A date? Really? I mean, I know it's not a date-date, but holy shit! Tyler Paulson is taking me out on a date. Regardless of the fact he's my Tyler summer camp, he doesn't know yet I can still tell, he asked me out to dinner.
I mean, I know I should be pissed off still about last night, and the way he horn dogged with those two club sluts, but I'm not. For some reason I believe him when he said that he doesn't remember what happened, and the way he's acted all day, maybe he didn't do what I immediately thought he did when he answered his door naked, oh so gloriously naked, at noon.
My God, did you see his junk? the little voice in my head that seems to love the naughty side of life, asks. Tight abs, that little trail of hair down to…
I roll my eyes, even as I acknowledge the truth, Tyler is sexy as hell and gave me quite an eyeful today. But we're just going out to dinner, that's all. I couldn't even get my initial idea for a reservation, the place that had been Zagat's choice as Toronto's most stylish restaurant, but instead a table at a still stylish higher end steakhouse over on Simcoe. I've been there once before, a team event, and I think Tyler will like it. Aged steaks, some seafood if that's his thing, but still, the sort of place I'd never go to by myself.
"Now, what do I wear?" I ask myself, standing in front of the closet. I don't really have a lot, I mean, most of my money that I don't use for the basics of life goes to help out my parents, but there's one dress. I didn’t buy it off the internet like Tyler joked. It was a gift from a friend of mine, we went to the University of Toronto together. Gail and I were total opposites in so many ways, except that we clicked, and it was hard to let her go when she got her dream job in Vancouver. Her last gift to me was a belted Jovani two tone cocktail dress, with a plunging back that doesn't let me wear a bra underneath, and an asymmetrical slightly form fitting skirt that shows a lot of my right leg. The whole thing is done with illusion lace, and the sleeveless sides bare my arms to the whole world. I've never worn it outside of trying it on for Gail the day she gave it to me, and it's sat in my closet for two years now, along with the matching high heels that I will admit I've worn one or two other times, black five inch stilettos.
“Here goes nothing," I whisper, reaching for the dress. I look down at myself, and wonder if I'm really going to do what I plan on doing, then nod. Tyler set a rule . . . I'll follow it.
Putting the dress on my bed, I go to my underwear drawer and take out my sexiest set of panties, a black satin piece that is the exact color as the skirt of my dress. I pull it on, feeling more powerful and pretty already . . . dare I say it, sexy even? Yes, I feel sexy, and it's an awesome feeling.
I don't have to unzip the dress at all, Jovani did a great job of mixing stretch fabric with the lace, although I do have to kind of worm myself around, my thighs rubbing together as the skirt slides up to settle at my waist. There's a belt too, and I remind myself to not forget it as I slip my arms into the straps of the top and try to adjust my breasts inside the built in bra. Finally, with a bit of a jump and a hop, everything seems to jiggle into the right place. I don't look at myself in the mirror until after I get the belt on, but when I do, even without my high heels, I'm stunned by how I look.
I look hot. Like, real hot, the hot that would be a date for a guy like Tyler. Whoa. Who is this girl?
"Let's see how I look with some makeup," I say to myself, going over and getting ready there. I'm not the sort of girl who wears a lot of makeup, I've never felt comfortable in it and I think my natural skin tone and look helps that anyway, but while I do, I see the subtle reminders of my teen years, and one of the reasons why I ended up so shy. Still, the scars on my cheeks and forehead are getting smaller each year, and maybe by the time I'm twenty-five I won't be reminded daily of this bullies from high school. I've tried foundation or other skin treatments, but it doesn't work on me, it just makes it all stand out more. Ah well.
A quick brush of my hair, and I look at myself in the mirror, stunned again. That's not me. It can't be. Like, the mousy look, the hunched shoulders, the lock of hair that seems to always find it's way over my face . . . it's all gone.
Instead, I see my shoulders pulled back, and lips that aren't quite juicy but maybe still kissable. The dress even makes my breasts seem bigger somehow, maybe because of the curve of the built in bra. Best of all though, my legs look about a kilometer long and actually toned as I pull on my high heels. Maybe all those lunchtime trips up and down the stadium steps has paid off.