Chapter 11: Cheryl's First Cliche
The mall was not very crowded on an early Monday evening, but a
few after-work shoppers and after-school hangers-out gave it a
healthy buzz. Lisa followed Cheryl past the stores where she
might usually find her pant-suits, her simple blouses, her
conservative sweaters, and her simple cotton slacks, to a smaller
store featuring lots of black, pink, and denim. The pop music
blaring in the background was neither Lisa's first nor her last
clue that this was not a store for the corporate woman.
"Uh, Cheryl," said Lisa, as Cheryl began flipping through a rack
of black skirts, "I think this store is more for the high school
crowd."
"Nonsense," said Cheryl. "I saw how good your legs looked under
that pleated black skirt. But I thought you might look better in
something tighter."
Cheryl pulled out a black cotton skirt that looked like far too
little material for Lisa. "This looks like it will fit you," she
said. "Go try it on."
Lisa took the skirt into the dressing room. She looked at the
label: "Hottie," it said, in pink bubble letters.
"Cotton/Polyester Blend." "Small." She pulled off her brown
skirt - her new brown skirt that came almost to her knees, she
recalled - and pulled the new skirt up her legs. When it reached
her hips, she had to pull hard. The material was stretchy, and
eventually she got the skirt to her waist.
Now she is looking at herself in the mirror, wondering what to do.
The skirt fits her body, she realizes, but does it fit Lisa? Does
it fit the woman she thinks she is? The hem hugs her thighs only
inches below her ass. The material is so tight the outline of her
panties is visible. She would never buy this skirt, not even for
a date. But she knows that Cheryl, Cheryl who was so nice to her
in the car, is waiting for her. She can't back out now, she
thinks. But she can't leave the dressing room either. Her skirt
leaves her legs entirely exposed, and lewdly shows off her small
but still very visible ass! She sits down on the tiny bench in
the dressing room. As she does so, her white panties come clearly
into view. "How is it?" Cheryl calls from the store.
"Um, I think it's too small."
"Let me see. Let me in." Lisa stands up and opens the door.
"See," says Lisa, showing her ass to Cheryl, "It's so tight it
shows the outline of my underwear."
"Oh," says Cheryl, "you're just wearing the wrong kind of
underwear. Here, take off those panties."
Lisa looked at Cheryl and almost cried. She felt her pussy
twitch. "You can't be serious."
"Take them off! I want to see how the skirt looks on you without
that panty-line."
Lisa looked at herself in the mirror again, standing nearly a foot
taller than Cheryl beside her. It will be okay, she thinks, and
turns away from the mirror, pulls up the skirt to her waist, and
pulls her white panties down to her ankles. She pulls the skirt
back down as far as she can, but it won't go more than a few
inches past her nude pussy.
"There," says Cheryl, as Lisa looks over her shoulder at her rear
in the mirror, now free of a panty-line, "that looks much better.
This will be your skirt tomorrow."
"Cheryl, I can NOT wear this to work. It is way too short. And
tight. Do you really think this is appropriate for the workplace?
Besides, I have a meeting with Jim tomorrow, and Steve is coming
back, and . . . "
Cheryl puts her finger on Lisa's lips. "It's okay, Lisa. It's
okay. You felt this way when you first put on the skirt Steve
gave you, didn't you? It wasn't that much longer than this one."
"Well, yes, but . . ."
"And how did that go? Did the world end? Were you kicked out of
work? Did anyone laugh at you?"
"Well, no, but . . . "
"But what?"
"But this is different. This is . . . scandalous." Lisa can feel
the cool air of the store's air conditioning on her naked pussy.
She is getting wet again, very wet. "Cheryl, I simply can't go to
work without . . . without . . . without panties."
Cheryl smiles. "Is that what you're worried about? Oh, don't you
worry; you can wear panties. It's just these white ones won't
work." Cheryl picks up Lisa's panties off the floor and puts them
in her purse. "In fact, let's go find you a pair that /will/
work, right now."
Cheryl opens the door of the dressing room. "Wait!" said Lisa,
"Can't I put on my other skirt first?"
"No," says Cheryl, "I rather like the one you're wearing. Come
on, let's go pay for it and get you some panties, hm?"
