Face the Fear
By Merz
A Man Confronts the Woman of His Nightmares 


My Dad said I should always face up to my fears. He said it was always better
to get the crap beat out of me by a bully at school than to live with the fear
of what that might be like. The pain could never be as bad or last as long as
what our imaginations did to us if we didn't face up to what scared us. I call
her the Queen of Darkness, and she scares the hell out of me. I called her
that once to my wife, who told me she was really a nice person. That was the
scariest thing I'd ever heard, that my tough little wife liked the woman and
she likes my wife. I suspect they slept together, and that she could have my
wife again just for the asking. I wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. I
wouldn't dare.

My brother Ernie met her first. He's about twice my size and strong as an ox.
He told me one reason he did well in weight lifting competitions was because
of thinking what she might do to him if he came home a loser. He said he made
sure he never found out. I don't think there's another person on earth who can
scare Ernie, and he breaks out in a cold sweat whenever he's around her now.
He told me about how she defended his honor in a bar once. Some guy with a
little posse behind him and a gun bulging under his jacket made a crack to
Ernie. Ernie wasn't scared, but he could see it was the wrong place and the
wrong odds to come on like Rambo. She waited on Ernie for about half a second
and then literally kicked the guy's teeth in. Ernie said it happened so fast
he didn't know she planned to do anything and suddenly she had high kicked
like a Rockette. Standing there flat footed she kicked the guy right in the
chin and dropped him cold. The rest of the gang kind of lost interest and just
dragged their guy away.

She and my sister are best friends. To me that's the ultimate Yin and Yang
pair. I worship my sister. I think she's the sweetest person on earth, yet she
hangs out with that woman. Maybe it's a fascination with the dark side. My
sister's a lawyer and used to work criminal cases, defending real low-lifes.
Maybe she misses the edginess of working with people who would murder their
own mothers for a buck and who don't let laws have any effect on what they do.
I'm certain my sister's slept with her, too. As good a Catholic as was born
but even she couldn't resist that woman. My sister has been blind from birth,
but always before she seemed to be a good judge of people. She was the first
one in my family to really reach out to my wife, when we were just engaged and
when everyone else thought Julie was some kind crazy steroid addict. My sister
recommended we look up her friend for help with some purchases. That was all
the opening that woman needed with my wife. I guess I'm the only one in my
family who hasn't slept with her, but that is one fear I'm not up to facing.

Not that she's a criminal. I've never heard that and never seen her do
anything illegal. Stuff I have seen her do, though, happens like she isn't
even aware there are police to protect people and she can't see any way to
handle trouble except the most direct one, no matter who gets hurt. Sometimes
she's the one getting hurt, at first. The last time I saw her, back at
Christmas, she had a broken nose because a guy hit her. She finished it by
putting him in the hospital, and he had been a real tough thug involved with
drug dealing. Kind of an enforcer. He's probably glad he got the chance to go
directly from the hospital to jail instead of being out where she might get at
him again. One of his buddies wasn't that lucky and ended up with a broken
neck. She claimed she wasn't the one who did the guy in, but she wouldn't name
any other possibilities and I don't know who else would have done it. Half a
dozen of these crooks were just busted to pieces and my wife said she hadn't
done any of it. That would leave just my blind sister and her. Imagine, one
woman doing all that. My wife's a tough woman, like I said, and the strongest
woman I've ever seen. But it sounds like Julie was just left warming the bench
that night while she took care of business.

Jeez, I haven't been this scared in years. But I have to go in and get it over
with.

"Good morning, Dr. Hunt. It is nice to see you once more. We have been
expecting you. Please go right back. She will talk with you in her office."

The Hispanic woman out front always reminds me of the high priestess in the
temple. We had visited the shop when my sister sent us but I hadn't been in
her office. It's cluttered and messy with magazines and clothes samples piled
all over. The desk takes up half of the little room with a credenza behind it.
There's a coffee pot and a hot plate on the credenza, dangerously close to
more fabrics and catalogs. She was sitting behind the desk, with its piles of
magazines and papers, in a big leather office chair. For some reason the
lights were low. I remember the scene in Silence of the Lambs where Clarice
meets Lector in jail and he's standing there like he had been waiting for her,
like he knew exactly when she would arrive. In my case I had left a message
about the day, but I hadn't made a regular appointment. Still, she acted like
this was the exact moment she knew I would walk in. Her hungry smile didn't
flicker as I stopped in the doorway, then gradually felt myself sucked inside.

