Geek Porn Girl

The clocking was ticking its way toward 9 p.m.

On Thursday night, February 14, I found myself not only miserably alone, but alone, bored, and restless. It seemed that everyone I knew either had a girlfriend, partner, or date, or had at least arranged a quick trip to a warm climate for the long President’s Day weekend.

I suppose I could have gone to bed, but after work I’d tried to drink myself to death with a large cup of French-style hot chocolate topped with a double dose of whipped cream. Calories be damned, I was celebrating Valentine’s Day by myself and desperate times call for desperate measures of chocolate.

So I did what a restless girl does in such a situation. I slipped into jeans and an old college sweatshirt, and went shopping for underwear.

Shopping for new lingerie for myself, by myself, on Valentine’s Day was so contrary to the established holiday protocol it could be considered anarchy. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I also calculated it was late enough that the department would be empty and I wouldn’t have to rifle through the racks alongside desperate husbands and sweaty-palmed boyfriends. And, it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. I really needed new bras. Besides, I could come home and model it all for the dog.

I deliberately parked near the door of Macy’s that I knew was closest to the lingerie department. (When I was a child, the elevator in I. Magnin said “Foundations”. I always wondered how the basement could be at the bottom of the elevator buttons and the foundations much higher in the building.)

I spent a little time wandering around the department, gathering up bras and matching underpants. After all it was a holiday, right? I wasn’t going home with sensible cotton. When I had about 50 of those little hangers hooked on my forearm, I headed to the dressing rooms. The dressing rooms were quiet. There was no clerk to check me in, so I wandered all the way to the one at the back.

Normally, I never change in one of the back fitting rooms. I always assume those are the most likely to have one of those skanky security mirrors with someone parked on the other side watching me pull and tug at the stuff I’m trying on. I try to pick one near the front, against a inner wall that can’t possibly have an alley for peeping on the other side. I know I think about this stuff too much. At least that’s what my therapist says.

But this time I didn’t care. I wanted to be far away from the traffic of other shoppers and the door-tapping of the clerk. I wanted to try on 25 bras and matching panties in relative peace.

I took my time stripping. First thing, I took off my sneakers and socks (who wants to look at themselves, or anyone else, in lingerie and socks?), and dropped my jeans. I left my pink thong on. After all, in some situations, sanitation is everything. If I’m going to get something that will need medical attention below my belt, I don’t want to do it trying on panties.

As I pulled my California Maritime Academy hoodie over my head, I felt one of my earrings pop off. I gingerly shook the sweatshirt and saw the earring back fall to the floor, but I didn’t see the earring. I set the sweatshirt aside and removed my tatty old bra as I scanned the floor for my earring. Finally, I got down on hands and knees and began to look around. The dressing room walls didn’t come all the way to the floor, and I was there on my knees, patting the carpet, when I saw a pair of black motorcycle boots walk into the dressing room next to me. The flimsy louvered door slammed shut. At first I thought it was a man, but then I realized the boots weren’t that big.

I heard her hang some items up, and then I heard the distinctive creak of a leather jacket being removed. She must have tossed it on the chair because I heard the buckles clank as it landed. Something else hit the floor and skidded under the divider, sliding to a stop near my hand. It was an iPhone.

“Shit,” I heard her say.

I looked at the iPhone and slowly pushed it back under the divider.

She was already down on the floor and as we peered under the wall, our eyes met. Then I realized I was virtually nude and I yelped and jumped to my feet. I stood there, hands covering my breasts, and heart racing.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I mumbled, trying to catch my breath.

She cleared her throat. “That was a little awkward.”

“More so for me, I think,” I said, still hugging one arm across my breasts. Automatically, I used the other hand to smooth my hair.

I took a deep breath. “You just startled me. I was looking for my earring, and I’m a little wired up on sugar, caffeine, and phenethylamine.”

“Hitting the holiday chocolate, huh?”

I laughed. “Are you a chemist?”

“In fact, ma’am, I am.”

I liked the warm timbre of her voice.

“You know, phenethylamine is supposed to mimic the feeling of being in love.”

“That’s what I was hoping,” I said.

I saw her hand reach under the wall. “Is this your earring?”

“Oh, you found it. Thank you!” Our fingertips brushed as I took it from her.

“Just doing my best to be of service. By the way, I really like your pedicure.”

I looked down at my toenails, painted a bright Valentine’s red, and wriggled them on the carpet.

“The color is called Chick Flick Cherry.”

“No kidding?”

“For real.”

There was a little silence and I turned away from the wall and back toward the mountain of bras and panties I’d selected. But curiosity was getting the better of me, and I had to ask:

“How do you like your iPhone?”

