08. Erotic Story: The Dress Hidden at the Back of the Wardrobe

Sara was just searching for something to wear for dinner.

Nothing fancy. Just a dress to make a regular night at home feel a touch more special. Downstairs, Tom was busy with a meal that involved far too much garlic and uncorking a bottle of wine they’d been saving for no particular reason.

She pushed aside a couple of summer dresses and an old coat she hadn’t touched in ages.

That’s when she spotted it.

The black lace bodysuit was tucked right at the back of the wardrobe, almost hidden away behind everything else.

[Clothes We Leave Behind]

Sara’s mind flashed back to when she bought it.

Not the exact date, but she could picture the woman who ordered it. She remembered sitting on the bed with her laptop, picturing herself wearing it with a confidence she’d assumed would arrive in the post.

It never did.

She took the bodysuit off the hanger and held it up against her body.

Black lace. Delicate straps. A scooped back. Soft cups that now seemed much smaller than she recalled.

She glanced in the mirror.

Her gaze landed immediately on her stomach.

Of course it did.

She shifted, noticing the softness at her waist, the pale marks on her hips, the way her breasts had changed over time.

The thought crept in before she could stop it.

Not anymore.

Sara placed the bodysuit back on its hanger.

She pushed it behind the other dresses, closed the wardrobe and headed for the bedroom door.

Her hand was already on the handle when she paused.

Why couldn’t she wear it, exactly?

Because her body had changed?

That wasn’t a real reason. Bodies change. Tom’s had, hers had. Ten years had changed them both.

Sara glanced back at the wardrobe.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.”

She opened it once more.

This time, she took the bodysuit out and closed the bedroom door behind her.

She undressed slowly and stepped into it.

The lace hugged her differently now. It settled over her hips, fit snugly around her waist, and pulled a little as she adjusted the straps.

Sara stood in front of the mirror.

Her first reaction was to pull in her stomach.

She did.

Then she caught herself in the act.

“Stop.”

She let her breath go.

Nothing bad happened.

For a few more seconds, she kept searching for flaws. Then, almost by accident, she noticed the line of her shoulder. She liked how the thin strap lay against her skin.

She turned.

The low back looked even better than she remembered.

So did the curve of her waist, once she stopped trying to make it smaller.

Sara ran her hand over her stomach. Not to hide it, just to feel it.

The woman in the mirror wasn’t the one who’d bought the bodysuit.

That woman was younger.

This woman had two kids, a decade of marriage, laughter lines she’d never ordered, and a body that carried a story she’d spent too long treating as evidence against herself.

She looked again.

And this time, she found something she liked.

Not everything.

She didn’t have to.

Sara threw a loose black shirt over the bodysuit, leaving most of the buttons undone.

Then she headed downstairs.

Tom was slicing bread when she walked into the kitchen.

He glanced up.

And paused.

There was no wolf whistle. No silly remark. No cartoonish widening of the eyes.

He just looked at her.

Really looked.

Sara suddenly became conscious of every bit of lace beneath her shirt.

“What?”

Tom set the knife down.

“Nothing.”

“That’s definitely a something.”

A small smile crept onto his face.

“You look like you feel good.”

Sara hadn’t expected that.

She looked down at herself.

“I’m deciding.”

“About dinner?”

“About this.”

She opened her shirt a little further.

Tom’s eyes dropped for a moment, then met hers again. He walked towards her, stopping just short.

“May I?”

Sara knew exactly what he meant.

And she liked that he’d asked.

“Yes.”

His hand rested softly at her waist, over the lace.

He didn’t squeeze or pull her close. His thumb simply traced the fabric, following the outline of her body underneath.

“Do you remember this?” she asked.

“The bodysuit?”

She nodded.

“I remember when the parcel arrived.”

“I never wore it.”

“I know.”

“I bought it for you.”

Tom tilted his head slightly.

“And tonight?”

Sara looked down at his hand on her waist.

“For me.”

His smile shifted.

“Good.”

Then he kissed her.

Gently.

His hand stayed at her waist, warm against the lace, as his lips moved from hers to the side of her neck.

Sara waited for the old urge to button up her shirt.

It didn’t come.

Instead, she slid her hands under Tom’s shirt, feeling the heat of his back.

Dinner lasted another ten minutes.

They made it halfway down the hall before Sara burst out laughing.

“We’re hopeless at date nights.”

Tom kissed her again.

“I think we’re doing just fine.”

Upstairs, Sara kept the bodysuit on.

That felt important.

Tom’s shirt stayed half done up as well. They sat together on the bed, kissing, neither in any rush to get undressed.

His fingers traced slowly along her thigh, up to her waist, following the lace over her stomach before he bent down to kiss that spot.

Sara’s breath caught in her throat.

He started to move higher.

“Again.”

Tom looked up at her.

Sara touched the spot on her stomach where his lips had been.

“Here.”

He understood.

He kissed her there once more.

This time, Sara watched him.

She didn’t tug the fabric down, didn’t turn away, didn’t worry about whether her stomach looked flatter from another angle.

She just let him touch her.

His hands moved over her hips, her back, the outside of her thighs. The lace softened every touch, making each caress feel slower than bare skin.

When he looked at her again, Sara was already smiling.

“Are you alright?”

“Better than alright.”

Later, they stayed partly dressed, his shirt open beneath her hands, her black lace still between his palms and her skin. They moved together slowly, kissing whenever their faces met, laughing when their knees tangled in the sheets.

It wasn’t polished.

It wasn’t a performance.

Sara felt desired, but not on display.

That difference meant everything.

Afterwards, Tom lay beside her, his hand resting on her stomach.

Sara looked at the black lace beneath his fingers.

“I almost didn’t put it on.”

“Why not?”

She could have made a joke.

But she told him the truth instead.

“I thought it belonged to someone I used to be.”

Tom was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked at her.

“I like this version of you.”

Sara smiled.

“So am I.”

The next morning, she opened her wardrobe.

The bodysuit had spent years hidden behind clothes she wore more often but cared about less.

Sara shifted three hangers aside.

This time, she left it where she could see it.