Diana Off The Rack

The local mall had the usual assortment of department stores and women's clothing boutiques you'd expect. I suggested a couple of stores Diana vetoed for moral reasons -- as it turns out, Diana's acutely aware of things like sweatshop labor conditions. But that still left plenty of places to shop.

"Why are we doing this again?" Diana asked, as we looked over a rack of blouses.

"Because you should have clothes to wear when we go out," I said, considering a royal blue ribbed sweater.

"I do own civilian clothes," she said, considering some off-white button downs. "I'll know to bring them, next time."

"I know -- but maybe the idea that you have some clothes at my place -- that you only wear on these weekends -- appeals a bit."

She half-smiled. "You're very conscious of symbolism, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but you like that about me."

She considered a moment. "That's true," she said. "All right then. We should also look at hair clips and the like. A hair band or two would be best. You'd be surprised at how much a hair band changes my appearance."

I smiled, selecting the sweater. "You're right. But let's have you try this on. And something off the jeans rack."

"I would have thought red," she said, accepting the sweater. "You seem to like me in red." She smiled, a bit coyly.

"Your face over a red top? I think that would tempt fate a bit, no matter how skilled you are at disguise."

She shrugged, walking across the aisle to the jeans rack. She thumbed through them. "Mm -- these. You'd be surprised how hard it is to find my size in most stores." She picked them up, and started back towards the changing rooms.

"Really?" I asked, grabbing a black tee shirt off a table and handing it to her. "You're telling me Wo-- that you don't meet the unrealistic standards of American beauty?"

"Doesn't that just say it all?" she asked, grinning. She accepted the tee shirt and walked to the attendant. "I'd like to try these on, please?" she said, smiling again. Which was one of the things I noticed about Diana. She was literally a princess, a goddess and a superheroine. You'd expect her to be overly proud, or smug, or act superior to the people around her. But she never did. Oh, she always had dignity -- always -- but she spoke to essentially everyone with respect, as equals. She never took a submissive stance -- not counting what we did back in my apartment -- but she also never tried to dominate people, whether they were employees of a store or passers-by.

Well, that's not entirely true. She absolutely took control of any crisis, and certainly 'dominated' criminals. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I stood, waiting. There was another guy waiting nearby, shoulders slumped in the 'I'm bored' position. He looked up and caught my eye. "Waiting for your girl to try on clothes?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, closed it, and thought. "Something like that," I said. In one sense, Diana was my girl, at least during these weekends, but there was still something uncomfortable about calling her that.

He chuckled. "Curse of the guy," he said. "It's the worst, isn't it?"

"Actually... I'm enjoying myself. In fact, this was my idea."

He rolled his eyes. "Riiiight."

Diana stepped out. She had a good eye for jeans -- they had enough slack in the legs to be comfortable, but they hugged her hips. The sweater clung very nicely, without straining. You could see a hint of the silk scarves wrapped around her bracers peeking out from under the cuffs, if one looked at her wrists, and no one who could see the statuesque brunette was looking at her wrists. Her eyes flicked to me, then to the other man, then back to me. "What do you think," she asked, turning profile and arching slightly, a hint of a smile on her face. The sweater had a scoop neck, and at that angle and pose the jeans just accentuated her butt.

"I... think we should get those," I said, swallowing. I knew she was using a touch of those 'blessings of Aphrodite' to guide her pose, but I was entirely okay with that.

She smiled. "Do you now? Excellent. I'll go try on the tee shirt." She turned on her heel, walking back into the changing room with just the right swivel.

I stared for a moment at the closed door, then looked back at the other man. He was slack-jawed, then swallowed hard. "You said this was your idea?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good call."

We ended up getting three tee shirts of different colors, the sweater and the jeans. It was a start. She wore the jeans and the sweater out of the store. I paid -- there wasn't much choice. It's not like Diana carried a wallet or purse. I wondered how she handled such things while on the job.

"Is that all there is to it," she asked as we walked through the mall.

"Oh no," I said. "We should get you some shoes next. Both sneakers and heels--"

"I don't recommend that," she said. "Shoes are... an issue."

"An issue?" I looked over at her. "Why?"

"Well," she considered for a moment. "You know how when you're flying somewhere over three hundred miles an hour before you do a mid-air flip and land straight-legged hard enough to cause a local tremor, knocking your opponent off balance?"

I blinked. "No."

"Neither do most shoe manufacturers."

"Ah... hah." Maybe it was a sign that I was getting accustomed to Diana's presence, but it was easy to forget just how different she was. Sometimes, anyway. Sometimes it was all you could think of. I looked around, and got a slight smile on my face as I saw Victoria's Secret. "Come on," I said. "I think I know where we're going next."

She arched an eyebrow, and followed my gaze. She colored slightly, and took my arm, stopping. "No, Thomas," she said softly. "Not there."

I looked back at her, my own eyebrows going up. "Excuse me?" I flushed as well. "Diana... there's no way you can't accept this as one of my fantasies."

She looked into my eyes, her expression serious. "I do, Thomas," she said, low enough so only I could hear. "And I will wear anything you ask me to. Corsets. Stockings. **** loincloths. Even one of Power Girl's spare uniforms. Anything." She looked over at the store. "But I promise you, there isn't a thing in there that would fit."

I stared. "You... said you had trouble finding things in your size, but..." I tried to think of how to put it, then gave up and just gestured at the store. "You can't tell me they don't have anything--"

"Maybe one or two bras," she said. "But you wouldn't like them. They assume women my height are slender, without significant muscle definition -- when they admit women as tall as I am exist in the first place. And I need a significantly larger cup than they accommodate. They're not really looking to cater to amazonian physiques." She looked back at the store. "I'm certain there are panties I could fit in there, but honestly, I don't like supporting establishments that strive so hard to set trends while accommodating such a small percentage of the market."

"Oh." I looked back at the store -- at the supermodel pictures in the window display. "Okay."

"I think I saw a Fredrick's down the corridor. They're not perfect about this but they're better--"

"No, I never much liked them. Their styles look... I don't know. Cheap."

Diana smirked.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing really. I'm just thinking of how many of my associates wear similar outfits as their work uniforms. Come on. There's a few other options if you're looking for lingerie that will work on me."