Changing Rooms Read online

  Changing Rooms

  By Kara Bryn

  Text copyright ©2014 Kara Bryn

  All Rights Reserved

  Susan pushed open the door. Nice, she thought to herself, nice. It was a word that was never far away. "Susan's nice," they would say with faint praise. Too nice to notice Mark's affair for months, and everyone else was too nice to tell her what they had all known about and murmured behind her back. That part of it was not nice.

  Still, this nice hotel room was going to be her home for the next few days. When Katherine's hen party was arranged it seemed a perfect opportunity to get away from it all for a long weekend, and as she was here a day before the others she had some time to herself.

  She dropper her bag onto the bed and let the door close behind her. What to do now? The idea of getting away from it all was a good one, but there's not much point in getting away from something if you're getting into nothing. Susan started to unpack and noticed her purse poking invitingly out of the side pocket. It was just the spark she needed: some retail therapy. After all, what was she going to wear on the night out ahead?

  Susan took her purse and her keys and went back to her car. The hotel was on the edge of town and, with its spa facilities and restaurant, it seemed to be a meeting point for the local ladies of leisure. And wherever there are ladies of leisure, there will be shoe and clothes shops to satisfy their spending whims. Shopping sprees were not Susan's style, but perhaps it was time for a new style.

  She drove into the busy town centre and spotted a parking space outside a boutique shoe shop. Perfect, she thought, I can pick up a skirt and a top, and then finish up with shoes to match.

  The street proved a boutique shopper's dream with a row of small clothes shops all jostling for attention with their overly-made-up and underpaid teenage attendants and "unique" quirky décor. The slow walk to the end of the street revealed some promising starting points, so Susan turned around and walked into the first door. "Outskirts" was the name of the shop. End of the high street, and they sell skirts. Of course, she thought. She'd only read the sign once and it was already a thin joke.

  The attendant glanced up with a half-smile that faded as she took in Susan's beige trousers, loose sweater, blouse and long coat. You're not the kind of woman to shop at a place like this, her eyes judged. That suited Susan just fine; she was happier under the radar and free from meddling attention. Susan browsed a few racks and picked out some skirts of varying lengths and styles.

  "Do you have somewhere I can try these on?" she asked the assistant.

  "Sure," the assistant said, "there's a changing room in the far corner, with a mirror on the back wall."

  Susan took the skirts into the changing room and pulled the curtain closed. She took off her coat and hung it up, unbuttoned and removed her trousers and put them on a hook.

  The first skirt was long and flowing. It was nice for a relaxed day around the house, but not really the style for a hen party. "Must not buy 'nice' clothes," she muttered to herself.

  The next few were rejected on the same basis: they were all nice, but safe. The last skirt, an impulse pick-up, was something different, however. It hugged her hips, tightened over her thighs, and finished a good four inches above the knee. It was dark charcoal grey and said talk to me, if you dare.

  Susan pulled back the curtain and stepped back to take a longer look in the mirror. Even the assistant seemed to notice a change in atmosphere. Susan looked at herself and realised that, yes, her legs were in good enough shape for a skirt this short. In fact, they really looked quite fine, even though her beige low-heel shoes did nothing to contribute to her calf line. That would be fixed later, though, and Susan pushed up onto her toes slightly and admired her legs as she did so.

  She went back into the changing room and closed the curtain before unzipping the skirt and pushing it down her legs onto the floor. She put it back onto the hanger; that one was the keeper, the rest she would leave.

  Susan picked up her trousers and took another look in the mirror. It seemed a shame to cover her legs, now that she had rediscovered them, but she wanted to save wearing the new skirt until tomorrow night with the girls. No-one would see it under my long coat anyway, she reassured herself.

