Sundays were crazy days at the store. They were by far the oddest shopping day at Scarlett’s, far outweighing those traditionally looney shopping days of Christmas Eve and Valentine’s Day. Even weirder than horny full moon days, teenage modeling Saturdays and the day the Chippendale’s dancers come to town making a pit stop to shop at the store. I tried to take the day off as often as possible which some times just impossible. Since most of my staff felt the same and also liked to take this day off, I worked far more Sundays than I wanted.

Sundays were the day that drag queens and Baptist picketers were most likely to cross paths. The day that I was most likely to be told by the Baptist picketers that I would burn in hell for peddling smut and pornography. It was also the day before the former Baptist picketers would come into the store shopping for smut and pornography, dressed incognito in rain coats and sunglasses looking more like flashers than former Baptist picketers. It was a day that required extra caffeine and an economy sized sense of humor. A couple of good stiff drinks after the store closed didn’t hurt either.

Baptist picketed Sundays were always a lot of fun. The picket parade materialized about the time I would be relaxing into a potentially slow day, which is to say, about mid-afternoon, after church, of course. I would be lulled into a stupor by boredom yet humming along from the vast quantities of coffee I had already consumed.

Suddenly a flurry of activity in front of the store would catch my eye; a potential shopper was scuffling with Baptist picketers protesting in front of the store. A desperate lingerie shopping scab was trying to cross the picket line. YES! The day had suddenly picked up! How those sneaky Baptist picketers assembled so quickly without me noticing, I’ll never know. But there they were in their conservative Sunday picketing attire of polyester pants and collared shirts primly buttoned to the neck carrying handmade picket signs which read: SMUT PEDDLERS BURN IN HELL and JESUS LOVES PORNOGRAPHERS. For some reason I never connected the dots enough to realize they were referring to me with those signs. I think it had something to do with the vast majority of them shopping at the store the following day. They used the picketing as a scouting mission for tomorrows purchases. On their Monday shopping excursions they never tried to close down the store. I appreciated their financial support even if I didn’t receive their moral support, on Sundays anyway. It was nice to know they held back a little of their Sunday beneficence for the benefaction of keeping their local lingerie store in business. Mighty Christian of them.

Sunday was also the day that a nasty derogatory article about the store came out in the local paper. What I thought was to be a fluff piece about Hot Gifts For Valentine’s Day turned into a nasty barrage of words. Yes, I know, I was gullible to that sweet, young reporters charms. I’d been interviewed for fluff pieces like that many times before and gave her all my stock replies about Hot Gifts For Valentine’s Day. All special occasions were interchangeable in the world of lingerie so the pat answers for Hot Gifts For Christmas or Hot Gifts For Anniversaries were the same as those for Hot Gifts For Valentine’s Day. The responses were always the same with only the color choices changing hierarchically. And, yet, that sweet young reporter, so eager to make a name for herself, turned that silly squib into slanderous bunk, on the front page, no less. She turned her fluff piece (which incidentally still ran buried in the back somewhere) into an attack on the morality of a town that would let pornographers and smut peddlers stay open for business right there in downtown.

Thanks to the Baptist picketers, I felt like I was on familiar, yet shaky ground when I read the article. Still, I was incensed. I took it as a personal attack. When she called the following day, so proud of herself, so proud of achieving a front page scoop, asking if I had seen the article on my store, waiting for accolades that would never come as I was completely speechless. I knew my stock answers to her interview questions hadn’t given her anything to misconstrue as they had worked for previous newspaper articles with no adverse fanfare. Everything she mentioned in the article she had gleaned from merely walking around the store assuming the most scandalous of assumptions about the merchandise she observed though never touched.

But what started out as an attack on the store turned into the best advertising campaign I never planned, or planned, for that matter. The store was filled with shoppers for weeks as everyone had to check out the pornographer and smut peddler in town. And not one protesters showed up, not even those pesky Baptist picketers. In the end, I sent that sweet, young reporter a Thank You card.

Sunday was also the day that the local drag queens would come in to shop. Fresh off a successful weekend of entertaining in clubs, they would come in to look for some new accessories to wear for the next weekends performance. I loved the drag queens as they were way more interesting than the Baptist picketers who usually visited on Sundays. Men dressed in women’s clothing are always more fun than just about any other visitors except, possibly, Baptist picketers dressed in drag, which almost never happens.

