I bought a jumper dress on Saturday. It’s lovely and soft and somehow figure-hugging and baggy all at the same time. It’s also a little bit shorter than I would usually wear, but it has long sleeves so it’s nice and warm, and it goes perfectly with thigh socks. (Now I wish I had thigh boots… no, I can’t buy anything else this year. I can’t.)
When I took my coat off at the start-up I was already expecting the brief look up and down, and the lingering glance at the two inches of bare thigh. And then, because I’m an accountant and counting is my thing, it occurred to me that this might be the fewest items of clothing I’ve ever worn: a dress, and socks. And shoes, but they don’t really count.
Work was much more fun and even the CEO seemed pretty flirty. I went out for lunch with them and he paid and they suddenly seemed much more interested in accountancy than I’d ever found before.
When I got home that night I pulled my curtains and closed my eyes and imagined I was standing in the middle of their office as I stripped the dress off and sat there in just my long socks as I worked at the computer. It would be the perfect job, and it was the perfect image to masturbate to as I lay on the sofa.