  Now there was an idea... If no-one would see the skirt under her coat, couldn't she just pretend she was wearing it? Her coat reached down to her calves, and if she kept it buttoned up then nobody would be any the wiser. Before she could change her mind, she pulled on her coat over her blouse, sweater and knickers, and buttoned it to the bottom. She shoved her drab old trousers into the back corner of the changing room and strode out with the skirts over her arm.

  "I'll take this one, please, and leave the others," she told the assistant, who was more attentive now that she was making a sale. Albeit not attentive enough to notice Susan's lower legs were now bare. "Could you put the others back on the rack for me, please?" she asked, and left without waiting for a response. Was she more assertive now that she was wearing less? How curious.

  As Susan left the shop she passed a mirror and glanced at her reflection. Her legs looked good, or at least the few inches of calf you could see below her coat hem did. There was a teasing flash of knee and a hint of thigh as she opened her stride, but no-one would guess how bare she was beneath the long coat.

  Well, that's the bottom half sorted, she thought, now to pick a top.

  Susan looked at the next shop in line and read the name: "Top of the Tops". What was it with provincial towns and punned shop titles? Well, it was either very badly named or selling exactly what she wanted, so in she went.

  The assistant in Top of the Tops was cut from the same cloth as the one in Outskirts. They must have both been on the same disparaging glance training course, but again that suited Susan down to the ground. She could browse through the racks without being pestered or cajoled.

  I'm not wearing a skirt, she wanted to say to the girl, but didn't, although the mischievous flash in her eyes almost raised a question from the teenage girl behind the till. The question was quickly subsumed beneath the distraction of text messaging with friends.

  Susan thumbed through the racks with little clear idea of what she wanted. Semi-randomly she took a selection of tops up to the counter and was gestured towards the changing room with a tilt of the head.

  "Thanks," she said. She didn't want to conduct the entire process through gestures and grunts alone.

  Inside the changing room she put down the bag containing the skirt and started to unbutton her coat. She stopped after the top two buttons were undone and looked in the mirror. She continued unbuttoning slowly, but from the bottom, pausing each time to admire her reflection as more of her legs came into view.

  She stopped at the last button, with the belt still fastened around her waist, and felt a thrill go through her. She put her hands on her hips and pushed a leg forward, revealing thigh almost up to her hip. "Looking hot," she whispered to herself, surprised at seeing herself in the mirror as if for the first time.

  Feeling hot too, she thought. It was a warm spring day, but the heat was coming from inside of her as much as out. She hurriedly took off the coat, her loose sweatshirt and her tired over-worn blouse. This used to be a favourite, she thought. Now it was past its best and only deserved to be hidden behind layers and folds of cloth. Just like I am.

  No, just like I was, she corrected herself, suddenly standing straighter.

  As she straightened, her figure seemed to jump out of the mirror. The reflection that had blended into the background of the changing room now deserved full attention. Even framed by faded cotton knickers and bra, her shape held up well, and Susan realised that this was the first time for years that she, and probably anyone, had noticed it.

  Eno
ugh with the narcissism, girl.

  She rifled through the tops she'd brought in and held them up in turn. Nice, nice… nice… safe… good for the office… also nice…, she dismissed them one-by-one. Then she paused at a bright, ruby-red top. It felt smooth as silk, although she didn't care to look at what man-made material might be producing that feel, and it hung in flowing folds. She pulled the top over her head and held up the charcoal skirt at her waist. She liked the top and it worked well with the skirt. She put the skirt back into the bag and stood straight in front of the mirror.

  The top was loose as it fell from the shoulders and narrowed towards the waist. A plunging V-neckline emphasised the tapering, and a slight billowing at the shoulders gave a hint of padding. The shape fitted her perfectly, and the ruby colour brought out the red of her lips and cheeks. The neck was wide and showed the smooth skin of her shoulders and chest. The cleavage it revealed was subtle and inviting and, with the V-neck and the narrowing waist, it was impossible for the eye not to be drawn from her face down towards it. As she stood straighter she felt the fabric tighten slightly over her breasts, and the cut below brought it back to highlight her thin waist.

