"Now this is perfect. You should buy this."
Anya Bartholomew glanced up from the collection of silver spoons she was examining to see her best friend, Heather, dangling a bra in front of her face.
"For what? I don't think it would be appropriate for business meetings."
"Oh please. It's not for practical purposes, Anya." This voice came from behind her. She turned to glance at Sheri, her other best friend. "It belongs to a belly-dancer outfit."
Anya's burst of laughter brought disapproving glances from other customers. "Right. One little shimmy in that skimpy thing and it would be more like a strip tease than a belly dance."
She turned back to the spoons when she realized other customers were still staring at her. "What do you think of these spoons? I think my mother would like them for Christmas."
"We have those in other sizes."
Anya looked up as an attractive woman took the bra from Heather's hands. "These aren't antiques, obviously, but we sell quite a few. With your coloring, I'm thinking the green outfit, or maybe the red?"
"No, really. It was just a joke. They--"
"The green," Heather and Sheri said at the same time. The clerk smiled and headed toward the back room.
"What are you doing?" Anya hissed at her friends.
"Hopefully we're getting you to live a little," Heather replied. "Anya, you live at your office. It practically took an act of Congress to get you to come here with us this weekend."
Anya tried not to look guilty and failed. She knew it was true. When Sheri had proposed the trip to the small town of Pleasant, Maine, Anya had balked, saying it was no more than a tourist trip. But after weeks of cajoling from her friends she'd finally agreed. After all, if she weren't here, where would she be? In her office working on the Baxter account? Or sitting at home watching movies on pay-per-view?
It's not like she had a real life. No boyfriend. Her only real friends were Heather and Sheri, and both were happily married with kids. They were taking this trip to "get away from it all." What did she have? Her hobbies? Reading and watching TV. Maybe she should add belly dancing to the list.
"I'm not buying it." She shook her head even as she trained her eyes on the curtain through which the clerk had disappeared. "What would I do with it?"
"Belly dance," Sheri said. "You've got the curves for it."
"Oh yeah, I've got the curves. Miles and miles of them. Forget it."
"Anya, just because you're not rail thin doesn't mean--"
"Rail thin? Sheri, I weigh more than two hundred pounds. Or has that escaped your attention?"
"You're voluptuous. You have an hour-glass figure that a lot of women would die for."
"Yeah, except it's a 48-hour glass instead of a 24-hour one."
"You're so beautiful," Heather said. "I'd kill for all that hair you've got. And your smile? It's perfect. And those gorgeous green eyes, always huge and bright with laughter? Plus, you make scads of money, and what do you do with it? Nothing. You sit at home all the time. Take a belly dancing class. Get out in the world and meet people you don't work with. Meet guys!"
"And scare everyone in the room? Be laughed at by the other students? Have a man tell me that if he wanted another pillow on his bed he'd go to the mall and buy one? Not on your life."
Anya turned and stepped back suddenly when she realized the clerk was standing right behind her, the shiny outfit in her hands. The woman was looking at her as if she could see straight into her soul. It was more than a little disconcerting.
"Try it on." She held it out to Anya. "With your dark hair, it will be very, very becoming."
"And very, very impractical." Anya sighed, then bit her lip. "How much is it?"
"Try it on."
"Oh I see, get me hooked and then tell me it costs a fortune. You can't fool me, ma'am, I work in advertising."
The clerk took a scarf and draped it over Anya's shoulder. Even through her heavy sweater, Anya could practically feel the material as it caressed her skin. It felt light and airy, as if a thousand fingers were trailing up and down her shoulders and arms.
"Try it on." The woman's voice was soft. Anya looked into her eyes and shivered. "Back here."
She turned and walked away, but Anya felt compelled to follow her. Once behind the curtains, she directed Anya to a dressing room. It was larger than she thought it would be, with three full-length mirrors to provide views from every direction.
"I'll be right outside," the woman said, handing over the outfit. "If you need help, let me know."
When she was gone, Anya locked the door and stared at herself in the mirrors. "Who are you kidding? A belly dancer outfit?"