As I really preferred to eat brunch with my friends on Sundays and not have to cut out early to go work, I hired a cute young gay guy named Robert to work in my place on Sundays. He was a friend of a friend, recently out of the closet, and utterly fascinated with drag queens. I figured he would be perfect to work on drag queen Sundays. He was polite, easy going and, strangely eager to learn about lingerie. At first I had my doubts that he would mesh with the occasional straight person that came in the store. But it turned out that female shoppers loved his flattering attention and their male companions weren’t threatened by his effeminate, yet sunny nature. And the drag queens? They loved him because he was cute, young, sweet and, mostly, because he was available.

We worked together for several Sundays as I wanted to make sure he could handle any situation that came up. The first time the drag queens came in, he was in awe and a little intimidated by them. He was completely star struck as he had seen their show the previous evening. They, of course, loved him and the adulation that bubbled from him. Nothing like a little flattery to perk up a girls mood. Robert quickly became their favorite drag hag. These pageant queens were taxing customers and it was hard to keep up with the demands of the group as they competed for attention simultaneously. Mostly the girls shopped for stockings, garter belts, corsets, gloves and feather boas. As Robert became more familiar with the store merchandise and more comfortable with the drag queens the less I showed up to work on Sundays. After a few weeks I quit showing up for work on Sundays. Not wanting Robert to feel completely abandoned, I would call to check on him leaving phone numbers were he could reach me.

After about a month I didn’t worry about Robert running the store. I could finally enjoy my day off lazing around over brunch for hours with my friends. I relaxed, that is, until the day that the country people showed up that first time. These were the people who, literally, wore their best, pressed overalls into town to shop on Sundays. They rarely came into town and I had forgotten to prep Robert about them. To my friends I jokingly refereed to them as the inbred mountain hillbillies. Truthfully, I really didn’t know where they came from or, for that matter, if they were truly inbred. One couple in particular freaked me out the most. He looked about forty, maybe fifty, it was hard to tell as he had no teeth and a time worn look and she looked about thirteen or fourteen and was always very pregnant. Neither of them looked quite ‘right’, like they had a few chromosomes were missing or had a single digit IQ. I guessed they were cousins or maybe she was his daughter but then again, I didn’t know for sure. This was the land of Deliverance, after all, and anything was possible. I shuddered to think what the children looked like. Thankfully, I never saw them.

I’m guessing the first time they came into the store when Robert was working must have scared him as much as it scared me the first time I encountered them. He tracked me down by phone frantically screaming “You need to come to the store right away. There’s some people here you need to see. I need your help with them RIGHT NOW”.

As it was only early afternoon I was still sitting around eating brunch with my friends. Being the responsible store owner that I am. I left Sunday brunch to rescue Robert from what horrors he had encountered. Thankfully the store was just a few doors away and I had only had one Bloody Mary. When I entered the store a man was accusing Robert of hitting on his wife. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as Robert swished around the store frantically waving his hands repeating “No, no, no! You have it all wrong. I was just trying to help her in the fitting room. I work here!” It was readily apparent that the customer who was causing so much distress to Robert was inbred mountain man who didn’t realize that Robert was gay and worked at the store. Too funny! I paused, catching my breath and put on a straight face before running interference between the two.

First, I went to the dressing room to check on inbred mountain wife. I wasn’t really concerned with how she was doing in there as they never bought anything. Like too many couples they used our store to get their rocks off not buying anything. Unlike most of those couples, I think they had a lot further to drive home to consummate what they started in my store. If they were truly ‘mountain hillbillies’ they had a couple hours drive home. That would be some very prolonged foreplay.

After checking on the wife, I walked over to Robert and inbred mountain man husband in time to hear him ask Robert “What kind of real man works in a girly store?” Whoa! Obviously an intervention was in order.

I interrupted “ Sir, your wife needs your opinion in the dressing room”. This always works for any situation in a lingerie store. He left to join his wife, the (once again) very pregnant thirteen year old.

Robert, looking relieved, said “Thank God you showed up. I thought he was going to kick my ass. This face is just too pretty for that! ”

I started laughing and said “So were you really flirting with his wife?”

Robert didn’t see the humor in the situation like I did. I was practically doubled over laughing. “Oh stop. It’s not that funny” he said bitchily.

