A sexy clubbing outfit

When you get back inside your house you shed Melanie's yellow rob and toss it onto the arm of one of your family's couches. You walk nude through the house, ignoring any open drapes or blinds and privately hoping someone like Mr. Wood will catch a glimpse when pass a window. Before heading upstairs to your bedroom you down a glass of orange juice to give yourself a bit of energy. The clock on the microwave reads 12:15, giving you over four hours to shop and get dressed up for the party tonight.

You take a relaxing shower, scrubbing away the residue of your hot encounter with Mrs. Cleft. By the time you're done you smell like peach body lotion and you feel like a new girl. You wrap yourself in a towel and head into your bedroom to select your outfit for your shopping trip.

You briefly consider one of your matching sweat suits for convenience in the changing room, but you figure you might get thrown out of an upscale joint like The Couture Club if you don't put in at least a little effort. Formal is too lame, casual might work but you're thinking something a bit sexier. You slide your everyday outfits aside in the closet and browse your collection of clubbing clothes.

Ah! One of your favorites catches your eye. A pair of barely-there brown mini-shorts that accentuate your toned butt and cling so tightly to you that they feel painted into your crack and onto your pussy. They don't even entirely cover your ass cheeks, but that's what the matching white pleated mini-skirt is for. It gives you a little more modesty, or at least decency, when you want it, but can be flipped up easily to let you grind on a hot guy or girl.

The top that goes with the outfit is a button-up brown shirt that cuts off just below your breasts. You call it your "UPS shirt" because of the color, but you doubt it would meet that company's dress code. Lastly, you choose a minimalist black thong, barely more than a string around your waist, between your cheeks, and a patch that sort of covers your little cunny. A black satin and lace balconette bra that lifts your breasts without overdoing it completes the outfit.

You intentionally open the pink drapes covering your twin windows. Your room has a view of Mr. Wood's house and sure enough the old man is sitting in a lawn chair in his yard and watering his grass. You wait until you're pretty sure he's looking right at you before dropping the towel, exposing your D-cup breasts to the old man. The hose falls from his grasp and you giggle.

You dress, keenly aware of Mr. Wood's eyes on your teenage body. You bend over and nearly press your ass against your window when you are putting on your panties. You spend extra time fiddling with your bra exposed to his gaze and the street below. You drop things and adjust things and use any excuse possible to show off your ample assets and give the old divorcee a voyeuristic thrill.

When you're just buttoning the last buttons on your cutoff shirt you pretend to notice Mr. Wood watching, red faced, from his lawn. You wave to him cheerily and he waves back, uncomfortably covering his lap with his other arm.

You put on your most comfortable pair of heels, shove Mrs. Cleft's spending money into your tiny clubbing purse, and head downstairs.

You pause in the kitchen to put on a pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the bright summer sun. You put the top down on your red VW Jetta in the garage and pull out into the street. Mr. Wood is still staring so you give him a honk of the horn as you pull away.