The Red Dress

Baseball. Hot dogs. Apple Pie. Mom. We have all heard these little homilies used to describe classic Americana; the things, big and small, that make us what we are. But what about that OTHER quintessential American tradition? No, not sleazy talk shows; SHOPPING! What could be a more red-blooded, all-American tribute than taking to the malls on a whim and a charge card?

There I was at Water Tower Place, in the shadows of the John Hancock Building on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I had already survived the trauma that was finding parking in the underground lot. I decided to take the Grand Tour; start at the Atrium Level, work my way up floor by floor, and see EVERYTHING! There was all the usual stuff; the big retailers on the Ground Floor, Banana Republic (cute, if 'trendy' is your thing), and the usual assortment you would find at Oak Brook Center, Woodfield, or Old Orchard. I tried to contain my excitement as I rose, floor by floor, through the structure. I said I wanted to see everything, but I really only wanted to see one store. You know the chain. You may have visited their web site or seen their catalog. If you are lucky enough to live in one of the few, select cities beyond their headquarters in San Francisco, you may have even visited their store. That would be one store per city; they aren't McDonald's and don't set their sights for that demographic.

Seventh Level. I'm here; it's right down at the end of the esplanade - oddly enough, right across from McDonald's. The similarity ends there. Step through the door - slowly, reverently - and...INHALE! There are certain aromas which the average nose can distinguish - and recognize - above all others. Some are genuinely pleasurable. A few generate real excitement. One, in my mind, elicits an instant, primal hunger; leather! In an age dominated by latex (erotic in its own right) and a plethora of lesser, synthetic fabrics, the look, feel, and scent of fine leather is a contact high. No place is as ripe with that high as this one.

Where to begin? I could spend an hour, a day, a lifetime in this store alone. When I said I wanted to see everything, I really meant everything in here. Wait. Hold the phone. WHAT IS THAT? Right there, across the floor, near the entrance to the rear salon, on one of the "traffic stopper" display racks.... I have never seen anything that beautiful. No sleeves, no straps, no kidding; a bustier-style fitted dress, not quite knee-length. There is a full-length zipper in front. God, it's a two-way zipper; it zips down from the top and up from the bottom! The dress is ribbed, expandable in the waist, like the waist of a motocross jacket - to make it fit the wearer that much more snugly. Damn, that bodice is cut deep; with the right strapless demi-bra - better still, a corset - it will really put my D-cups on display. It is so soft, so smooth. I adore the lambskin they use in their garments. What is this color called? "Lipstick Red"? Oh, yeah, Honey; I am there!

What was that? Did you hear it? No, Dummy; the voice. You MUST have heard it. It sounds like a child, a little girl's voice. There it is again! What is she saying?

"Cher-y. Buy me. Take me home. Love me, Chery."

Don't do this to me; I'm trying to be good! What size is it? I'm sure I'm safe. It's probably a Size 0, designed for one of those anorexic angels from Lake Forest or Highland Park. It's an 8? Dear...sweet...Jesus; it's my size! What is this, the Twilight Zone? I don't know. I don't care. Don't talk to me. I'm doing this! (snatch) Where's the counter? Where is a damn associate when you really need one? Forget the light, breezy chit-chat, Buster; RING IT UP!

I closed my eyes and signed the check; $325, plus tax (It doesn't seem like much now. Then again, it would be twice that price today.). Zip; into the garment bag. Zip; out the door. Are there other stores in Water Tower Place? Not today, Bud. I just developed an acute case of Tunnel Vision. All I can see is the path to the escalator, my car in the parking lot, and the most direct route up the ramp, onto the street, and home!

No, not home yet; I have to get shoes! I'll stop at Wild Pair. This is gonna be tough. Black is black; I can match that all day. Just try to match the same exact shade of red! I don't believe it! Look at these pumps. Pointed toe, ankle strap, five-inch silver metallic heel. This color is gonna be close! I'll just slip the hem out from under the bag and.... (sigh) This IS the Twilight Zone. I think I'll take up permanent residence here. What's another $50 between friends? I'm in The Zone! (giggle)

Saturday Night in the Big City. All dressed up and nowhere to go? Uh-uh, Honey; I know EXACTLY where this girl is going! I was right; the corset makes it. I measure 40-24-36. That pushes the dress to the limits up top - or not. All I have to do is unzip an inch or two - or three. There, that's better. It shows off my boobies even better, too. Daring enough for you, Sugar? I'm wearing stockings, not pantyhose; the corset's garters have to have something to do, and even a slut has principles. I'll leave the tights to the suburban hausfraus.