"Welcome. Such a pleasure to see you again. Your message sounded so urgent, I
hope everything is all right at home? Your wife, I understand, is working for
the fire department now. She didn't come with you?"

She stood to extend her hand and give me a firm grip and shake. She's as tall
as I am, but always seems even taller. She wore tight slacks, a red top and a
short jacket buttoned halfway up. Her desk lamp was the only light and her red
hair seemed to be smoldering in the shadows, like her eyes. She pointed me to
a chair on her side of the desk. We both sat. She stretched her long legs in
front of her and slid down in the chair, watching me over fingertips tented in
front of her face. I've seen cats study mice from a posture just as relaxed,
then pounce faster than the eye can follow.

"No, she's working at the firehouse for a couple days. I kind of snuck out of
town while she's sleeping over at the station. We talk by cell phone so she
won't even know I'm gone." My mouth was dry and my palms were getting wet. I
tried to find a sitting position that would hide how nervous I felt. Instead I
kept crossing and uncrossing my legs, crossing and uncrossing my arms.

"I didn't take you for the naughty sort who would go behind your wife's back.
Lovely though her back is. What is it you would like me to do for you?" The
question was out in the open now. I had to face this and get it over with.

"Her birthday is coming up. She doesn't have enough clothes. I think she
should have more things to wear, nice things."

"All women should have more. What sorts of things does she have in mind?"

"She doesn't seem to think about clothes much. Not as much as she should."

"Few women think as much about clothes as they should. What did you have in
mind, then?"

I swallowed hard. My collar felt tight. "Well, I really don't know anything
about women's clothes. I hoped you might have some suggestions. When we were
here before you came up with some terrific outfits for her."

She sat up straight in her chair and looked closely at me. "No, that isn't
what I asked. What did you have in mind? How do you like to see her? We'll
begin there and then I will ask how she likes to be seen. Start with naked. Do
you like to see her without any clothes? And does she like how she looks
nude?"

My face flushed so hot it seemed to be lighting up my corner of the dark
little office. "Well, er, um, she, um, that is, her body is somewhat unusual."

"Somewhat unusual?" She sat back again, eyebrows raised. "That still avoids my
question. Were you first attracted by her personality or by her appearance?
You really must talk to me if I am to help you."

"Well, I happen to like how she looks. Without clothes." I sat up straight and
stared defiantly at her. There - I had said it. Let her think what she wants
and be damned.

Her hungry smile broadened. "Congratulations, you have exquisite taste. Your
wife's body is unusual in the way of all my clientele, although perhaps a
little more so. Here we dress the unusual woman to either revel in her
strength or to put it into the background of a more complete personality. If
you had said her charming demeanor captured your heart I should have had you
locked away for your own good. Remember, I know her right down to the
skin--from when the two of you visited here before of course. Some of us might
know how to optimize her appearance but she hadn't a clue about softening a
rather prickly personality on a first meeting. If belligerence and danger was
your cup of tea I might have suggested baiting pit bulls as a safer road to
companionship, but you don't seem that type. Nor do you seem the type to take
a relationship very far based on sympathy. So you like looking at a woman with
arms nearly as big around as your legs. Has she accepted that yet? She seemed
self-conscious the couple of times I've seen her. Less so after your marriage
but still . . .Have you had her in a swim suit out in public?"

I looked at the floor. "No."

She swung her long legs up onto the desk and leaned back in her chair to stare
at the ceiling, hands behind her head, and let out a long sigh. Her thighs in
the snug pants looked strong like a dancer's. When she crossed her ankles I
imagined her legs closing like steel scissor blades. "That is a pity. I
thought we made progress at Christmastime, and maybe you just haven't had an
opportunity to find some sun or visit a pool yet. She does own a suit?"

"Um, no, I don't think she does. I'm not really sure."

"Oh dear. She'll need at least two, a one piece and a two-piece. I will need
to have her here herself when she selects the two- piece. That can be so
personal and would be something I would want to be directly involved with. I
wouldn't trust anyone else." I'll bet she would want to be there for that, and
I tried not to think about what her direct involvement might include. "But we
can come up with the one piece if you and I work together. Again, it's an
important decision so we would work up to it. Perhaps not today. We'll
conclude she is not comfortable wearing little or nothing in front of people.
Yet. Tell me about her underwear."

