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  • Writer's pictureRoux Emory

Keep Quiet - Part One

Updated: Feb 11, 2022

I normally hate clothes shopping. But with Brielle, it’s a new world.


She grabs my hand and drags me through the racks until all time and space is lost. Amongst the silks and dreamy tulle, we’re eighteen again, as if shopping for prom dresses with my mom’s credit card.


Brielle met me at the coffee shop beneath my apartment. It was Saturday. She sat at my table and flashed her bright eyes that I swore were an unreal shade of purple. Said she was drawn to my Jupiter sticker—the orangey pink rainbow on the back of my laptop—stylized to look like a planet.


It wasn’t Jupiter, and I wondered if she was aware what it really meant. If she didn’t, I was more than happy to tell her. If she did, I was ready to make her mine.


Her chirpy voice spoke too fast for me to get a word in, but I leaned back and listened while sipping my latte, admiring every tendril of red hair that fell beside her face.


The sweetness of my drink added to the warmth in my chest as I examined her. Those cheeks are like cherries. She’s bubbly. On fire. Who is she?


“Oh, I’m Brielle, by the way,” she said, extending her hand.


I shook it. “I’m Kirstin.”


It’s Saturday again, only a week since we’ve met. Already, I can’t get enough of her. She’s stampeded into my life, but I can’t let her leave. Why we came to the dress department, I don’t know, but I don’t argue as she pulls out some selections.


“Look at this thing,” Brielle says, holding up a lime green atrocity covered in cheap sequins. “If I wore this to a dance, it would drive me insane.”


“I’d never put anything like that on my skin.” I stick out my tongue and close one of my eyes.


Her floral giggle makes my heart sing. “Wanna bet?”


“Bet what?”


“I bet I can get you to put it on.” She cocks a brow. “I’ll put on anything you pick out, and let you take a picture to humiliate me. But you have to wear this while you do it.”


I eye her the same way. “Seriously?”


“You’ll look better than you think. It’ll make your dark hair look awesome.” She steps toward me and runs her hand through my wispy bangs, clearing them off my forehead. “Not that it isn’t awesome already.”


I gulp and swear my heart skips a beat.


“So...you in?” She only shows half of her face when she smiles.


That’s an invitation. “Hell yeah, I am.”


I frantically search for something form-fitting. Her curves will show best if the back has a corset. I ignore price tags and look for short lengths. The pale tone of her skin will look best in deep blue, so while she wants me to embarrass her, I want to see her shine. For color, I have to sacrifice style. The perfect indigo gown flares at the bottom and zips up to what would be the nape of her neck. Sexy aside, it will be magnificent.


No, she’ll be magnificent. “I’ve got it. Where do we go?”


Brielle leads me to the changing room at the back of the store, which is a dead zone. Not even an attendant waits by the open hallway to a series of poorly lit stalls. The faint scent of stale cigarettes gives away how old the paint is—or maybe just the preferences of whoever came in before. She hands me the green dress and winks while taking the blue one.


Before I undress, I stare at myself in the mirror—it’s warped and makes me look a little taller. My straight brown hair hangs on my shoulders limply. My bare face begs for a spot of concealer to make me match her bright complexion. I take off my black T-shirt and keep on my bra, which is olive colored and won’t stand out much from the dress. My matching panties are already wet. I feel them sticking to my inner thighs when I pull off my jeans.


Hot damn. I can’t wait to see her.


“Hey, Kirstin?” she calls with a kitty-cat tone. “Are you almost ready?”


“Getting there, doll,” I say. The zipper on the lime monster is tricky, but my lanky arms can reach it well enough. My chest doesn’t fill it out completely, but the slender cut is more flattering than I imagined. The deep v-neck almost reaches my belly button, showing some of my tattoo of thorns, which spirals around my torso. “Now, are you planning to take a picture of me in this process?”


“Only if you want to. Okay, I’m coming out.” The creaking door of the fitting room beside me echoes off the eggshell walls.


“Me too.” I let out a quick breath and crack my door open to see her.


Oh, wow.


She twirls before the three-sided mirror at the back, admiring her figure. The mermaid style certainly does her justice, but it’s the way she glows under the otherwise gross lights that mesmerizes me. The blue somehow highlights her auburn freckles. Her eyes match it—I knew they were that color. She pins her hair up with a claw clip, exposing the back of her neck, where a trail of wispy red curls beckon me.


“Come on, what do you think?” she asks, knowing damn well my jaw’s on the floor.


“You, uh, you look amazing.” I lick my lips absently. “Where’s your phone?”


She points to her stall and I go in to fetch it. Bright red panties beside it stop me cold.


Dear lord, she took them off? Picking them up to see if she was wet would be too obvious, so I pretend not to see them when I come out and play Austin Powers with her camera. She poses and pouts in all the right ways, making both of us laugh and the atmosphere foggy.


I’m sliding beneath yet again with fresh cream. Oh, to feel you near me, sweet thing.


“Can I snap one of you?” Brielle asks, batting her lashes.


I sigh and give her a single pose with my eyes pointed high. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind her, my cheeks are bright red. Can’t hide it, can I?


But our fun is over. “Okay. Time to get out of this thing,” she says, passing me to go back to her stall.


I close my eyes for a mere moment. When they open again, she has her clothes bundled in her arms.


“Wait, what—”


“You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” she asks, dropping her pitch and her eyes. Brielle tosses her clothes, and her purse, and her phone, into my changing stall. When she walks in backward, her index finger curls to welcome me behind her.


Sweet Jesus.


I gulp before taking the few steps behind her. Scanning the floor, her panties stand out yet again. They’re on top of my jeans, like they belong there. Like she belongs in my hands.


Brielle reaches behind her neck and keeps her hair lifted while I lock the door behind us.


“Can you unzip me?” she asks with a grin in the mirror.


--

Stay tuned for Part Two, coming next week! Commentary might encourage me to post more sooner, fyi...


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