Cheryl leads Lisa to the register, where she asks the salesgirl to
remove the tags from the skirt. The salesgirl looks like she is
16 years old, wearing tight jeans and a pink tank top. She looks
at Lisa and smiles. She comes around the counter with a pair of
scissors and crouches in front of Lisa, putting a slightly sweaty
left hand on Lisa's left leg to steady herself. She brings her
right hand to the bottom of the skirt, holding it against Lisa's
thigh as she cuts off the tag. As she brings the tag back to the
counter and scans it, Lisa can still feel the warm spot on her
thigh where the girl's hand had been. It is high - very close to
her crotch.
"Go ahead, Lisa," says Cheryl, "Pay her."
As they leave the store, Lisa becomes more and more aware of her
lack of undergarments. Her black skirt rides up a little as she
walks, and she knows that nothing is protecting her modesty
underneath. She can see that Cheryl is looking at her legs from
time to time, as are the men they pass who turn their heads in
clear indication that they are checking her out. Some of them,
she thinks, might be looking at her breasts, which bounce around
unfettered beneath her tight blue sweater, her ever-present
nipples making it clear that there is nothing constraining them.
"There's a lingerie store just down this way," says Cheryl, "but
first . . . "
They stop in front of a ladies' shoe store.
"First, you need some better shoes to go with that skirt."
Lisa did think her work shoes looked a little off with this sexy
skirt. But Cheryl's grin indicated something amiss . . .
"Surely, you know how this works," says Cheryl. "I'll wait here.
You go in, and see if you can catch the eye of that salesman over
there. That one. The one with the green tie. Yes. Tell him
you're looking for a red shoe with a four inch heel. If he asks
your size, tell him you aren't sure and ask him to measure your
foot. Then let him put the shoe on for you."
Lisa could see where this was going. Of course, this would have
to happen after buying the short, tight skirt, but before buying
the underwear.
"Cheryl," she says, "I don't think I can do this."
Cheryl puts her hand on her back. "This is an old cliché, Lisa.
It's more than that. It's a rite of passage. All women do this,
at some point. The salesman has gone through this a hundred
times. It's your turn now. Go."
Lisa closes her eyes for a moment, pulls down the hem of her skirt
again, and steps into the shoe store. The salesman in a green tie
notices her immediately, approaches her, and asks, "Can I help you
Miss? Something particular you're looking for?"
"Yes," she says, not making eye contact, "something red. With a
four inch heel." This store is even cooler than the last, and
Lisa feels it between her legs. This man is going to see it, she
thinks.
"Ah, we have a couple choices in red. What size?"
"Um, I'm not sure. Can you measure for me?"
The salesman smiles and nods. "Please, have a seat."
Lisa remembers how easily she could see her white panties when she
sat down in the dressing room. Her white panties were now tucked
in Cheryl's purse. Cheryl is standing at the window, as if window
shopping for shoes. Cheryl holds the plastic bag with Lisa's
modest brown skirt inside. Lisa thinks of walking out of the
store, but she is afraid to tell Cheryl that she can't do it. All
women do this, Cheryl had said, right?
Lisa sits down on a leather seat. She feels the cool, smooth
leather against her bare skin; there is nothing between her
nakedness and the chair. She crosses her legs immediately as the
salesman goes into the back room. Another salesman, by the
register, is clearly gazing at her legs. The male half of a
shopping couple is looking over his shoulder every thirty seconds.
"All women do this," Lisa muttered to herself, not believing it
but wanting to very badly. Her embarrassment heightens when she
realizes how wet she is, and feels her moisture starting to puddle
on the leather chair.
The salesman returns with a foot measuring device. "Slip out of
your shoes and put your heel here." Lisa finds it comforting that
he is giving orders, and finds it easy to follow them. She does
not think much as she uncrosses her legs to bend over and take off
her shoes. With her legs uncrossed, she suspects the salesman,
who is on one knee, can see her bare pussy. As she puts her right
heel in the device, there is no doubt.
It takes a few seconds for the salesman to tear his gaze away from
under her skirt and look at the device. He pushes some metal
pieces around and completes the measurement. "You're an 8 1/2 ,
Miss. Let me see what I have in your size." He gets up and
rushes to the backroom.
The male shopper looks over desperately as the salesman gets up;
clearly he wants a glimpse himself. Lisa quickly crosses her legs
again, causing her skirt to ride up to the very top of her thigh.
I have never felt so naked in my life, she thinks, as the salesman
returns, with a single box. He kneels in front of her again.
"Let's try these."
