esteem for Peyton rose even higher as she told the story. She was a compassionate, caring and tender woman and she was sitting with me. I felt lucky to have met her even if our meeting hadn't been on terms I'd have arranged. "Yellow, nice," was not a great way to be introduced to your girlfriend. Was it a meet-cute like you'd see in one of those Hallmark Channel movies? Maybe.

I paid for dinner, this time Peyton not reaching for the check like she had the first time we met. The growth in our relationship was evident in that missing gesture. "Where to?" I asked as we left the restaurant, holding hands.

"Shopping." The exuberance in her voice was as evident as the sun on a cloudless day.

"Oh,"

"Yep," she kissed me on the cheek. "I get to pick what you wear, remember?"

I remembered. I had given it far too much thought. I licked my lips and swallowed. Hard. "I remember."

"Good."

At Peyton's direction I drove us to the mall. She was chatting about shoes and skirts, blouses and earrings, stockings and bras. I was listening, feeling a rising trepidation with each article of women's clothes she mentioned. Some I could easily hide while others seemed impossible. But wasn't wearing my low heels impossible too? And hadn't I accomplished the impossible? Isn't that the definition of progress? Succeeding at the impossible until it was nothing more than the mundane? I'd worn my heels to work. Twice now and tomorrow would be day number three. How long until my heels became like the panties I wore every day. No longer impossible but normal and did I want to go there? I'd never thought of wearing a skirt to work but now that Peyton had put the idea into my head, I wanted to both run away from it and try it just the same.

Peyton was smiling and dancing in her seat. She was excited, and I was the one exciting her. Was it me or my fetishes that had made her so happy and did it matter if my fetishes and I were so intricately entwined? I owned panties and heels and a corset, didn't owning a skirt or dress follow?

I parked the car. Peyton jumped out, ran around to my side of my SUV, and pulled me by the hand. "Come on," she squealed, "this is going to be fun."

And it was fun. And scary. And embarrassing. I felt one emotion tumbling over another, each vying for dominance. One moment I'd be laughing and the next my face would be flush and burning crimson. Peyton led me to Victoria's Secret first. I followed where she led, enjoying her dominance sure, but delighting in her exuberant happiness even more. Peyton was having fun and she was contagious.

She stopped at a bin of pastel panties: light blues and yellows; oranges and pinks; lime green and periwinkles. A few she held up to her waist, then, smiling devilishly, she beckoned me to her and held the panties to my hips. "Oh, they have these in your size, honey," she said, louder than I'd like.

The store wasn't very busy. I guess not many shoppers went out on a Tuesday night but even the three shoppers and four employees I did see was much too large an audience. I shook my head, trying to signal I wanted her to keep it down. If she knew what I was trying to say she ignored my wishes and kept on smiling and laughing and making a pile of panties grow even larger. "We'll get two of each pair," she proclaimed happily, "one for you and one for me. We'll have a matching collection and, oh, this is going to be fun."

The way her voice changed fascinated me. She'd latched onto an idea and suddenly the store was a lot less crowded. I was focused on Peyton and what she was thinking. Whatever it was it had stopped her shopping. She was thinking about something. Something big. "What?"

"I told you that I had a way to keep you from falling out of my panties, right?"

I vaguely recalled her saying that but hadn't given it any additional thought. I nodded in reply.

"Well, I also have quite a few toys. No, not here. We're here to shop. When you take me home tonight, I'll show you and tell you my idea. It'll be delicious." Leaving me wondering what she was thinking, Peyton went back to the panties. There were thongs and boy shorts, bikinis and G-strings. True to her words she picked out panties that matched. Only the sizes were different; mine were two sizes larger than Peyton's.

Peyton handed me the panties. There had to be about two dozen pairs, two of each size. I stood there, in the overly bright store holding the overly bright panties with a face that was glowing in embarrassment. Peyton, however, was all smiles.

"Hi. I'm Carla, can I help you," a woman approached. She was so skinny that I had to wonder if she was sick. She had long black hair and equally dark eyes. Her nose was slightly crooked like it had been broken more than once and hadn't exactly bent put back into place correctly.

Flashing a shark sized smile, Peyton said, "I'd like a bra fitting please."

I shook my head as surreptitiously as I could, trying to dissuade Peyton from what she had planned.

