The Nude Option

Jenn’s reflection stared back at her like she’d just been asked to choose between public nudity and tax fraud.

Brave or stupid.

…Apparently the answer was both.

"Fine." Jenn exhaled. Valerie perked up like a golden retriever hearing the word walk. “But I want it on record that I am only making this decision because lingerie is overpriced and statistically unlikely to be seen.”

“Totally,” Valerie said, beaming. “This is fiscally responsible nudity.”

“It is not nudity yet,” Jenn hissed. “It’s… pending.”

Valerie was already behind her, lifting the Not-a-Dress off with gentle efficiency, like she was unwrapping an antique vase. Jenn stood once more in her tragically sensible underwear, clutching her arms around herself.

The dress was returned to its silk hanger like a sacred relic. Valerie turned back to Jenn with professional calm.

“Alright. Before we proceed, I have to remind you that I'm not allowed to leave you alone with the merchandise.’”

Jenn froze. “I know..."

Without ceremony, without grace, without a single neuron in her brain firing correctly, Jenn hooked her thumbs beneath her waistband. And shimmied her white cotton panties down. The crisp air of the dressing room, and the pointed gaze of Valerie, locked on to Jenn's naked ass. Standing bottomless in front of this woman more than ten years younger than her sent a shiver down Jenn's spine. But she wasn't done yet. Her bra followed, unfastened with trembling hands and flung onto the bench like it had betrayed her. Her perky tits bounces as they were freed.

A whimper of a breath escaped her as she realized. Jenn stood completely, horrifyingly, clinically nude.

Valerie did not gasp. She did not giggle. She clasped her hands behind her back like a tour guide at the Louvre.

“Perfect,” Valerie said warmly.