I was still laughing when the inbred mountain mans wife came out of the dressing room announcing that nothing fit. No shock there, I thought. From the look on inbred mountain mans face I was pretty sure whether anything actually “fit” was irrelevant.

Robert was relieved to see them walk out the door. Before rejoining my friends at brunch, I felt the urge for one more dig. I gave into it “Robert, you really need to be nicer to the customers and put yourself in their place”

“Oh go fuck yourself” he said.

Gotta love a sassy employee.

I’m a sucker for bad drag. I don’t know why or what it is about bad drag but, damn, I love it. Good drag is nice (there’s that polite Midwest word for things we just don’t get) but since I long ago moved away from the Midwest (and moved back again) my appreciation for bad drag has blossomed. Movies are filled with wonderfully bad drag like Cillian Murphy in Breakfast on Pluto (so adorable!), Ed Wood (Johnny Depp in luscious sweater girl drag), Gael Garcia Bernal in Bad Education (so cute!) and When Night Falls (Johnny Depp (again!) fabulous as Bon Bon!) but not: Martin Lawrence in Big Momma (just plain bad), Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie (too frumpy) and Jack Lemmon in Some Like It Hot (Marilyn, hot, Jack, not). So when a guy comes into the store and wants some help dressing in drag I leap at the opportunity. That’s when Dean entered my life.

Dean was a student at the university and a photographer. We initially met when I hired him to photograph a fundraising calendar for the local rape crisis center. He came by the store with his portfolio hoping that I would hire him. He’d been highly recommended by friends. He was (still is) a talented photographer and I hired him immediately to shoot the calendar photos. While I was thrilled to find a photographer, I think he was thrilled to find lingerie. He wandered the store touching everything and asking lots of questions. When he left he had a glazed look about him from an overload of frilly girlie things.

A week or so later Dean visited the store to shop for his girlfriend. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to buy her so I gave him the grand tour again. I showed him everything from teddies, body stockings and chemises to g-strings, garter belts and bustiers. I even showed him some thongs for him in case he was interested. I asked lots of questions so I could help him find just the right piece of lingerie for his girlfriend. He finally settled on a white stretch lace garter belt with matching panties and white lace top fishnet stockings. As a little bonus I gift wrapped it so he could surprise her.

About a month later the store was busy selling pushup bra pads, opera length gloves and feather boas for the huge drag ball coming up that weekend. It was a nice little bump in weekday business in addition to our usual Sunday drag queen business. Everyone was busy with preparations for the big event. It was one of the best parties in town all year and every one dressed in some variation of drag, even the straight guys.

Denise and I were busy planning our own outfits for the party. We visited thrift stores and vintage shops trying on tons of old fifties date dresses. After mountains of tulle, yards of ruffles and enough sequins and bruised velvet flowers to make any crafty grandma swoon, we settled on vintage men’s tuxes. After some minor alterations by our handy seamstress friend Susie, our tuxes were ready. Since the unspoken theme was “anything over the top” we knew our tuxes would be too plain. After much discussion, over cocktails of course, we decided on a sort of reverse drag queen. We would wear little red dominatrix bob style wigs borrowed from the store mannequins and lots of drag queen style makeup. Since we wanted to “pass” as guys (in drag makeup) we were going to wrap our boobs in ace bandages, wear men’s shoes and white gloves to hide our smaller-than-a-man’s hands. The only thing missing was a prominent adams apple.

We were so excited about our unique look for the ball. But we kept it a secret from our friends whom we hoped wouldn’t recognize us, at least not right away. As the day of the drag ball grew closer some of our male friends came to us for help with their own outfits.

Curtis was one of those friends. He was over six feet tall, thin, with da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man tattooed on his back. He wanted us to help him dress in drag because he “wanted to get in touch with his feminine side”. Curtis was a talented artist whom we thought was already “in touch with his feminine side”. After asking him a few gazillion questions, we took him to a vintage store to shop for a dress.

Finding a dress to fit a tall skinny guy wasn’t easy. That he thought he had some say in what he wore complicated things. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted a strapless dress. After much trial and error, he insisted on trying on a strapless acid green tulle confection that couldn’t have looked good on the original wearer let alone a potential 6’ 3” drag queen.

I looked at him hard and said “what do you think you are going to hold up that dress with? You have NO BOOBS! And you have some chest hair, there” (I yanked it) “that has to go if you plan to look good let alone pass as a woman which is the whole point of dressing in drag”.

