One, two, three, and more.
All of them landing on the hardwood floor.
And the trick I learned is wanting it.
Do you want to tear his (or her) clothes off? Then mean it. Believe it. Go for it. But do set the stage. Put on some music. Have a drink. Get in the mood.
Wear something that brings you pleasure.
Let yourself feel like the heroine in your own story.
Own it.
And then . . . do it.
Whether the buttons fly or fall or stay in place, what matters is what you want.
Last night, I wanted to tear this guy’s shirt off like I’ve never wanted to disrobe a man before.
It worked so well, and here’s the evidence. A photo I shot of the buttons on the floor. And here’s what I wore—my ensemble for my shirt-shredding mission.
When he was gone, I luxuriated in this sexy set a little bit longer, and in the prospect of the nights ahead of me.
Xoxo
The Lingerie Devotee
Find me at You Look Pretty Today on Madison Avenue
13
Tristan
Barrett: Dude. She called you “handsome.”
Tristan: What are you talking about?
Barrett: Don’t act like you don’t read her blog.
Tristan: And you do read her blog???
Barrett: Duh. Obviously. Rachel and I are reading it now. We’re laughing our asses off. Can you wear that ripped shirt to homecoming? Handsome. :)
Tristan: Shouldn’t you be in school?
Barrett: It’s lunchtime . . . Handsome. :)
Tristan: Go eat lunch, then.
Barrett: Go man up. Handsome.
Tristan: Goodbye, Barrett. Good luck on your history test.
Barrett: How did you know I have a history test?
Tristan: It’s my job to know what’s going on with you. Now finish your sushi, drink your LaCroix, and get your butt to fifth-period history to take your test on United States foreign policy in the Middle East.
Barrett: You’re obviously a spy if you know I’m drinking LaCroix and eating sushi.
Tristan: Either that or I actually pay attention to your likes and dislikes.
Barrett: I’m going with spy. Handsome. :)
14
Peyton
“That’ll be two hundred twenty-one dollars,” I say to the petite blonde with a soft Southern accent, who’s gobbling up three camis, two baby-doll nighties, and a black slip.
She plunks down her credit card, then flashes a pink lip-glossed grin. “And I’ll report back tomorrow. Because I have plans for these darlings tonight.”
Arching a tell-me-more brow, I wrap the purchases in tissue paper as Marley scans her card. “Plans with lingerie are the best kind,” I say.
Leaning in closer, she offers a whispered confession. “Tonight, I’m thinking of wearing the baby doll, making margaritas, playing D’Angelo, and ripping off my man’s clothes.”
“And I suspect your report card will include a big S for tonight—S for satisfied.” I slide the shopping bag to her, and she takes it, swinging it back and forth.
“I can’t wait. Loved your post. Thanks for the tips, and thanks for the suggestions on these sexy little numbers.” She tips her forehead to the bag of items I helped her select. “Now, I’m off to pick up a few shirts for tearing off.”
All I can say to that is: “You go, girl.”
After she leaves, Marley grabs my arm, clutching my wrist. “She’s the second person today to say something about your blog.”
“And it’s barely past noon,” I add, a frisson of excitement darting through me.
But I’m not going to get ahead of myself. Yes, the blog generated more comments today. Yes, two customers have mentioned it. But one resurrected blog is not enough to combat a big box store with a discount sale. I eye the banner in Harriet’s window across the block.
“See? Harriet can’t mess with us. We always take care of our ladies,” Marley says, full of fire and pep, and I love it.
“Exactly. We have a ways to go, but we’ll keep it up.” I’m a glass-half-full person, though, so I’m choosing to be happy that a handful of customers are devouring my posts and buying some goodies.
Including, evidently, my yoga teacher’s beau. Because he strolls in next.
“Namaste,” I say playfully, hoping humor will defuse any remaining bits of awkward from the other day.
“Namaste to you too,” he says with a grin. Then taps his chest. “Michael.”
“Peyton. Glad you could make it in,” I say and maybe the awkwardness was only on me. Yes, it was definitely on me.
“I read your blog this morning with Nadia. We are officially lingerie devotees now. Well, she wears the lingerie. I just admire the view.”
“That definitely makes you both devotees,” I say, and for a fleeting second I’m reminded that I was going to ask this guy whose name I didn’t even know till a moment ago to be my scene partner. I’m so glad he turned out to be involved. “Are you looking for anything in particular for Nadia?”
“Something indulgent. She loves satin and lace and I love to spoil her.”
“That’s our favorite kind of men,” Marley chimes in.
“Trouble is—I don’t have a clue what to get her. No idea where to start.”
“Then you are doubly our favorite kind of guy,” she adds.
“Marley, can you help him choose a few potential items?” I ask.
“Would love to. We have some fantastic new items in both satin and lace.”
“Take me to them,” he says, eagerly.
When they’re done, he brings a huge haul of goodies to the register. Whoa. I’m definitely glad he’s a customer.
“Glad you found some lovely items. And half off like I promised,” I chime in.
He shakes his head. “You support my love’s business at her yoga studio. I will support you. No discounts. Just good, honest patronage. It’s that simple.”
“I’m touched,” I say, my heart warming. Maybe Tristan was right—the personal connection is what matters.
And I’m a little richer too when he leaves, a couple bags of goodies in tow.
It’s a reminder that I’m on the right path with the blog project.
I need to walk that path tomorrow night too, but the experiment I have in mind requires a different setting than my place.
“Can you man the front for me for a few? I need to make a call?”
“I can woman the front,” she says with a saucy wink.
“Good catch. My bad. Work your magic.”
She makes abra cadabra hands as I head to my Lilliputian office in the back to make the requisite arrangements with my mother for session number two.