Lisa uncrosses her legs, and her skirt has ridden up so high that
she can see some of her pubic hair past the hem. She lifts
herself from the seat for a moment to tug down the skirt, but when
she gives her left leg to the salesman to slip on the shoe she
knows it was of little use. His gaze remains fixed on her crotch,
and she knows she is completely exposed to him. All women do
this, she thinks to herself. This is an old cliché. She looks at
Cheryl, who is watching her from the window. Cheryl gives her a
thumbs up, which fills her with sudden happiness. Why is Cheryl's
approval so important, Lisa wonders? The salesman puts the right
shoe on as well, gently stroking her bare calf as he does so.
"Give them a try," she says.
She stands up, and gives her skirt yet another tug. The salesman
is watching her. The other salesman is watching her. The couple
that had been shopping are now both sitting down, watching her.
And - she looks again to make sure - Cheryl is watching her.
She walks around the store. She has never worn heels before, and
her walking is unsteady. These heels seem so tall that she feels
unsafe about putting weight on them, but walking on her toes
doesn't seem right either. She blushes. She is doing this for
the very first time, and probably doing it wrong. She is wearing
the shortest skirt she has ever seen, and her nipples are still
evident in her tight sweater, and it seems everyone is watching
her, wondering what she will do next. She feels out of place, but
she knows she is putting on a show. She looks back at the
salesman and smiles; he is kneeling by the chair, where she
notices she left behind a small puddle of moisture. She turns
away, hoping no one else notices, but feels that her pussy is
still leaking its fluids. She can feel them on her upper thighs,
and now she feels a drop starting to drip down. Oh god, how I
wish I still had my panties. She hopes that her audience will
not notice her juices dripping down her leg, past the hem of her
skirt; in order to not call attention to it, she does nothing
about it.
She looks in a mirror by the register. Her legs look especially
long and sleek in the heels; the position forced on her calf
muscles gives them a shape that looks especially inviting. Her
gaze moves up to her thigh, exposed by the short skirt. She can
see the light reflecting off her inner thigh where it is moist.
She blushes and rushes back to her seat, almost tripping in the
heels.
She sits on the seat, and feels that it is still wet. "Okay,
they're okay, I'll take them," she stammers as she pulls them off.
"Ring them up. I'll take them."
"Well, hold on, Miss," says the salesman, "I have another pair
that you should try as well. Hold on just a minute." Lisa
watches as the man adjusts his pants, stands up, and runs to the
back room.
Cheryl comes into the shoe store and sits next to Lisa. Lisa is
almost in tears, and Cheryl hugs her. "Okay, Lisa, Okay." says
Cheryl, "I believe you now. I still had my doubts, but now I
really believe you."
Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes. "All women do this?"
"Well, most women wear panties when they do this."
"You did this?"
Cheryl smiles. "Maybe I got married too soon. I never did. But
I wish I had. How do you feel?"
Lisa looks down at her legs. "Exposed."
"Yeah, but you're not the only one," says Cheryl. "Did you see
the salesguy?"
"Huh?"
"He had a tent in his pants big enough for a three ring circus.
He's probably jacking off in the back room right now."
Lisa blushes. "No, he's getting me more shoes."
"Sure he is," says Cheryl. "Sure he is. I think this first pair
looks great on you. Why don't you put them back on and we'll pay
for them. They don't match your shirt, but they look better than
your old ones. Then we'll get you some panties, and then a couple
drinks, hmm?"
"Okay." Lisa slips the red shoes back on as Cheryl puts her old
ones in the box. They walk to the register, Lisa still unsteady,
just as the salesman rushes out of the backroom, out of breath.
"I have the other pair, Miss."
Cheryl interjects: "That's okay, she'll take the first pair,
thank you." Lisa is glad Cheryl is taking over. "This one's on
me," says Cheryl, as she takes a credit card out of her purse, "a
present."
"Thank you," says Lisa. As the salesman scans the card, Cheryl
asks, "So, how often does this happen?"
"What?" asks the salesman.
"You know, how often do women come in here and let you look up
their skirts?"
The salesman blushes, and Lisa looks desperately at Cheryl. "Oh
come on," says Cheryl, "to whom was this a secret?"
Lisa looks at the salesman, making eye contact for the first time.
He looks at Lisa and then at Cheryl and then down at the counter
and says, "Oh, it happens about once a week, but none are as
pretty as yours."
