“Screw it,” she said quietly to herself, “I’m not going to let one small thing ruin our anniversary night.”
She unfurled the towel from around herself, wrapped the skirt around her waist and tied it at the side. It had a slight flare and covered to halfway down her thigh, but at least there was a large overlap where the fabric wrapped over itself. She still felt very exposed, though, and she was about to take the skirt off and put a pair of tights on underneath when she felt a tingle inside: this skirt, and no underwear, is what the Alison of her stories would wear. Alison wouldn’t care that she had nothing on underneath.
She picked up the black crop top and shrugged it over her shoulders. She pulled the front closed and zipped it from the bottom. The zip started just above her belly button and stopped again at a low, square neckline. The material was elasticated and pushed her breasts together so she had something of a cleavage even without a bra to help.
Alison looked in the mirror, feeling sexier than she had for years. She hadn’t bared her stomach like this since before they were married, and she’d never gone out without underwear before. Fictional Alison would approve, she thought with a smile.
The bathroom door opened and Malcolm emerged, wrapped in a towel at the waist. He was still in good shape, Alison thought, so maybe they could skip going out and have plenty of fun in the privacy of their hotel room.
“Woah!” Malcolm said, stopping in his tracks as he saw his wife standing there, looking just the same as she had all those years before.
Alison put one hand on her hip and adopted a coquettish tilt of the head.
“You approve?” she asked him.