  This was the one.

  But it is rather low cut, she thought. Doubts began to form, but resolve took over. No. You look good. You can do this.

  She pulled the top over her head, put it on the hook and started to reach for her blouse. The tight collar and the faded white held no appeal and she felt a twinge of sadness at having to dress in "nice" clothes again, let alone then pulling the baggy sweater over the top. Maybe I could wear the new top? she thought. But no, this was a special purchase, for tomorrow night. And besides: it would be a waste as no-one would be able to see it beneath her coat in any case…

  Now there was an idea.

  Oh dear, Susan giggled. Well, it was just a bit of fun, wasn't it? If she kept her coat buttoned, who would know what she had on beneath it? Or know that it was nothing except her bra? And knickers of course, she reminded herself. And besides, her cleavage did look good, and the coat would show just enough neck to hint at it.

  She took another look in the mirror, as she stood there in her faded bra and knickers. It was decision time. Before she could change her mind she stuffed the old blouse and sweater into the bin in the corner of the changing room and took her coat off the rack. Okay, now just be careful, she said to herself as she buttoned the coat from top to bottom and tied the belt around her waist.

  She looked in the mirror again. There were a few inches of calf visible below the hem of the coat, but this was still "nice" Susan looking back at her. What leg you could see looked good, but you couldn't see the curve of the calf line, or the smoothness of the skin as it ran up to the knee. She bent down and undid a button, and then another. If she pushed her right leg forward the coat split to a couple of inches above the knee, but no more. It certainly showed no more than the skirt would do.

  So what if people see a bit more leg as I walk? she thought. And she still had oversized knickers and a bra on beneath. Those would both pass for a nineteen fifties swimsuit with the amount they covered.

  The collar of the coat was tightly buttoned and felt restrictive compared to the freedom her legs now had. And besides, her neck and chest had looked good in that top, so what harm was there in showing just that much? "None at all" she said, slightly too loudly as she undid the top button. That's better, she thought, but the collar flapped untidily. One more button, and then I can fold the collar down.

  She did so and formed the top of the coat into a V-shape, mimicking the top she had chosen. She stood straight and looked back at the mirror, at her leg disappearing into her coat, and at her smooth skin framed by the coat's collar. She felt more feminine than she had ever felt, and stronger than she had felt for years.

  Susan picked up the tops and, after pulling the curtain back, strode up to the assistant, who was still busy on her phone. "Just this one please," said nice Susan, "and you can put the rest back for me," she followed, barely recognising herself. The teenager started slightly, and then remembered just in time that she was being paid to be there and took the instruction without complaint. She looked at the woman in front of her. Was her top this low-cut when she came into the shop? It must have been.

  Susan walked out of Top of the Tops with the bags containing her new skirt and her new ruby top. The door closed behind her and she stopped as shoppers passed by on the pavement in front. Look at me everyone, she thought, I'm only wearing underwear under this coat. No-one could know, but was it her imagination or had she just caught the eye of that man as he passed?

  Time for a break, I think. This half-naked shopping is hard work. Susan smiled to herself. There was a coffee shop across the road so she started to make her way over. She could move quickly in her flat shoes, but suddenly the quiet provincial high street seemed busier, and the car bearing down on her was travelling faster than she'd thought. She took a long stride to get out of its way and felt the bottom half of her coat as it opened almost as far as the waist. As she looked around the driver's eyes were wide. How much could he see? she wondered. No matter, I'm miles from home and no-one here knows me.

  She took shorter steps for the rest of the crossing and went into the coffee house. "Coffee Effete" was the café's name. I don't get it, she thought, but then not everywhere had to be a pun. It was still a bad name: did they even know what "effete" meant?

  Susan reached for the door and caught a sight of her reflection in the glass. Oops, showing a bit much there. Her scuttle across the road had unsettled the top of her coat and the edge of her bra strap was showing. She readjusted quickly, tightened the coat's belt so it pinched closed around her body and went inside.