“I’m completely addicted to it. I love the thing. I can’t imagine life before it. I love it so much I want to have Steve Jobs’ baby.”

“Seriously?”

“No. But I really, really like it. Look.” She pushed it back under the wall.

I picked it up and looked at the screen.

“It’s Buffy!”

“It is,” she said. “The Valentine’s Day episode from season 2: ‘Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered’.”

“That’s pretty cool.” I slid it back under the partition.

“Want to watch it with me?” she asked. “We could get a cup of coffee or something.”

“Uh. I’m sort of in the middle of a project here.” I was conscious of my nudity. After all, we were only standing about two feet apart.

“Do you have things to try on?” she asked. “I could wait.”

“Don’t you have things to try on?” I asked.

“Just a couple of chastity bras,” she said. “The basic sport variety. One black. One white.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” I teased. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I’ve seen you naked,” she said.

“Oh, right.”

I reached for one of the bras and started to put it on.

“But I didn’t really get a good look at you.”

“Well, for that matter, I didn’t really see much of you. I just got the impression of a lot of bare skin,” she said. “It was very nice skin.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“And you have nice eyes. They’re green.”

She surprised me with that. “They are green. I’m impressed.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What are you trying on?” she asked.

“A ridiculously expensive European-made bra,” I said. “Definitely the non-sport variety.”

“What color?”

“Excuse me?”

“What color is the bra?”

I wondered if I should call security.

“Am I freaking you out?” she asked. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I love women in beautiful lingerie and you have such a lovely voice. I wondered what you picked out.”

Again, that warm timbre. Her voice felt like it could wrap around me.

“Well… it’s a black and brown bra, but that’s not a very good description. It’s black lace that’s been embroidered with cocoa-colored roses. The straps are brown satin. It’s actually a great fit.”

“Mmm. We seem to have a chocolate theme here.”

“I guess we do.”

“The chocolate that got you wired up earlier… was it a gift?”

“Are you fishing?” I asked, teasingly.

“I just wondered if there was somebody special in your life.”

She was smooth, I’d give her that.

“I was planning to take my purchases home and model them for Roger.”

“Roger?” she asked. “Husband, boyfriend?”

“Labrador retriever.”

She laughed a little.

“Are there matching panties?”

I turned back to the mountain of underthings and pulled the panties out of the pile.

“There are.”

“Would you put them on and tell me about them?”

“Um. They’re cut high on the leg with satin sides that match the straps of the bra. The front and back are embroidered lace. There’s a tiny brown satin bow on the front stitched with a pearl.”

“Ve-rry nice.”

I saw her iPhone slide under the wall. “This is me,” she said.

I picked it up and saw a picture of an woman with silver hair, cut blunt at her jaw, and tucked behind her ears. She had taken the photo into the mirror, from a slight angle to minimize the reflection. She was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck, and a black leather jacket. Even on the 2×3 inch screen of her phone, I could see the intensity of her eyes and the contrast of her dark eyebrows with her hair.

“You’re hot,” I said. “Wow.”

“I don’t suppose you’d return the favor. I could tell you how to work the camera.”

“No way,” I said, and slid the phone back under the wall.

She sighed.

“Would you describe yourself?”

“I guess I could.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I think we’re close to the same age. My hair is auburn and straight to my shoulders. I have bangs cut straight across. There are some freckles across my chest and shoulders from too much tanning in my youth. You already know my eyes are green. I wear bookish glasses, but I took them off when I undressed.”

“You sound lovely,” she said. “Can you tell me about your breasts?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “I feel a little weird about that.”

“Are they large? Small?” She pressed on.

“The bras I’m trying on are sort of medium, I think. A 36C.”

“Ah.”

“But I need good bras. My breasts are recalcitrant.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sometimes I think they have a mind of their own. It seems to be getting worse as I get older.”

“High spirited, huh?”

We laughed together, me wrapped in the luxury of her voice.

“Can I talk you into coming out of there?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said.

I picked out three bra and panty sets in the same size and cut as the ones I’d tried on and set them aside.

When I started to dress I realized that my outfit was about as un-sexy as it could get.

“I have to tell you something,” I said. “I certainly didn’t think I’d meet anyone when I left the house tonight.” I walked out of the dressing room carrying my items.

She looked me up and down and grinned. “You look fantastic. It’s wonderful to think there could be sexy lingerie under that outfit. I love a woman with a secret.” She took me by the arm and began to lead me out of the dressing room. “Let’s get some coffee.”

“I need to pay for these,” I said, holding up my little collection of bras and panties.

She took the hangers from me and kissed me on the forehead.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, they’re on me.”

“I couldn’t,” I protested, and meant it.

“No really,” she said. “Tonight the pleasure is all mine.”

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