I looked down at jeans and a t-shirt, and then at Lisa. She was wearing a short, clingy PVC dress with a shoulder cut-out and ankle-high black boots. She had short red hair and, despite us being the same age, I think anyone would have guessed that she was at least five years older than I was. She really looked the part; I did not. But the whole reason I’d turned up at her apartment early was so she could help me work out what to wear. She said she had the perfect outfit in mind.
“Here,” she said, and she turned to kneel on the sofa and grasped the hem of my faded t-shirt. Compliantly, I lifted my arms and she pulled it over my head.
I wasn’t expecting her to reach around my back and unfasten my bra, but before I had time to register what was happening that was exactly what she did. She pulled it off my arms and I resisted the temptation to cross my hands over my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seen my breasts; certainly not since I’d been wearing a bra.
“Stand up.” I did as I was told. She began to unfasten my belt and then looked down at my feet. I’d kicked my trainers off when I’d come into her house, out of habit, although I guess it wasn’t necessary since Lisa was wearing her boots indoors.
Read the rest of A Very Grown Up Party, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF