The Taste of Lavender Read Free Page A

arms as she laughed—a lilting,
breezy sound. "Come now, we've got to catch you up." 
    She pulled me into an expensive boutique
and from the look of it, their target market was anorexic teens. I didn’t see a
scrap of fabric big enough to cover the important bits of myself.
    "Oh, I don't think..." I
started to protest.
    "Nonsense. Stay, I will select some
things for you to try." She pointed at the floor, effectively rooting me
to the floor.
    The look on her face was pure
determination and I didn't want to argue, so I waited for her choices and hoped
that I didn't look utterly ridiculous trying them on. I was right to be
concerned. Fashion must have translated to "skimpy" where she was
from.
    "Here." She handed me a
half-dozen monochromatic selections on silk covered hangars and practically
shoved me to the curtained dressing rooms.
    I sighed and headed to make a fool of myself,
feeling more and more butch with every step I took. I didn't even glance at the
clothing. I wanted to spare myself the agony of even considering how I'd look
in them.
    The first dress, a silky blue number
designed by the Marquis De Sade himself, took me a full five minutes to figure
out. It had numerous woven-things that were meant to pass as straps leading
into a low back with a tiny zipper. I managed to get it on, but no way was I
flexible enough to fasten it all the way.
    It was probably just as well. I was one
Super Bowl away from a wardrobe malfunction. I even tried tucking the girls in
better, but no luck. The dress was clearly meant for someone with a developed
chest.
    “How is it coming?” Maribel pushed back
the dressing room door and leaned in.
    Instinctively I crossed my arms over my
chest, frowning. “Not well.”
    “Turn, let me zipper you so we can get
the full effect.” she said.
    “No need. It's not my style. And where
would I wear something like this anyway?”
    “Nonsense. You look ravishing. And
remember, we are pampering ourselves. You deserve to feel as beautiful as you
look. Now, turn. Turn”
    Maribel entered the dressing room as I
faced the mirror. I suddenly felt even more than naked in the tiny
dress, if that was even possible. She smiled over my shoulder and I felt
Maribel’s hand on the fabric at the base of the zipper, precariously close to
my butt. I stiffened as she finished zipping me up, feeling slightly
claustrophobic and a little bit nauseous.
    “Relax, you look stunning.” Maribel
rested her hands on my shoulders. “Now let me see the dress.”
    I let my hands fall limp at my sides and
prayed my boobs didn't fall out from their precarious perch, while closing my
eyes. I couldn't look at Maribel as she looked at me in the mirror.
    “Yes, this dress was made for you,” she
said, tugging at the fabric here and there to test the fit. She smoothed the
dress over my hips. Adjusted the straps so they lay flat. Then pulled my hair
up and twisted it into an up-do. Long after she’d stopped touching me, I could
feel the faint trail of her fingers over my body.
    What the hell was wrong with me? Why did
Maribel affect me so? As I pondered the extent of my reaction to her touch, my
flesh raised in goose-bumps.
    “Cold?” Maribel laughed and nodded to
the mirror, where my headlights were a’flashing. Perfect, way to make things
awkward .
    “Now, I find shoes!” Maribel swept out
of the tiny changing room with a flourish, which is to say she was just being
herself. I was the one acting abnormal.
    I studied myself in the mirror while I
waited for whatever neck-breaking shoes she would return with. If I crossed my
eyes just the tiniest bit, I could almost see the beautiful woman Maribel
claimed to see. But almost didn't quite count.
    The door swung open, knocking me off balance.
I reached for the wall to steady myself as Maribel appeared at my feet. “Oh!” I
sputtered.
    “Put these on.” She held out a stunning
pair of spiked heels toward my feet, totally ignoring the fact that she'd
almost knocked me on my