[center][h2]Playing Dress Up[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/kp8g0Xk.png[/img] [/center] They was right back at Vic’s. Lorraine pulled Abby up a narrow little back stairway tah a tiny apartment right over tha restaurant. “Not much biggern’ muh quarters on China Doll,” the deckhand said as ‘er host poured out kibble fer Elvis. “China Doll?” Lorraine cocked an eyebrow as she rinsed two glasses. ‘Sounds like a floating brothel. What’d you say your job was again?” “I told Cap’n same thing when ‘e hired me!” Abby chortled. “Lotsa stuff. Deckhand work, cleanin’, moppin’, scrubbin’ toilets…perty much whatever needs doin’.” She gazed about tha place. It’s all stacked up in boxes. Some labels she conjured. Others she took fer high toned sorta stuff what she ain’t never thought tah buy. One thing’s a certainty. Fer a waitress in a diner, Lorraine sure had bunches of it. “Whatja say yer job was agin?” she asked. “Oh,” her host moved toward a small cabinet behind a stack of crates labeled [i]Ginette’s of Londinium.[/i] “You mean all these boxes?” she asked. “I’m keeping ‘em for a friend.” An oversized bottle of vodka made its’ appearance, generous pours following ice cubes into two glasses. “Whattya mix with?” Lorraine looked up from her chore. Abby looked all askance. “Uh…Boom Boom Lemon?” she asked. “We drinkin’ already?” The spiky haired Lorraine popped a can, splashing the soft drink into what little space each glass had left. “Pre-gaming!” she said brightly. “You don’t look like you’re made of money, Cornflakes. Cheers!” After they clinked glasses, she took a healthy swallow. ‘Okay,” she waved her half empty glass toward Abby. ‘Now get naked.” ‘Whut?” Abby near spit out ‘er drink. “Why?” “Because,” Lorraine giggled as she grabbed one of Abby’s calves, “I’m gonna make you irresistible. Gimme that foot.” She snatched a shoe, pressing it sole to sole with the red hightop on her own foot. [i]”Ku!”[/i] she exclaimed before diving head first into an open box. Abby stood there fer a tick, one shoe on, one shoe off, seein’ only Loraine’s [i]pi gu[/i] as she tossed a pair ‘o’ shiny lace up boots over ‘er shoulder. “Those’ll work…hey! Get outta your clothes! Bathroom’s through there,” she pointed toward an arch just past Elvis as he went face down into his bowl. “You need a full shower, or just a three-P?” ‘Whut’s a three-P?” “Jayzus!” Lorraine exclaimed. “What’re they teachin’ you on that boat? Three-P! [i]Pi gu.[/i]” She gripped her bottom, followed by a slap to her underarm. “Pits! I’ll wager you’ve got the last one all sussed out by now?” Abby downed ‘er drink, more fer need ‘o’ courage than anythin’ else. “I copy,” she answered as her clothes commenced hittin’ tha floor. A few ticks later she come back out, scrubbed an’ clean from tha shower with a towel draped ‘round ‘er. Lorraine was there, her grin sorta frightenin’ as she shoved a fresh drink inta Abby’s hand. “I got you all set up,” she said. “You drink. Follow me.” She led the way to the apartment’s center. A large mattress lay on the floor, tousled blankets and sheets revealing this to be the waitress’ regular bed. Atop the tangle was a pair a pair of loosely arranged outfits. “That’s mine,” Lorraine pointed toward a rough looking cocktail dress of pink chiffon, accompanied by black elbow length opera gloves and a pair of the gleaming black boots. “And this,” she said proudly, “is yours.” Like Lorraine, Abby seen her own lace up boots. ‘Docs’, they’s called, though she ain’t got no clue why. They’s a skirt…dark red plaid what only reached part way ‘round, leavin’ ‘er left thigh an’ hip covered by a short black under skirt. They’s a belt strap sorta kep it all from flyin’ open. What Lorraine put our fer up top was…”A bra?” Abby demanded . “Jest a bra?” “It’s called a bustier, stoopid.” “I get it! Good thing I don’t got much goin’ on up there or it’d all come ‘boost-in’ right outta that!” Abby griped. Lorraine sipped her drink, the free hand resting upon her hip. “Cornflakes, ain’t yew jest a reg’lar knee slapper?” she teased, directing a slender index finger toward the clothes. “Put ‘em on,” she ordered, “and then tell me how amazing you look.” “Oughtta jest go nekkid,” the deckhand grumbled. “That’d look amazing, too.” And amazin’ it was. She ain’t never wore nothin’ like this afore. Lorraine helped with tha straps an’ buckles, til ever’thin’ fit just so. Short ‘o’ her unders, Abby never felt clothes what hugged ‘er so well as these. Skirt was high waisted, wrappin’ her midriff jest above ‘er belly button an’ givin’ her a tetch more look of hips. For a girl who never wore dresses…ever, she’s a tad bit shocked at how much leg she’s showin’. Even when she stepped inta them Docs, her thighs an’ calves still looked all long an’ such…and she discovered she liked it. The ‘boost-ee-yay’ was a right marvel. Abby knowed she was small in her breasts, but tha way this thing held ‘er showed that tah be a good thing. It didn’t give away nothin’ she wouldn’t want seen, but tha way it looked on ‘er was…was… “Sexy, huh?” Lorraine stood behind her, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face as she offered up another pregame drink. “Thank yew,” Abby took the glass, then turned before the mirror. “I never…” she said at sight of her own self, lookin’ so…fine? “I never…” “Now you know,” the waitress said as she leaned around to color the deckhand’s lips, “that you can. Here, hold still.” That lipstick was a dark red what looked tah match ‘er skirt. Abby couldn’t conjure what jest a little color might do fer a body, til she’s starin’ at herself. "[i]La shi,[/i] but I had nary a clue,” she sighed. “Hey, I fergot. I ain’t wearin’ no unders.” “Unders?” Lorraine giggled. “That some kinda redneck slang for panties?” “How ‘bout this?” Abby cracked wise. “I ain’t wearin no unders…you bitch. Capiche?” “Capiche…capiche!” the urbane girl laughed. “Look in that box over there. No, bumpkin, that one! La Petit Boutique. You look just barely like a size six to me. Try a five, first.” Inside tha box was all unders. Glistening silk, delicate lace, an’ even some cotton like Abby always wore…’cept they’s a rainbow o’ colors an’ patterns. She let ‘er fingers run through tha softness, her eyes wonderstruck at all the pretty. Abby weren’t ignorant that such frillies was in the ‘verse. But til now, she jest never give thought tah ownin’ somethin like tha tiny silk leopard ‘panties’ she pulled out. “These,” she said as she lifted ‘em up fer her new friend’s nod. “Why come all these still got price tags?” The girl she’d nicknamed “Bugsy” was all wide eyed innocence. “Do they?” she asked. “Gee, I dunno! Must’ve been like that when they fell off the truck!” “Yeah,” Abby give ‘er a knowin’ smile as she kicked off them boots. “That’s gotta be it.” In a moment she’d hiked ‘em up beneath tha skirt. “I like this lipstick,” she offered as she commenced puttin’ on an lacin’ up ‘er boots. “Don’t seem like it’s comin’ off.” Lorraine was now whirling out of her clothes. “The lipstick’s good for about a hundred kisses,” she snickered. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Cornflakes! People are gonna want to kiss you. Deal with it!” She grabbed a fresh towel and said “after I’m dressed, we’ll work on our hair. How’s about you mix us up another drink?” Abby’s painted lips hung open. “Another one? I’ma be drunk afore we get there!” “That’s the plan!”