An Important Meeting

Saturday afternoon arrived with a strange heaviness in the air. The sky over campus threatened rain, and the light coming through the residence hallways was a dense, shadowy gray. I walked to Clara's room wearing my usual armor of protection: loose jeans and a gray sweatshirt three sizes too big that buried any trace of my curves under layers of cotton. My hands were cold and my palms were slightly sweaty from anxiety; although Clara had insistently summoned me for "an urgent matter," the mystery with which she had surrounded the meeting had my nerves on edge.

When I knocked on the door, Clara opened almost instantly. She was already groomed and made up with impeccable precision that highlighted her features, wearing a confident, feline smile.

—Finally, you're here. Come in and close the door —she said, stepping aside to let me pass.

Crossing the threshold, I stopped dead in my tracks. The room smelled of a dense, sweet perfume. Spread out across the bed from end to end lay a single garment that seemed to scream in the middle of the room: a black evening dress, ridiculously short and tight, made of a shiny Lycra fabric that reflected the scant light from the window. Beside it, folded with almost ceremonial neatness, was a new black thong, still with the tag on.

I swallowed, feeling my throat go dry all at once.

—Clara... what is all this? —I asked, pointing at the bed with a trembling finger—... Why is there a dress on your bed? And that?

Clara let out a soft little laugh, openly enjoying my bewilderment. She leaned back against the study desk, crossing her arms over her chest with a self-assurance that gave me goosebumps.

—Okay, easy, don't freak out —she said, lowering her voice to a confidential tone—. I just need you to come with me to a job interview. I promised I'd give you the details as we go, and I'd rather it be a surprise. It's something crucial for my future, but they required me to bring someone. You're my only salvation, Lola.

My eyes opened wide behind the lenses of my glasses. My heart did a wild somersault.

—A job interview? A surprise? —I repeated in a horrified whisper, feeling my face burn immediately—. Clara, you're crazy. You know perfectly well how I get with these things. I die of embarrassment without knowing where I'm going or who I'm going to see. I bury myself in these clothes precisely so I don't draw attention.

—You're not going to ruin anything —she interrupted immediately, taking a step toward me with a cold firmness in her eyes—. Besides, think about the locker room. If I hadn't shown up with my spare uniform while you were shivering naked behind the showers, you'd still be hiding there. I saved you from a massive public humiliation, Lola. The least you can do for me is trust me and come along without asking so many questions.

I bit my lower lip, feeling completely cornered by my own sense of gratitude. She was right. The debt of honor I felt toward her for having rescued me in the showers weighed on my chest like a yoke.

—But it's just that... I don't even know what kind of place we're going to —I stammered, desperately searching for an excuse to push back.

Clara widened her smile, took the black dress from the bed, and held it out to me with both hands. The fabric was soft, cold to the touch, and dangerously elastic.

—That's exactly why you're going to put this on —she said in a soft voice, a persuasive whisper that brushed my ear—. Don't ask anymore. This dress is mine, but on you it's going to trace every inch of your body in a divine way. And this other thing —she added, pointing at the black thong with her chin— is for you too. New, never worn. You wouldn't want to put on that dress with the underwear you're wearing, would you?

I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. The mere idea that Clara had thought about my underwear, that she had chosen a thong for me, sent a chill through me that I couldn't tell whether to attribute to modesty or something else.

—Clara, this is microscopic —I exclaimed, taking a step back and hugging my gray sweatshirt—. It's too short.

—It's what the place we're going to requires —Clara insisted, closing the distance and facing me with an intimidating elegance—. Take off that enormous sweatshirt. You gave me your word to help me, Lola. There's no turning back now. The bathroom is there —she pointed toward the door at the back—. Change in there if it makes you feel more comfortable. But hurry up.

The weight of my promise and the memory of her help in the locker room crushed my shoulders. I looked at the black dress and the new thong in my hands. I knew perfectly well what putting them on meant: the fabric would give no mercy, it would cling to my hips and press my chest without any containment, leaving the roundness of my breasts in view of anyone the moment we walked out the door.

I walked toward the bathroom with the garments pressed against my chest. I closed the door behind me and leaned against the wood for a second, breathing deeply. The bathroom mirror gave me back the image of a frightened girl, with violet hair falling over eyes that even she didn't recognize.

I undressed with slow, almost ritual movements. The gray sweatshirt fell to the floor, then the jeans, then the sports bra that was always so hard for me to take off. I stood for a moment in my underwear, looking at the new thong Clara had given me. It was black, made of fine lace, much smaller than anything I would ever have chosen. I breathed deeply, got rid of my usual underwear, and slid the new thong up my legs.

The lace adhered to my skin with a softness that made me tremble. It covered nothing, but the sensation was different from the pink thong in the locker room: this one was deliberate, chosen, almost a gift. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt my face burning.

With fingers trembling from adrenaline, I slid the black dress down over my body. The Lycra fabric adhered to my skin like a second layer, clinging mercilessly to my hips and pushing my unprotected breasts upward, making my nipples, stiff from nervousness and anticipation, stand out boldly under the fine fabric.

I came out of the bathroom with my arms crossed over my chest, trying to hide the impossible. Clara looked me up and down, smiling with absolute satisfaction at seeing my transformation.

—Perfect —she murmured, opening the room door—. Let's go, there's no time for explanations. You'll find out when we get there.

A deep warmth, guilty and electrifying, began to ignite in my belly as I took the first step toward the hallway, blindly, completely exposed under that tiny black dress and ready to face the unknown at her side.