And yet ... it had been a fantasy of hers for years. She'd always dreamed of dancing in a room full of men, of getting them all hard and needy for her, and then going home to that one special man she could love forever. But there wasn't one special man, was there? There hadn't been one for four years now.
At the age of thirty-three, Anya was quite alone. She still had her mother and father, and her two friends, but men never entered the equation. Not since Nicholas, who had told her he would marry her, if she dropped seventy pounds or so.
She'd tried so hard to meet his demands, but it hadn't worked. It seemed as if for every pound she'd lost, she'd gained two back. Finally she'd given up and told Nicholas he could take her as she was, or leave her. And he'd left.
Closing her eyes, she fought back tears. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked at the material in her hands. Little more than scraps, it seemed like. Heavy scraps, though, since most of it was decorated with beautiful beads. Even if she didn't wear it for anyone, she could wear it around the house, wear it while she fantasized.
After quickly shedding her clothing, she wiggled into the pants. They hung low on her hips, hugging her full curves. Beautiful beads decorated the belt. She moved her hips back and forth and the beads tinkled together, making a light, seductive sound. The gossamer material caressed her legs. She leaned over and tightened the fastenings around her ankles.
She held up the bra, examining it carefully. It was a halter type with an extremely low cut scoop neckline. She lifted it up and over her head, then bent over to settle her breasts into the material before fastening it behind her.
When she stood, the strands of beads tickled her belly. Her breasts were on prominent display, her nipples hard and tingly as they rubbed against the soft material inside the bra. It seemed as if she would fall right out with one little movement.
She ran her hands down her sides and closed her eyes. What would it feel like to dance for men? To actually have them desire her instead of calling her ugly names when she walked by?
She moved back and forth to imaginary strains of exotic music. She trailed her hands up her stomach and cupped the heavy bra, then slowly moved them down to her hips as she continued to sway. It felt so very sexy, so naughty. Wetness pooled between her legs and for a brief second, Anya worried about staining the material. But what did it matter? She was going to buy it. She knew that for a certainty.
One little stroke and she might blast off into orbit, right here in the dressing room.
"Their shafts are hard for you." Anya's eyes flew open. The clerk stood behind her, gently stroking Anya's hair. "Do you see them? Look."
"How did you get in here? I locked the door." Her heartbeat quickened as she looked toward the mirror. There was a man standing there, no wait--two men. Their skin was the color of light cocoa, their eyes dark and piercing. They were so handsome. Strong and muscular, both of them wearing low-slung linen pants, their chests bare. And both of them sported huge erections.
"Do you want them, Anya? They want you. See how hard they are for you?"
"Yes." The word was a caress.
"All you have to do is rub the lamp. Rub it." The woman held an old, beat up lamp in front of her. It was brass, and looked to have seen better days.
Anya stroked her hands across the cool surface. As soon as she did, heat filled her palm. Her already hardened nipples pebbled more, and the bundle of nerves between her legs twitched in need.
"Isn't smoke supposed to come out? Isn't the genie supposed to grant my wish now?" Anya felt as if she were in a dream. She looked to the mirror. The men were smiling at her, their hands inside their pants, stroking their erections. She stepped toward them as the woman whispered, "Very good. That's it. Go to them."
She was within inches of reaching out and stroking their chests when a sharp rap at the door broke the spell. She jerked her head and stepped back. She was alone. The clerk was gone. The men were gone.
"Anya! We want to see. Show us." Sheri's voice was full of laughter. "Come on!"
"Wow," she mumbled beneath her breath. "If this outfit can induce that sort of fantasy, it's definitely mine." She opened the door, delighted when her friends hooted and hollered with joy.
"Gorgeous!"
"Oh my," Heather said. "I wish I could look like that. Jake would love it."
Anya kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to remind Heather that her husband Jake thought Anya was a "tub-o."
Anya looked at the clerk who stood behind them, smiling.
"I'll take it," she said. Heather and Sheri cackled with glee as they went back into the main shop. The clerk made to follow them, but Anya stopped her.
"I'll take the red one, too."
)