Again I felt my face flushing and my chest getting tight. "Her - her
underwear? What about it?"

Another long sigh as if she was working with a dull pupil in grammar school.
"As I said, I know her down to her skin. Is she still wearing the same sort of
underpants you do? At Christmastime I gave her a nice tiny pair to go with her
little dress, but what does she wear ordinarily? And under what circumstances
does she not wear any?"

I hung my head. "Yes, she mostly wears what she has always worn. She only
wears yours with the dress you gave her. I don't think she knows they could go
with anything else."

She sat upright again, poised to leap. "Right. I don't carry much in that
line. You must assert yourself today and find things you like in a proper
lingerie shop. Before you leave I will jot down her sizes and some
suggestions, and addresses of some good shops, but you must choose things you
would like to see her in and things that feel good to you. Before we move on,
may we settle the name thing? You prefer Joseph, don't you, rather than Joey
as I've heard your sister refer to you since we met. She is honestly trying to
change. You have to know that if she slips and uses the other it is simply
from habit. She isn't capable of knowingly doing something you wouldn't like."

"I was Joey as long as she lived at home. It must have been right after she
moved out for college that I decided that was a name for a little boy, and
I've been Joseph ever since. Except for my family, apparently. It just sounded
more grown up back when I would have been sensitive to that sort of thing. I
have a lunch date at noon with my sister. I hope we can be done by then."

"Very well, Joseph. How long we take depends on how trusting you are, and how
adventurous. I will make sure you make your lunch date, but that may only be
our interval. Now, your necktie is silk, isn't it? Please take it off. And the
jacket. We'll hang the jacket behind the door here. Now roll up your
shirtsleeves." Disobeying didn't enter my mind. I followed her instructions as
quickly as I could. She studied a file folder from a drawer in the desk,
grabbed some squares of fabric, then walked around and stood close in front of
me. "Now show me your wrists. Here is your silk tie, and here is what it would
feel like if it were wool. Silk. Wool. Which would you rather have against
your most tender skin? Now here are a couple grades of cotton. And finally
this is tweed wool and this is cashmere." She was grabbing up fabric samples
and slowly drawing them across my wrists at the same time staring deep into my
eyes. My breathing came faster and I fought against a tremble in my hands.
"You see? One can easily tell the difference. Imagine the difference where the
skin is even more tender and sensitive than in the wrists. I think you get the
idea. Cotton boxer shorts simply won't do for your wife. Now let's begin.
Please come with me."

She pulled off her own jacket and hung it next to mine on a hanger behind her
door. I was stunned to see her top left two thirds of her upper body bare. The
halter was cut to follow the line of her buttoned jacket, so the bottom
started a couple inches below her breasts at the side, then angled down in a
point to her belt line. I never said she wasn't attractive, and I knew from my
sister she keeps herself in incredible condition. But this top accentuated her
well-muscled arms and back and gave hints of a set of abdominals I've heard my
brother and sister talk about. Apparently she's quite vain about having a
stomach as defined as an ice cube tray, but she's able to laugh along when
they tease her about it. With the jacket on she had looked stylish and
professional. Without it she looked predatory and dangerous. She walked
briskly out of the office. "Carmen, we'll need some privacy. Please give us
some warning before letting anyone back to the fitting area." I hurried to
catch up, noting the hard leanness of her arms, the smooth bulge of her
deltoids out of the sleeveless top, the high, tight rear above those long
legs.

She paused at the counter. "Perhaps you would like to run your credit card
now, rather than later, so we can just have an account open as we work this
morning. You might consider setting up a longer term account so you or your
wife can simply call if you would like us to ship something to you." I fumbled
out my billfold and she ran the card, handling it with an expression I've seen
some women reserve for fine chocolates. If she ran her tongue over the plastic
I was sure the experience would be sensual for her and was apt to cause
premature spurting from my credit card. I tucked it safely away as soon as I
had it back in my hands. She motioned me back toward some dressing rooms where
she had fitted Julie when we had been here before, then she spoke briefly with
the Hispanic woman and followed me.

"You will need to purchase something similar to these two brassieres. Yes,
both."

"But my wife isn't what you would call well endowed. She frequently doesn't
wear one at all. I'm not sure she really needs these." Ignoring my protests
she began unwrapping one, the other being already out in the open. I noticed
the price tag on the second one and gasped thinking about the cost per square
inch of nearly transparent fabric.