  A young man heard the door bell and came over to greet her. As he came towards her she saw his eyes flicker towards her neck and chest before dilating slightly as he concentrated on looking her in the eye whilst trying to keep the smooth skin of her neck in view. He was probably fifteen years her junior and the attention gave her warmth inside.

  "Let me take you to a table" he said with a hint of an accent that was possibly Spanish or Italian. The warmth grew again and Susan coloured slightly.

  "May I take your coat?" he asked. The colour in her cheeks grew stronger. "Er, no, no… thank you. I'll keep it," she stumbled over the words. Do I look like I want to sit and drink coffee in my underwear? she wanted to say. Maybe she should… what would the reply be?

  "Very well. What would you like?" he asked as she sat down, carefully shepherding the coat around her legs lest it open to the waist again.

  I would like you to know that I'm dressed only in underwear beneath this coat, she thought.

  "I'd like a cappuccino please, and a slice of carrot cake," she said.

  "Prego." That sealed it: he was Italian, or possibly just very good at pretending to be. Was the slight nod of the head that accompanied the word little more than a chance to try to peer beneath the top of her coat? Susan self-consciously tidied her collar again, but it was fine. Remember, it's revealing no more than the top you'll be wearing tomorrow night, she reminded herself.

  She saw her waiter – yes he was "her" waiter – talking to the barista and gesture in her direction. There was something other than the relaying of an order in that gesture, she was sure. It was something mischievous. It was flattering to be seen that way after such a long time, especially by two much younger men. Did they guess as to her current state of undress? No, they couldn't possibly do so.

  The cappuccino and cake came, but was not accompanied by a flirt this time. A group of younger girls were now the main distraction for the waiter – who was no longer "her" waiter – and his barista friend. She was okay with that; she knew that men were fickle, and she was only having some fun herself. She could always guarantee some more attention by taking her coat off. Although, she realised with a sigh, there was just as much chance of her faded underwear drawing amusement as lust.

  But this was fun inde
ed. Careful, she thought, you don't want to get to much of a taste for this kind of weirdness.

  Although, was this weirdness? It felt too good to be weird. She felt like Marilyn Monroe, or as if she were on the catwalk showing off the latest lingerie collection. She would walk to the end, open her coat and strike a pose, and the cameras would flash. Except the cameras wouldn't flash, not whilst she was wearing this drab underwear beneath the coat, and if they did the images would soon be deleted.

  That was what was missing. Tomorrow night she wanted to feel sexy again, and to feel sexy she not only had to look the part but had to feel as if she was living it through and through. There was bound to be a lingerie shop along this stretch of shops.

  Susan paid for her coffee, picked up her bags and left the cafe with the next target in mind.

  She looked up and down the street at the various signs. "Going Swimmingly" – that'll be swimwear then. "Gone Nutty" – that looks like a health food shop. "Stocking Filler" – held promise from the name, but it turned out to be a small gift shop. And then it sparkled, like a jewel in the crown. "Of Corset Is". Is it an underwear shop? Of course it is! Susan completed the joke for herself. Again, it was already not funny.

  Susan looked through the shop window at the faceless mannequins dressed in stockings, suspenders, bras with enough wire to leave scars for life, and knickers that may as well not be there. She didn't hold out much hope now that she had seen it up close, but possibly they had something more tasteful inside. She couldn't see past the mirrored glass behind the window display so would have to go in to find out.

  As she went to push the door, again she noticed in her reflection that the collar of her coat had shifted sideways and her bra strap was showing again. Damn that thing, she thought, I don’t want an old bra spoiling the neckline of my new top tomorrow night.

  She adjusted the collar, and then knew instantly what she needed for tomorrow: she would buy a strapless bra. Something that would give lift and shape, but no annoying straps to show. With new resolve and a clear goal in mind she went into the shop.