I'll be ready soon. My makeup is already done. I've done my eyelids in dark blue with pearlescent white highlights to compliment my azure eyes. Lashes? Black - and intense. Eyeliner? Liquid black; a wide swath, extending from the inside corner to well past the outside corner. Blush? Dark in the hollows, pearlescent white on the crest. Lips and talons? As red as the dress. You want subtlety? Go down to Division Street. Just don't let any of those Yuppie pukes heave their green beer on you.

The silver heels on the shoes set the tone for the accessories. Hoops, neck chains, bangles ankle chain; all silver. It looks great with my Platinum Blonde hair, too. Now, just spray a few spritzes of Shalimar (everything old is new again; all those other girls are fawning over the latest designer fragrances - and usually all wear the same thing) and I'm almost there. I'll just slip into my red leather motorcycle jacket (it's still a bit chilly out there in the evening), put my makeup essentials, driver's license and cash into my red clutch (not as close a match as the shoes, but who will notice in a dark dance club?) and I AM ready.

There are lots of clubs in The City - and then there is THIS one. We know the address by heart; 1543 N. Kingsbury. It sits amid industrial warehouse squalor, in the shadow of the North Avenue Bridge. There is no marquee; no signs of any kind. There are no lights, either - except in winter, when the valets will light a fire in a barrel to keep warm. If you stumbled upon it in daytime, you would think it's just another warehouse. If you drive by at night, the first thing that will assault your senses will be the heavy THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the Industrial music inside. That will hit you about two blocks away. If you are perceptive, you will notice the parade of automobiles where there shouldn't be any at that time of night. If you drive by the place, you will see a long line of mostly young adults waiting to get in.

I think I waited in line once - about two years ago. I was new to the place then; they didn't know me. Now, I drive up, valet the car, offer a hug and a squeeze to Mario at the door (I won't tell you where I squeeze him, or where he squeezes me back) and I'm in. Tonight, I'm nervous with anticipation. I think the dress is hot, but what will everyone else think? I'm not worried that Mario would actually banish me to the gulag at the end of the line, but still....

Showtime! The valet opens the door for me and.... Um, excuse me. Mr. Valet? You will have to move so I can get out. Please, don't stand there and drool down your shirt; it really isn't all that attractive. Thank you. Something is wrong. Do you hear it? No, not the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP from inside; I mean the sharp, staccato click-click-click of my heels on the pavement. That's the point; you shouldn't be able to hear that. It...is...dead...silent...out...here. That NEVER happens. Everyone is STARING at me. What did I do, grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead? Even Mario is doing it. Now I am feeling REALLY uncomfortable; like the Fashion Police will be here any minute to haul me off to the hoosegow(n). Mario, Sweetheart, pull yourself together. Pop those eyeballs back in your head. If it's bad, just say so; I'll slink home and try again.

Then I heard it. It was a small voice, almost a whisper, and almost drowned out by the beat of the music. It came from someone near the front of the line, just behind the rope.

"Oh...my...GAWD...."

(sigh) They're playing my song. I know what that means; no other words need be said. All is right with the world again. Some fashion statements are more attention-grabbing than others.... There is no velvet rope in front of the club; just some traffic sawhorses funneling club-goers into single file into and out of the front door. Mario is right there at the bottleneck, standing guard. Hi, Mario! How are you.....MMMPF. MARIO! Aren't WE friendly tonight! I'm glad to see you, too, Lover. Later? Tell ya what; when you get a break, come inside and find me. We'll find someplace private to...talk. You won't have any trouble spotting me, will you? I didn't think so.

The Ladies' Room is just inside the main entrance. Tonight, this is a very good thing. After Mario's exuberant greeting, I need to fix my lipstick - Big Time. The stares continue in the Ladies' Room. Actually, it's more like daggers in here. The other bimbos are trying to be so cool about it, looking at me without looking like they are looking at me. MAJOR peripheral vision test going on here. I dunno; maybe this is a case of Boob Envy. Well, Girls, shake 'em if ya got 'em. (giggle)

Feeling more confident in myself, I decided to put on a little show tonight. Nothing major; just add a little wiggle to my walk - and Sister, do I EVER know how to shake it! I checked my jacket at the Coat Check, then...Showtime! Time stood still as I strutted onto the main floor. At least, it seemed that way. Everyone froze dead in their tracks. I heard a glass shatter somewhere over by the main bar. Probably just a coincidence; people break glasses in bars every night.