He gave me an exasperated look and said “I’m not shaving my chest and I’m not trying to pass. I just thought I would wear a dress and some makeup, maybe a little lingerie underneath. You know, “get in touch with my feminine side”. I thought you would understand”.

I gave him the squinty eye and said “In case you haven’t noticed, I am female there fore already “in touch with my feminine side” and have never felt the urge to “get in touch with my masculine side” so there is no possible way I could understand what it is you are talking about, you asshole, and if you want to wear that 50’s frou-frou nightmare of a prom dress with your chest hair hanging out that’s fine with me even though you would look so much better in one of these groovy 60’s mini sheath dresses, so, let’s just get that Baby Jane nightmare of a dress and go”. I came up for air, grabbed the putrid green dress and went off to find the cashier.

We went back to Scarlett’s with the tacky 50’s prom dress in tow. For some strange reason, oh yeah, duh, he wanted to “get in touch with his feminine side”, Curtis wanted to wear a corset underneath with stockings. It was hard for me to not laugh when he said this. Corsets are made for curves and Curtis’s body was the antithesis of that. But professionalism, for once, took over.

“Yeah, sure, we can get you in a corset”. I turned my back, rolled my eyes at Denise and snickered a bit at the thought of getting him in a corset.

Thankfully, she jumped in. “Curtis, come on over here and let’s look at what’s available. Now, this would be a good choice for you as it has small cups and you have nothing to put in them” she said after quickly perusing the corsets.

“Yeah, but I want something in red. Maybe in lace” he answered.

“Well, you’re not going to get one to fit you” she answered firmly. “It’s this black lace one or nothing. Here let’s get you in a fitting room and see if this works” she said as she dragged Curtis into a fitting room with the black lace corset. “Let me know when you need some help”.

She came out of the fitting room with a big grin on her face. “This should be interesting”.

After a few minutes of letting Curtis struggle with the corset himself, Denise went to check on him. “How are you doing in there?” she asked.

“I think I need some help. How the hell do you put this on?” he asked.

“I’m coming in” she said parting the curtains.

“Quit fidgeting” I heard come from the fitting room. “I’ll hook up the back if you just stand still”.

After a few minutes, Denise asked me to bring her several sets of pushup pads. “Big ones, little ones, I need them all”.

I handed her the pads through the curtain and waited. After a few minutes, she said “Well I think this is as good as it gets. Come have a look” she said to me.

I caught a glimpse of Curtis wearing the black lace corset, the cups stuffed with pads giving him the disconcerting illusion of mini boobs with hair sprouting from them. “That’s a good look with those boxers” I said leaving the fitting room so I could laugh in private.

Denise yelled out to me “bring me the prom dress from hell”.

I handed her the ugly prom dress through the curtain and waited to see the results.

After a few minutes she came out and said “go in and you tell me what you think”. I darted through the doorway and parted the curtains not sure what to expect. There stood Curtis in his baby puke green prom dress with little fake fiberfill boobs filling out the front and a big full tulle skirt hiding his lack of hips. All he needed was a wrist corsage.

“You look so beautiful. Will you be my date?” I asked. “I’ll expect you to put out at the end of the night.”

“Fuck off, I still need some stockings”. He said, ever the gentleman.

“I’m not sure we have any that look good with boxer shorts” I said.

“I’m not wearing the boxer shorts with this. I’m wearing these” he said holding up a pair of black lace bikini panties.

“Uh, okayyyyyy” I said. “The only ones we have in talls are seamed, but the fishnets might stretch enough”.

“Oh yeah, I want fishnets” he answered.

“I don’t think fishnets would be the best choice for this dress (like there was a best choice to go with slime green). I would go with the seamed”.

“I don’t want any runs in my stocking and there is no way I can put on stockings without getting runs” he answered a tad too prissily. “Give me the fishnets”.

“Ok, I think we can work with the fishnets. We have some beige colored ones that could work with this dress. You try, you buy though” I said tossing him the package.

“Yeah, sure, add them to my bill.” I left the fitting room.

“He’s all yours again” I said to Denise “you can do his stockings”. It was getting too hard for me to keep a straight face while helping him.

After a few minutes, Denise came out of the fitting room and said “he wants you to see how he looks”. She covered her mouth with her hand hiding a huge smile.