"Of course. Follow me, please," Carla said.

Peyton followed Carla and I followed Peyton, my hands overflowing with panties. Carla led us to the back of the store, past more bras and panties, past corsets and teddies, past garter belts and stockings. I saw shorts emblazoned with words like Juicy and Pink. At the back of the store, standing next to four large changing rooms, Peyton, somehow smiling even bigger, asked, "Can my boyfriend join us?"

"Um," Carla hesitated. "I don't think..."

"You can measure him, too."

Please say no, I thought, over and over. Please say no. Please say no.

Peyton squealed when Carla relented. "Okay."

The three of us stepped into one of the changing rooms. There were mirrors on three sides and a padded bench on the back wall. With the three of us in there it felt a little cramped. "Okay," Carla said, "I'll need you to take your tops off."

Peyton pulled off her t-shirt and quickly undid her bra. Her lovely breasts popped free. If Carla wasn't in the room with us, I'd reach out to give a touch, a squeeze, a kiss, but with Carla present I could only admire, and I did that with a lecherous grin of my own. Peyton shook her head, "you can play with them later."

Carla looked surprised but maintained a professional demeanor. She pulled a pink ribbon measuring tape and wrapped it around Peyton's chest, just below her breasts. She took a second measurement, this time across her boobs, and came up with Peyton's bra size. A 34C. Then, suddenly, it was my turn. At Peyton's direction I put the panties on the bench and took off my shirt. My hands were suddenly clammy, and my throat seemed to tighten. Was I really in a lingerie store being measured for a bra? It didn't seem possible, but I could see myself in three separate mirrors and in all of them I was standing topless while a rail-thin woman was wrapping a pink measuring tape around my chest. It didn't take long until I knew my bra size. I was a 38A. A small A according to Carla but an A cup all the same.

"Thank you," Peyton said, dressing again.

"You're welcome. Is there anything else I could help you with?" Was she being helpful or tying to flee? I couldn't tell.

"Yes," Peyton said, pulling her hair from her T-shirt. "Can you show me where you keep your bras." Smiling deviously, she added, "Your 38A's."

I felt myself tremble in anxious anticipation. The dressing room felt cloying and hot. My throat seemed to tighten even more. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"Of course," Carla said. She turned to face me, "this way."

I finished pulling on my shirt and after gathering up the handful of panties, I followed Peyton and Carla out of the dressing room. The store, already bright, seemed even brighter. The few shoppers I saw, each lost in the own little world, seemed to be staring at me. One woman, looking at a pair of sweatpants and oblivious to what I was feeling was looking at me even though she wasn't. To me, she was staring as were the three remaining employees even if I couldn't see them. I was convinced that the security cameras mounted in the ceiling were somehow broadcasting the crimson hue on my face to the whole damned world.

Peyton took my arm. "Trust me."

I think I nodded. I followed Peyton and Carla to a circular rack filled with bras. Little black placards indicate the size ranging from twenty-four to forty. Carla moved to the black tab etched with golden ink with the number thirty-eight. She flipped through and pulled out a simple white bra with a tiny pink bow between the cups. A bra in my size. The thought was freaking me out; how did I have a bra size?

Carla pulled out three more bras of different colors, each in my size. One was black with a black bow nestled in the middle. One was pink with little white polka dots that was practically see-through. The final one was yellow, the same color as the panties that started it all. "We have a few more," Carla said, indicating a pair of vertical racks sporting bras hung on thick wooden hangers.

"We'll take all of these," Peyton said, putting all four bras in my arms.

Carla smiled and gave a little nod.

"Do you have any camis?"

They did, and Carla happily led us towards the back wall of the store. Camisoles both simple and sexy were hung on more of those heavy wooden hangers. Some were V-neck others were rounded. Some were lacy while others were plain. Carla helped Peyton pick out about a dozen camisoles, most of them white though there was one light blue one, the color of a summer sky, one black one adorned with tatted lace and one red one with vertical black stipes. All of them had thin, spaghetti straps. They were light and soft and obviously feminine. I couldn't imagine wearing them and I wanted to wear them at the same time. I'd looked at them online but never placed an order. My panties had mostly been enough. Still, I had looked and now it seemed like I'd not only own some, but I'd have to wear them as well. Why else would Peyton pick them out? Maybe I'd never wear one. Maybe Gayle or someone at the office would say something first and which idea was better? Wearing the camis and the bras to work along with my heels and whatever else Peyton decided or getting caught and suffering through that unimaginable shame? My dry mouth and racing thoughts didn't have an answer for that.