Over the din of the music, I heard a loud WRANGGGGGG over in a near corner by the door. It turned out, Mr. Power Tie in his thousand-dollar Armani walked head-first into the diagonal girder of the steel staircase and literally knocked himself out. I guess he was watching something - or someone - other than where he was going. Ooooo, Sweetie; that's gonna leave a mark.... I don't offer to kiss it and make it better anymore. Too many guys were suddenly claiming their dick just got slammed in a door....

Is it warm in here, or is it just me? Perhaps it's the elevated testosterone levels in this place that make me FEEL warmer. There seems to be an awful lot of guys here who are suddenly packing sausages in their pants. Well, look here. There is an empty stool in front of the main bar - right across from the dance floor. I think I'll just sashay over there, have a seat, and check out the goods. A little liquid refreshment would be nice about now. Oh, good; Jerry's on duty tonight.

"Hi Jerry! How have you been?"

"Same old, Chery. Ahem. Does Emergency Services know you are out in that little number? They might want to have a few extra ambulances standing by for the rash of cardiac arrests you are about to cause."

"You charmer, you! Flattery will get you everywhere. Do you have a split of Taittinger?"

"But of course. You don't think I would disappoint our favorite stud magnet, do you? Since you're here, I better open a case of the big bottles, too. Now that they see what you're drinking, the orders will start coming in any time now."

"Surely you exaggerate."

"About your ability to raise temperatures and certain body parts? Never! And don't call me 'Shirley'."

"(giggle) Mea Culpa. It won't happen again. Cross my heart."

"(groan) Please don't do that again. I hate being insanely jealous of your finger."

"If you think you're jealous now, wait 'til you hear where my finger has been."

"Never mind; I don't want to know. If I don't know, I might actually get to sleep tonight. Here's your champagne."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, the things I could say, given such a perfect straight line.... It's on the House, Sugar. Believe me; we won't be losing any money on you tonight."

"Thanks, Sweetie. Jer, speaking of raising temperatures, is it warm in here tonight? I mean, warmer than usual?"

"With you here? U betcha!"

"Beast!"

"Bitch!"

"You are a love. How come we never got together?"

"You never asked. What kind of boy do you take me for?"

"You and I would be dangerous together. You get me laughing so hard, I would choke on my champagne."

"Can I give you Heimlich? Better yet, CPR. I'll be gentle."

"Bastard!"

"Slut!"

"And damn proud of it!!"

I can't believe I just came on to the bartender! It's not that he isn't cute; he is. He also isn't married, engaged, celibate or Gay. It's just...well, he's like family. I know all the people here so well, making it with one of them would almost be like incest. Come to think of it, I always thought of Mario the same way - and I flirted with HIM outside. It's not like I started it or anything. He was the one who practically raped my mouth with his tongue. Then again, I didn't do anything to stop him. I even invited him to come in and find me later. What's gotten into me tonight? And when in the Hell are they gonna turn up the air conditioning? I'm gonna start sweating like a pig in a minute, and if I ruin my new dress, I'm really gonna be pissed!

Jerry was right; a guy at a table up in the mezzanine bought a bottle of Taittinger to share with me. Julie, the waitress, extended his invitation. Any other night, I would have been miffed the guy couldn't bother asking me himself. Julie winked and told me this guy was a "keeper", surreptitiously flashing his Platinum Card as she rang up the charge. Intrigued, I carried the two flutes as Julie carried the iced bucket with its effervescent cargo.

OK, so he wasn't half-bad. All right, all right; he was good - REALLY good. We each sipped a glass. We made nice. We sipped another glass. We made kissy-face. He poured the last glass - it was just one. I sat in his lap, slipped one arm around his neck, and poured a sip of bubbly into his mouth. He took the glass and poured a sip into my mouth. We groped each other. We each took another sip. We kissed and groped some more.

"Chery-y. You know you want him. Just do him."

"Wha? Who said that?"

"Do him, Cher-y. Right Here. Right now."

I looked around quickly. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own business, not paying any attention to ours. This is too weird. Damn, it's hot in here! At least, now I had a good reason; this stud was making my blood boil. If he touches me there, like that, again.... He did. Mister, I don't know if you are into girls like me, but your time for choosing is OVER!