I entered the fitting room to see Curtis wearing his mucus green prom dress with the beige fishnets and no shoes, “We need to find you some high heels” I said.

“I thing I’m just going to wear my Doc Martins” he answered.

“Well, that really won’t go with this dress (like anything would go with that dress). But it would be hard to find you shoes to fit on such short notice” I said glancing at his large fishnet covered feet.

“I don’t think I could walk in heels if I did find some”.

“Doc Martin’s it is” I said leaving the fitting room “Oh, do you need some help getting out of that?”

“Uh, yeah”

“All yours, Denise” I said to her. She went back to the fitting room to help him get out of his (hideous) dress and (lovely, though weird on him) corset.

A few minutes later they came to the register. “How about some gloves to wear with your dress? Not that we have anything to match that particular shade of fungus green. Maybe some condoms in case you get lucky?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m going to need help getting dressed” he said. “And I want someone to do my makeup. And I need a wig” he said glancing around at our mannequins. “That blond wig looks good” he said pointing to a mannequin in the window wearing a huge curly blond wig.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll pull it off the mannequin the day of the drag ball” I said. “Why don’t you swing by the house in the afternoon and we can help you get dressed and fix your makeup”.

“It’s a date!” he said leaving the store with his purchases.

“Hey! Don’t forget your boobs” I yelled after him tossing him the bag with all the bra pads in it.

As the week progressed, several of our guy friends came by looking for help with their outfits for the drag ball. Fortunately, they were not looking for the amount of help that Curtis needed. Mostly they wanted ideas for dresses and where to buy them. A few asked if we could help them with their makeup. Before long we had four guys lined up to have their faces painted in varying amounts of drag queen style makeup.

The day of the ball, Dean came by the store looking for some help. He was very vague about what kind of help he needed. After evading most of our questions we agreed that he could come by our house to help him get dressed. Oh, and could he come by at a time when no one else would be there? And could he borrow a wig? A blond wig? (what was it about the blond wigs?)

The day of the ball we closed the store a little early so we could get home to help our guy friends get dressed and made up. A steady stream of guys came by our house including a few friends of friends who needed last minute help. After helping Curtis with his black lace corset, fake boobies, fishnet stockings and pond scum green dress, we shellacked his face in a thick layer of drag queen style makeup. No amount of makeup was going to minimize his prominent adams apple or cover his chest hair which sprouted out of the top of his mildew green dress. I gave his fake boobs a squeeze.

“I feel violated” he said.

“Get used ot it” I said. “I’m sure I’m the first of a long line of boob squeezers you will meet tonight”.

Shortly after Curtis left, Dean showed up carrying a bag with his outfit. He seemed much more nervous than our previous “clients” so I offered him a drink to loosen him up. After he inhaled his drink he pulled a nurses uniform out of the bag along with the same white stretch lace garter belt, matching bikini panty’s and lace top fishnet stockings I sold him for his girlfriend.

“Wow, this stuff looks familiar” I said holding up the garter belt, bikinis and stockings.

“Uh, yeah, I bought it for my girlfriend but she didn’t like it so I thought I would wear it tonight with this nurses dress. I also bought a bra to go with it but not from your store. Sorry” he said holding up one of those serious looking, all business, full coverage, industrial strength bras.

“That’s ok” I said. “It’s getting late so let’s get you dressed”.

Denise and I helped him put on the bra stuffing it with the white tube socks he brought with him. We excused our selves to the kitchen to fortify ourselves with another drink while he put on the white satin and lace bikini panty’s. When we returned he had them on and it was readily apparent that they were not providing sufficient coverage. Of course, it was the first thing we checked upon returning with our drinks. I winked at Denise and we each took a sip of our cocktails, smiling behind our glasses. Meanwhile Dean had the garter belt on and was attempting to put on the fishnet stockings. I had to admit he was doing an admirable job of it. We helped him clip the stockings in place even though he looked like he knew what he was doing.

I picked up the nurses dress to help him put it on. This was no typical nurses uniform, this was a naughty nurse uniform. It fit Dean snugly with a low cut bodice and a very short hemline showing off the stockings and garters but fortunately, not showing off the miniscule bikini panty’s. At least not until he bent over to put on his naughty nurse white high heels. Where did he find heels in his size, I wondered? Apparently Dean was a resourceful fellow. And a bit of an enigma. Together Denise and I applied his makeup and slipped a long straight blond wig on his head.

