Thistle Goes Shopping

NEITHER OF US brought anything along, so we’re both wearing what we had on yesterday. This looks a lot better on Fletcher than it does me. Somehow the third day of stubble and worn-in jeans just makes him look even sexier, while the long walk in the cold combined with my crumpled office attire just makes me feel like a hot mess.

He catches me trying to smooth out my skirt and says, “We can stop somewhere to buy stuff if you want. My wife should feel good rolling up to the auto show in her slick ass car.”

“Quit it with the wife business,” I say, but I smile at his thoughtfulness and agree to pop into a cute shop near where we parked the car. I guess I assumed he’d wander off and buy a magazine or play on his phone, but Fletcher follows me through the store offering his opinion on the different pieces I touch on the racks.

“You should get something green, Thiss. You always look great in green.” He winks and holds up a forest green wrap dress with a deep v neck. It’s a great dress, one that I could wear to work…well at my old job that I no longer have…or I could see myself wearing it out somewhere if I found the right jewelry.

“All right,” I nod. “I’ll try this one on.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, and to my surprise he follows me down the hall toward the fitting rooms.

“What are you doing?” I don’t mean my tone to be so harsh but his actions surprise me.

“I want to see how it fits,” he says, and stops by a rack of lingerie. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks at me. “You probably need some of these, too, right?”

I blush from the tip of my ears down to my belly at the thought of Fletcher watching me buy underwear. It’s ridiculous, because I woke up naked beside him today. And he’s right of course. I’m not about to wear day-old underwear or go commando. I swallow and walk over to the rack to see if there’s something plain and sensible I can grab.

Of course, this is a cute and trendy shop, so everything is lacy and sexy. I clear my throat and reach for a black pair of boy shorts.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs as I toss them over my arm along with the dress. I see his chest rise and fall a little more quickly and I hurry into the fitting room to catch my breath before my own racing heart pounds its way out of my chest.

Fletcher and I never suffered from lack of chemistry. Him thinking about my underwear has me remembering all the different ways we used to explore each other. Fletcher was my first everything, and most importantly the first to tell me my pleasure was important.

Those were never conversations my mother had with me growing up. Of course, Fletcher’s mother and father drove him crazy talking about consent and mutual pleasure, but as a former partner of his…I have to say I enjoyed the benefits. What he didn’t know about my body, he asked and then he taught me how to show him.

I start to sweat a little, remembering how he taught me to touch myself.

I slide the panties on, trying to ignore the heat in my core as my mind slips back to our time together in high school.

“You got the dress on yet,” he yells from outside the door.

“Gosh, no. Calm down!” I fold up my clothes and pull the tag off the panties, crumpling up that weird sticker paper they always put in the crotch. I’m just going to wear all of this out of the store, I decide, letting the dress cascade over my head.

I can already tell that I love it. The draping fabric is forgiving and the dark color does indeed look great on me. Fletcher was right.

I open the door and spin a little bit in my bare feet. “What do you think?”

When he looks at me, his eyes are molten desire, but he nods and says, “Looks great.”