This dress was meant to be worn without a bra, with its open back and supportive chest, but I wasn’t sure whether that was a good idea. Would going to a dating mixer braless send the right message to my prospective partners? What kind of man would I end up with if I did that?
I looked down at my women’s fitness magazine, at the perfect abs of the cover model, and came to a decision. Screw it! I was going to look my best, and whatever happened, happened.
I put my bra back into the drawer and slipped into the dress. I looked in the mirror. My makeup looked great. My hair was up in a French bun, and I was fairly pleased with it as well. As my gaze lowered, I was again astonished by just how great I looked in this dress. I shifted my hips from side to side, watching the fabric bunch and straighten. The pattern of the solid-colored fabric was mesmerizing and gorgeous.
***
I arrived at the mixer five minutes late, noticing several pairs of eyes turning in my direction. It wasn’t like I commanded the room or anything, but I was nice to see that I was attracting at least some attention from the start.
One of the men approached. He was nice enough, but not really my type. As we chatted, and I noticed his eyes flick downward on occasion, I began to feel a strange sensation on my skin under the dress. I ignored it, trying to seem interested in what this guy was saying. Even though I had no interest in dating him, I still wanted to be polite. We were all in this dating scenario together, no reason to hurt anyone’s feelings.
We finally wrapped up our conversation and moved on to other clusters of people. Another man approached. This one was fit, not particularly handsome, but a good body impressed me more than an attractive face. It showed effort and willpower—something about the person. A nice face just showed good genes. I smiled.
He looked me over as he approached, and I felt the sensation under the dress again. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, and it didn’t feel good. It was just... distracting. I fought the urge to look down at myself. The man must have liked what he saw as he checked me out, as he smiled broadly. The sensation intensified to the point where I needed a bit of privacy to see what was going on. I apologized and excused myself to the restroom for a brief moment. I was interested in this guy, so hopefully he waited for me.
I walked into the restroom straight to the mirror, fidgeting under the dress. My eyes widened.
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