Peyton gathered the camisoles and thanked Carla for her time.

"You're welcome. Would you like me to carry those to the register for you?"

"Oh, you're a dear. Thank you." She gave Carla the camis and turned to me, "Come on, we're almost done."

I knew what she was doing and meekly followed, my hands still full, while Carla carried part of my new wardrobe to the register in the back center of the store. We passed two young girls, probably still in high school. One of the two nodded at me and the other, a tall girl with thick glasses, laughed. They were laughing at me. I felt my stomach do a weird flip and my dry mouth because dryer still.

Peyton led me past the two teenagers, to the row of garter belts and stocking we had passed on our way to my bra fitting. Had that really happened? The idea of it took my breath away. It seemed it had. Peyton fished through the garter belts, holding them to my waist, the delicate straps hanging down my thighs like tentacles from some octopus. She picked up two of them, one black and one white, and smiling, she opened a drawer next to the garter belts and pulled out six pairs of black stockings. Jet was the color written on the thin package emblazoned with a sexy leg adorned with the silky stocking. Who knew jet was a color?

"Okay," Peyton said, "this is enough. I'm dying to get you home."

That piqued my interest. I had sort of detached, hiding away, blending into the background, trying to diminish myself from the shame and excitement I was feeling but hearing Peyton telling me that she wanted to take me home with more than a hint or arousal in her voice brought me fully into focus. "Sounds good," I said, my voice a little whimper.

Peyton giggled, "let's get out of here."

Ten minutes later I was walking through the mall, Peyton by my side. We were both carrying a big pink striped bag in each hand. Somehow walking through the mall carrying the Victoria's Secret bags was much easier than being in the store. With Peyton by my side I looked like a pack mule; in the store I was a customer. The difference left me feeling somewhat more relaxed as we raced past shoppers going about their day.

Outside, the full moon was shining overhead. A few stars peered down and as my eyes adjusted to the dark those few stars became dozens. We loaded our packages in the back seat. "Take me home," Peyton said. "And hurry."

I happily obliged.

Peyton pulled me from the car. "The packages can wait," she growled a throaty, hungry sound.

We raced to the front door. Peyton opened the door and pulled me in after her. She was on me in a flash. She kicked the door shut as she reached for my shirt. She undressed me, not pausing as I reached for the hem of her white t-shirt adorned with the fiery phoenix. Her hands raced to my belt, fumbled briefly, before yanking my pants down, belt and all. My panties came next. She was kissing me as she fell to the floor in the entryway, guiding me down with her. Her fingers reached and found the part of me she was seeking. She gripped me and guided me into a velvety softness that took my breath away. She was wet; the shopping trip had affected her as well as me.

Sated, and breathing heavily, Peyton snuggled into me. We were lying half undressed on the hard tile floor, taking the warmth the other offered. She pressed against me, her head lying in the crook of my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head.

Peyton got up and kicked off her jeans. She stepped out of her panties, dropping both on the floor. "Come on," she said. "I need a shower."

We showered. I washed her, and she bathed me. She purred contentedly as I scrubbed her hair. I watched, fascinated, as she took a razor to the stubble at the apex of her thighs. She surprised me after that, bringing the razor down to my own neatly tripped thatch of pubic hair. "That's got to go," she said. "I don't like hair in my teeth."

That was all the motivation I needed and a few minutes later my crotch was as bare as Peyton's.

"Much better," she exclaimed.

We got dressed. Peyton in a clean pair of shorts and a new t-shirt. I put on the same thing I'd worn to dinner and shopping.

"Where are my keys?" Peyton asked as we made our way to the kitchen. We searched for a few minutes and found them sitting in the front door deadbolt. Peyton's need had been so great that she'd simply unlocked the door and left the keys in the lock. With her keys in hand she followed me to my SUV where we carried in my newest lingerie. She separated her new panties from mine and put hers in the wash, telling me that I'd have to wash them tonight after she sent me home. I gave her an exaggerated pout at that which made her laugh. She offered me a drink and set about getting each of us a glass of water.