As stated before, I am not the most graceful or suave gal on the block. Or the city. Perhaps even the county and surrounding areas. Today’s case in point is brought to you by a mixture of lust and sheer stupidity.
A while ago the guy I had been on and off again sleeping with made the mistake of leaving one of his tee shirts at my apartment. I found it the next morning as I was crawling under my bed looking for an errant shoe. It was one of his many college tee shirts, this one featuring a rather laid back banana slug having what appears to be a very Zen-like moment. Or maybe it's just stoned. Either way, it was one of his favorite shirts as illustrated by the fact that he wore it, like all the damn time. Being the smartass that I am, I decided not to tell him I had found it.
Instead, I embarked on a (mostly) subtle tease via email over the next few days. Referencing some popular outfits from the past (short skirts, cop costumes, you get the idea) and flat out telling him that on Friday he better come prepared for my next amazing “Take me now” outfit.
He seemed okay with that.
I had recently gone bra shopping and managed to get a few sets of nonpadded and yet still feminine and pretty bras with matching panties. (I hate bra shopping…. But that is an entry all its own) While at Fredricks, I had also picked up a new pair of black lace stockings with built-in black lace garter belt… but it was the bras and panties that I was excited about. Seriously, nice bras are hard to find.
So the plan was simple: I would answer the door in jeans and his tee shirt and underneath would be sporting a new bra and panty set. Sexy and yet laid back and comfy…. Plus the plan was to have dinner ready when he got here and there is nothing quite as unsexy as trying to do something mundane like serve chicken alfredo while sporting nothing but lingerie. At least I don’t think so. And knowing me… I would spill, and even if serving up yummy food in lingerie could be seen as sexy, spilling my dinner on myself probably isn’t.
After dinner, I would give him back his shirt and model the new attire. I was sure he would approve.
Simple plan yes? How, you might be asking yourself, could she have messed this up?
Friday night: He calls, on his way… I teasingly again reference the fact that I will be wearing something that he will want to remove post haste. I have this phone call while sitting at my desk having already done the massive clean-up-the-clutter and take-out-all-the-trash that usually happens as he is on his way over and had gotten ready… ie already in the jeans and tee shirt.
He drops the bomb: “Will be there soon, at home now, am changing into something special myself,.”
“What?’... Better question, “Why/”
“It seems only fair, you're dressing up for me….” And with that he hangs up and I go into mild panic mode.
It is one thing to tease about dressing sexy and then to answer the door in jeans and tee shirt (even with sexy black things underneath). It is totally different to answer the door in jeans if he is making an actual effort to dress up for me.
Ok ok Ok, I tell myself, you can do this… just pull out something sexy or naughty or something and forget the whole tee shirt idea. Pirate wench costume? Naughty schoolgirl skirt? Bondage babe? Slinky club hopping rave outfit? Pink lace baby doll? Is it time to break out the brand-new-tags-still-on-it corset that I have been secretly afraid to try to get myself into?
But… I really wanted to wear the tee shirt. I liked the idea… I actually like the shirt… and being slightly goofy and laid back about sex is so totally liberating and wonderful. Plus I think he will get kick out of seeing it.
But how to make wearing a tee shirt (a tee shirt made for a guy who is 50 pounds heavier than I am and almost a foot taller), how to make this baggy tee shirt look sexy?
I systematically reject a few basics… Not going to wear just the tee shirt… that shape will do nothing for my shape. Not going to tie it up or belt it down… Not going to just hold it… Think woman! You have like 30 minutes!
Ok, how about this… teeny tiny plaid skirt, stockings, garter belt, tall pointy boots, sexy bra and panties and big baggie tee shirt over it. We will just have to have sex before dinner. I can deal with that. (Actually, that might be more fun) Got a plan! Great!
Ok… so here is the short skirt… the boots… the bra and panty set…. Where the heck are the stockings?
I look, I look, I look again. Nothing. Nada Zilch. I pull everything out of the lingerie drawer. Nope.
This is stupid, I tell myself, I just bought a brand new pair, I could wear another pair… but I need to know what happened to the new pair, and besides, they are so pretty, and new... And they will march what I am wearing.. and they are neeeeeew! And I want to wear them!
Like you do whenever you lose something, I backtrack. “Ok, first I took the bras our of the Fredrick’s bag… then I tried them on again, then I put them away….. then I took out the trash….”
Quickly, I pull on my jeans and slip into my sandals and head out into the dark parking lot. This isn’t gross, I tell myself, the stockings are in a cardboard box thingy in a bag that is in another bag that is sitting in the dumpster which really is just a big green box. It was almost totally empty when I took the trash out before so it's not like I won’t know which bag of trash I am about to go rummaging through.
Our complex keeps its dumpsters in these little enclosed gated areas. I pull open the door and enter the dumpster lair. It smells really bad out here despite the fact that the dumpster is almost completely empty. The top of the dumpster, by the way, hits me at just about two inches lower than my collarbone. So, yeah, kinda high.
Trying not to think about what I am doing, I stand up on my tip toes and reach down into the big green box of horrible smells.
And of course, can reach nothing.
I try again, and again, and even give a futile try in climbing up the side of the damn thing… no dice.
There is a small ledge that runs against the edge of the gated area… I grab onto the dumpster and pull with all my might and after several attempts manage to inch the beast closer to the ledge so I can add a whole whopping two inches to my reach.
At this point, I am getting worried about the time, about falling in, and about the smell. I don’t want him to hug me hello, comment on the outfit and then pass out from the stench. And I am still wearing his tee shirt.
Simple solution, no? Take off the shirt.
I do this and carefully fold it and place it on the top of the gated wall (not on the ground or anywhere near the dumpster) I am still a bit concerned about the smell getting on my bra, but I have a spare of upstairs… so really… without my concern for his shirt, I am now newly optimistic.
Perched on my tip topes up on the ledge, I am leaning, leaning, leaning in, arm outstretched, fingertips grazing the edge of the plastic bag….
The gate opens.
A middle-aged woman in a sweatshirt does, what under other circumstances, would have been a delightfully funny double take and then stars open-mouthed at me.
Topless, lace bra styling, dumpster diving me.
There are no words, but I try anyway;
I try again, “I…’
She stops me with an upraised hand. Then, she carefully slides herself around to the other side of the dumpster and, her eyes never leaving mine, she drops her bag of trash in. Still staring, still with the upraised hand of “please don’t talk to me” she grapevines back around the dumpster and carefully closes the gate behind her.
Then she breaks into a run, and I, still almost upside down and still unable to reach the trash bag, listen to her run off into the night.
I decide to forget the stockings. Let's just call it a twenty buck lesson in being more careful when you take out the trash.