While I was busy devouring his tongue, I placed my hand on top of his and guided it as it unzipped the lower portion of my zipper; up, up, towards my nether places. His hand now had much freer access to my sex, and took advantage of it. He seems to like girls like me just fine. PERFECT! I made quick work of his zipper. His glorious tool popped out instantly, standing tall and proud. We stroked each other into frenzy. I writhed in his lap, long past caring about propriety.

"I want your cock, NOW!"

"Told you, Cher-y!"

Who is SAYING THAT????? Right now, I don't give a rat's ass. I lift myself about twelve inches, then thrust myself downward, impaling my wet hole on his turgid tool. Oh, GOD that's good! We establish a nice little rhythm, with me sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, lips locked on his.

"Faster, Chery-y. Deeper. Make him cum inside you. Make YOU cum."

Stop that, damn you! Whoever you are, wherever you are, I don't need your help to make a man cum. And cum he did. Sweet Jesus, he like to have blown me right off his lap! I have never felt so full.

So, that sated my sexual appetite, right? Not even! Mr. Platinum Card had shot his wad - figuratively and literally - and was done for at least a little while. I was not, and started looking for alternate stud service as soon as I could re-zip my dress (not all the way; I left a generous 'front slit') and discreetly pry myself away. I felt, rather than saw, the trickle down the inside of my thigh and made no attempt to hide it.

Apparently, other men DID see it. As I made my way through the crowded dance floor, there were hands all over my flushed, excited body. The sensation of all those hands touching my bare skin or through the butter-soft leather was simply indescribable. My hands were just as active. There seemed to be a tight circle of tight bodies surrounding me. If they had other partners, it wasn't apparent; nor did I care. I was pretty jazzed at that moment, both from the champagne and the sexual rush.

I don't have any idea how long I was out there, but before I left the floor, at least two of those boys had cum in their pants. There might have been more, but I wasn't really sure about the others. One followed me off the floor. I had intended to go back to the mezzanine to check on Mr. Platinum Card, but never made it that far. My infatuated dance partner had me under the stairs - legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, back pressed against the wall - right about the same place Mr. Power Tie had taken his untimely wrong step. It was sorta dark enough in there; I guess people couldn't really see us unless they were watching REALLY INTENTLY. And if they could hear me screaming above the din of the music, well....

I strutted proudly into the Ladies' Room. Naturally, every stall was occupied. I was seeping furiously and HAD to blot!

"Cher-y. Just grab some towels and do your business. What do YOU care who sees us?"

Us? Who is US? Am I on Candid Camera?

"Us, Chery. You and me. Look in the mirror. There we are."

What you mean "We", Paleface? I looked. There were other girls scattered around, but none looking my way. I saw only my own reflection; me, in that exquisite.... RED DRESS!

Oh, no; no, no, no, no, NO! This is NOT the Twilight Zone. I am NOT having a conversation with ...."

"Yes you are. Hi, Chery! Aren't we having a ball tonight?"

Would it look too lame to cover my ears with my hands and go: "La-la-la-la-la"?

"A ball? I guess that's ONE way to put it."

The girl at the sink next to me stared at me as though I had lost my mind. Well, hadn't I? I couldn't believe I was about to do this. I kept my voice down.

"Uh, who ARE you?"

"Cherysse St. Claire, you know damn well who I am! You trust your own eyes, don't you?"

"I, uh, know what I'm looking at. I'm just not sure I'm seeing what I'm supposed to be seeing."

"Don't be a Wus, Chery. That's not your style. Look at us. Don't we look good together? We were MADE for each other!"

I couldn't argue with that. I had some other questions, though.

"Does anyone else... hear you?"

"Of course not, Sweetie! I was made for you, not them. This is just between you and me; our little secret."

"Oh, I'm so relieved. It only looks like I'm a schizophrenic, having a conversation with myself. I was worried that people would think I was REALLY strange."

"Waddaya want? Shall I shake my head and say: 'Awwww, Wilburrrrrr?'"

"Don't crack wise with me, Missy. I'll use you to polish my thigh boots."

"No you won't. Look at us again. Look closely. Have you ever seen anything so exquisite in your life?"

"Well, no."

"Have you ever felt THIS SEXY before in your life"

I've felt sexy plenty of times. The boys have thought so, too. But this sexy?