"Both." She drilled me with a firm look that ended my protests. "Take off your
shirt. I will help you to understand." She wasn't requesting and I quickly
began complying. "Your wife is in the same league as me in that department,
and we're only a little ahead of you. It's time she learned her breasts have
the happy ability to bring pleasure to those around her as well as to herself,
and that her pleasure in them doesn't need to wait until you've undressed her.
Good, no undershirt to worry about. This is one of those miraculous creations
some man with a degree from MIT must have designed. It lifts and separates,
squeezes and shapes and will set off every metal detector in a four block
radius."

Before I knew what was happening she had stepped behind me and reached around
with this black bra. She had it snapped in place before I could take a breath,
and then her hands were kneading and massaging my chest. "Very nice, very
nice," she was murmuring into my ear. Then she stopped and pivoted me to face
a full-length mirror.

"Voila. More miraculous than water into wine." I followed her gesture and
stared at my reflection. The bra was shoving all the loose skin and relaxed
muscles on my chest upward and out. All of a sudden I was showing a modest but
distinct bust. "Your dear wife has a little more to work with than you do, so
you may imagine the effect this sort of device would have on her figure. There
are times a woman simply has to get men to stare at her chest, times when the
objective justifies extreme measures." She was admiring my image in the mirror
as I again went through my full range of coloration. Then she reached behind
me and released the strap with a flick of a finger, a trick I wished I had
learned in high school.

"The ones I have seen your wife wear seem designed just to hide her nipples
and never wear out. Women wear those because as teenagers we were convinced we
had to wear something. They served no real purpose for small breasted women,
just for the easily embarrassed men around us so we tended to spend as little
as possible on one that would last forever. That first one will perform the
opposite function, especially in the presence of men with acuity for breasts.
It is designed as a performance piece, just the opposite sort of performance
her current one produces."

As she talked she was slowly circling me, carrying the other bra draped over
her shoulder and twice walking around behind my back. I got a tingle of
excitement I didn't understand until I realized she had stepped in close and
was breathing hot on my bare back. Her hands came around to cup my chest on
either side, holding me so gently at first I thought it was her hot breath
again. She starting a rhythmic caressing as she purred into my ear. She slowly
nudged me over to a chair in the middle of the floor surrounded by the
dressing rooms and eased me down into it. Now she was wrapped over the top of
me, still fondling my chest and letting her hair tickle my ears. She began
licking my chest, nuzzling my nipples as I became so aroused I felt I would
explode at any second. Every fiber of my being wanted to fight back, to make a
stand instead of letting her drag me down without a struggle. Almost every
fiber, I guess, because I just sprawled there, gripping the arms of the chair
while she took me right to the brink of orgasm or unconsciousness.

Then she was rubbing the softest, most creamy fabric across my chest, as light
as her hot breath, tantalizing me further as she extended this agony of
unreleased passion. Rubbing and slowly sliding the cloth across my chest she
let the gossamer cloth replace her own hands gently stimulating my small
nipples. Her breathing was coming faster and mine was keeping pace with hers.
My heart was pounding. "Quickly now, slip it in," she was gasping into my ear,
and I realized she meant my arm. I slid it through the strap she was holding
up, then the other arm and she wrapped both her strong arms around my chest
and hugged me close against her and the chair. She slid her hands back around
my chest to secure the little clasp, then practically collapsed on top of me.

"Oh, yes, isn't that wonderful," she whispered, rubbing my chest again through
the spider web fabric. "Here, put your shirt back on. It sounds like Carmen is
bringing someone back here." She hurriedly thrust my shirt at me and stepped
around in front of me again. She caught my hands and helped me back to my
feet, my heart still racing. It raced faster as I saw her taut arms bulge with
the effort of pulling me up, and I realized she had the strength to lift me
right off my feet if she chose. She got my shirt buttoned faster than I could
have managed, then tucked it smoothly all around, giving me a conspiratorial
smile as she slid her hands down over my butt and then once again down the
front of my pants just a little deeper than tucking a shirt usually requires.

She turned in time to politely greet the Hispanic woman and a shopper carrying
a leather dress to the dressing rooms. The new woman was at least six and a
half feet tall with a shaved head. The shopper craned down to exchange a hug,
her enormous hand covering half the bare back. Again I saw the arms and
cannonball deltoids flare, the muscles of the lean back clench and creep with
pleasure beneath the stroking hand. I turned away to look attentively at a
display of blouses as she did a little turn to show off her halter-top and the
physique it spotlighted. Behind me I heard a murmur of voices from the trio,
then a muffled moan and the sound of the dressing room door banging shut.

While I was composing myself she stepped to the counter and returned with a
folded cloth bundle. "Here's something I just received. A former employee sent
it from Africa. It's called a Kanga and wraps around like a kilt. She says men
and women both wear these. That is common in many cultures. I think it would
be perfect for your wife to wear around the firehouse when she isn't in
uniform. She'll possibly be the only woman amid all those men and may need to
exercise all the discretion she can manage."

She spread out the large ornate fabric for me to see. "Julie and I were in
Africa ourselves not long ago, right after she got her EMT certificate. We
volunteered in a rural health clinic. I have seen Kangas before. This one is
beautiful."

"Oh, good. Then you can appreciate how convenient it could be. She can let it
cover everything from her waist to the ground, or fold it shorter if she
wishes. She can put on or take off other garments beneath this wrap without
revealing more than the other fire fighters' wives might wish her to. It will
be attractive and practical in that setting. Since you are familiar with it
you won't be embarrassed if I invite you to try it on? Few men would be secure
enough, but I believe you are exceptional." She tilted her head and fixed me
with a look that seemed to dare rather than demand. I met her look, then
nodded my acceptance of the assignment. I retreated into one of the dressing
rooms to exchange my trousers for the Kanga, noticing that only the feet of
the tall shopper were visible beneath the door of the room she had retreated
to. The toes curled and flexed spasmodically.

"Perfect. You got the twist at the waist just right to hold it securely in
place without chafing at all. Now, one of the inviolable principles in my shop
is that I will sell no garment that will not allow the wearer to run in it.
You've made this a bit too snug as it goes down so you really don't have the
leg room you should." She stepped behind me, reached in front and adjusted the
Kanga. "There. Much better. Why don't you slip your shoes back on and walk
around in it for a bit, to get the feel. Oh, and one more adjustment."

Quick as a snake she reached in through the opening in the side and hooked her
finger in the band of my under shorts. Before I could blink she jerked them
down to my ankles. "Please step out, if you will." Blushing yet again I
stepped. She picked them up between thumb and forefinger and tossed them into
the dressing room onto the chair with my slacks and closed the door. I was
speechless as she stood in front of me, inches from my face with that pleased
smile. "Better? Freer? This is one of the secrets of womanhood I probably
shouldn't be revealing to a man. Go ahead and walk around. Having the open air
moving around our privates with no danger of exposing ourselves is so
liberating, don't you agree? The Scots definitely knew what they were doing,
and the Africans. My question on when your wife chose not to wear underwear
was a serious inquiry. If she's as smart as I believe she will recognize the
potential this has." She linked arms with me and walked close at my side into
the main shopping area. Her hip was just brushing mine, her firm bare arm was
against my arm and she chatted amiably as she steered us past some displays of
sweaters and trousers and dresses she said we would need to consider.

"Now, tell me about your nipples. Have you been aware they are being caressed
in the sort of luxury that ordinarily you would receive only from an attentive
partner? Think of the pleasure Julie will get from wearing that sort of
garment. It will be your job to assure it is you she associates with that sort
of treatment when she wears it, rather than anyone else in the world."

I had forgotten the lacey, nearly nonexistent bra she had tricked me into
wearing. A torrent of emotions crashed inside me. First, I was aware how nice
it felt, as soft and sexy on my chest as her breath and gentle hands had felt
before she slipped it on. Then I realized I had been wearing a bra for fifteen
minutes and forgotten completely about it being there under my shirt. Anger
and embarrassment replaced the pleasure of that invisible caress.

"Damn it, that's enough. I demand some respect here or I will take my business
elsewhere. I just want to buy some decent clothes for my wife, not be
humiliated. I'm going back to get properly dressed before I take another
step."

She gave another long sigh. "Of course, we'll go right away. I mean you only
the utmost respect, as with all my clients." She fidgeted and reached around
to her back, then turned away from me. "May I ask a tremendous favor first? I
have a maddening itch here between my shoulder blades that I can't reach.
Would you be so kind as to give it a scratch? You have my humblest apologies
if I have done anything that might have caused embarrassment."

To show I had no hard feelings I reached to give her back a scratch where she
indicated. At my touch she arched and gave a soft groan of pleasure. The
muscles along her spine came awake, stirring like thick snakes beneath my
fingers, the movement and warm density hypnotizing me as my hand wandered
farther over the bare flesh she presented to me. Too late I recognized my
attentions resembled those of the tall bald woman. Then I recalled that after
paying attention to this same rippling back the tall woman had spent much
longer locked in the dressing room than a simple change of clothes would
require. My mind spun at the insight and at the danger this woman would arouse
me and take advantage of my weakness. Part of me didn't care about the risk,
but I was determined to fight back. She wouldn't be getting me back to that
dressing room this easily.

"Oh, thank you," she murmured. That was such a relief. I don't remember where
we were about to go, but let's move quickly to complete your choices. This
cashmere sweater, V-neck to call attention to her marvelous chest when worn
with either of the bras or over nothing at all. If I may demonstrate, it will
fit snugly and give a nice streamlined look on her physique when she is
relaxed, like so, but if she chooses to flex, like so, I think you will agree
the effect will be quite dramatic." She slipped the sweater off again, then
exchanged it in the stack for one in Julie's size. I was startled by the sharp
bulge her biceps had given the smooth fabric, and the rippling muscles of her
torso as she had pulled the sweater off. I followed along in a daze.

"These stirrup pants will emphasize everything you like about her legs. Worn
with a top of the same color or with a wide band of the same color above her
waist the eye will be drawn upward and won't notice her legs are short in
proportion. Remember: the color of the pants must continue above her waist if
you don't want the length of her legs to be the first thing people notice.
This turtleneck will be more casual than the sweater, will go with the blazer
we sold her before, or under the sweater for that matter if temperatures are
cool. Again, form-fitting to bring out her very best qualities but not
revealing in any way that will embarrass her unless she chooses to display her
spectacular form. Finally, this evening dress. It straps over one shoulder,
exposes those wonderful shoulders and those fabulous arms of hers while
keeping her back modestly covered. I understand she is sensitive about some
marks there, which is why I need to work closely with her on the two-piece
swim suit. The dress will be perfect for any formal occasion you could wish
for. Now, if these are acceptable you had best go off to your lunch." She ran
her hand down my arm and stood close, looking into my eyes. "Give Betty my
best. We will have all of these wrapped by the time you return. I will enclose
Julie's measurements so you can have it fitted when you get home. And I will
have those notes about lingerie shops for you to visit and the things you
should ask to see. It is such a relief to deal with a truly decisive man.
Perhaps you should make another trip like this in a few months and I can plan
for next season's needs. Or send your wife here on a surprise shopping
weekend. I'm sure she would be thrilled."

I puffed up my chest a bit and met her gaze. I've boxed and know all about the
psych-out stare. She couldn't intimidate me this way. "Very well. I will check
the receipt when I return, Ms Davidson." I marched out of the shop and hailed
a cab to take me to my sister's office. Sinking back in the seat as we moved
into traffic I heaved a big sign of relief. I had done it. I had faced my
fears and shown her just what kind of a man she was up against.

* * *

"Betty? It's Kathy. Listen, love, your brother just left here to meet you for
lunch. I need to warn you that he'll be showing up wearing a skirt and a bra.
Yes, one of those nice lacey ones that feel like nature meant us all to feel.
Now he does. He looks splendid. Oh, and he left his wallet here with me so
you're buying. We've been shopping and may have just paid my rent for the
month. No, I did not take advantage. Well, not much. Everything was retail
with no additions and nothing that Julie won't look scrumptious in. After
lunch I'll persuade him that one or both of them needs to visit every three or
four months, so you can get more regular time with your family. One problem:
the name thing. He tells me he prefers Joseph because it sounds more grown up.
After this morning I may not be able to picture him as anything but Joey as
long as I live. I'll return his suit when he comes back, and his underwear,
but you understand I have to charge him for the bra now that he's worn it out
of the shop. No, I'm afraid her chest is several inches larger than his.
Unless he wears it home he's better off throwing it away before Julie finds it
and has to start asking questions. Yes, you enjoy your day, too. Let's get
together soon to compare notes on how the doctor handled a day of shopping.
Bye."