“You’re all set there Nurse Betty” I said. “We need to get ready ourselves so we’ll see you there”.

Dean left and Denise and I hurriedly put on our men’s tuxes, red dominatrix wigs and helped each other apply drag queen style makeup. Realizing we’d forgotten to tape our boobs down with ace bandages we undressed, taped, then redressed in our tuxes. The ace bandages were important as we were trying to pass as guys. Makeup applied and wigs on we left for the ball. I’d even found a top hat and a cane to add to the overall effect.

We got to the ball and made our way to the bar. A friend of ours was bartending and I turned to Denise and said “Don’t say one word to anybody. Don’t even smile. We don’t want any one to recognize us just yet”. I nodded to our bartender friend and pointed to the beer that someone was drinking and then pointed to the two of us so he would bring us two beers. The noise around the bar was almost deafening so I guess he didn’t think it was unusual that we didn’t speak. I was thrilled that we hadn’t been outted yet.

Drinks in hand, we slowly walked around checking out all the fun costumes. I was flattered when a few of the drag queens pinched us on the ass. A secret thrill passed through me. we were passing as guys in drag! A few stopped to try and engage us in conversation but we just smiled, waved and moved on.

Not only was the place filled with great drag but there were loads of cute straight guys in very bad drag too. So Denise and I started pinching their asses as they walked by. When they turned around giving us that homophobic glare thinking we were gay men pinching their ass, we would just smile and wave. It wasn’t until some guy threatened to kick my ass that we stopped pinching them. It was definitely time to move on and find our friends.

Spotting the table where our friends were gathered, we moved over to stand near them. We had to turn our heads and giggle when our friend Rob commented that he couldn’t believe we weren’t there yet and the drag show was about to start. Oh, and did I mention that Rob looked fabulous in his long gown, tiara and well-groomed goatee?

We eavesdropped a little more on them when we heard Rob’s partner, Bill say to him “Hey who are those two cute queens in the tuxes? Do you think I should try to pick them up to party with us later?”

Knowing Bill was always bringing home some cute playmate for Rob and him to “party with”, Denise and I busted out laughing. All of our friends heard and turned to stare at us. The jig was up. Our friends went crazy about our costumes and I told Bill that as long as I got to wear the strap-on, I would go home with them.

The drag ball was a blast and we loved all the costumes. Even our friend Curtis was having a good time and, despite the fact that he was straight, had collected several phone numbers from drag queens. All part of his campaign to “get in touch with his feminine side”. We even saw Naughty Nurse Dean who looked like he was having a good time using a stethoscope on anyone who would let him.

A few days later Dean came into the store to return the wig he had borrowed. He thanked us for all our help and said he too had a great time. Oh and could he buy a black lace garter belt, bikini panty’s and black fishnet stockings like the set in white he already owned. I didn’t ask any questions and found him just what he needed. He left the store smiling, bag of lingerie in hand. I didn’t know if he gave it to his girlfriend or what he did with the lingerie he bought that day.

I saw Dean a few times after that when he photographed the images for the fund raising calendar I had originally hired him to do. We didn’t talk much and he was very professional to work with. The photos were outstanding. A few years later I was living in New York and saw an announcement in the Village Voice for a photography show for a guy with, coincidentally, Deans name. Could it be the same person, I thought? Of course, I had to go.

I waited until a few days after the opening so I could slip in surreptitiously. There on the walls were huge images of Dean alternately wearing the white or black garter belt, bikini panty’s and matching fishnet stockings. I guess that answered what he did with the lingerie he bought from my store. Oh, and the images? Spectacular!

With his short haircut and perfect trim posture, I could tell he was a soldier from the local army base. Like most men, he looked around nervously, hovering near the entrance in case he needed to make a fast getaway.

Lori and I were engaged in some girl talk barely paying him any attention. We were used to the hesitant behavior of men who entered the store. We knew once they were acclimated to their surroundings they would come to us for help. No sense in scaring them away by acknowledging them. Eventually he approached us. Still, he didn’t say anything and veered off to look at a rack of g-strings.

What seemed like fifteen minutes later we realized we’d forgotten about the customer and broke off our conversation to look for him. Lori found him behind a rack of teddies and baby dolls, several of which he clutched in his hand.

“Those are some really cute ones you’ve picked out” she said holding up three black lace teddies, one with satin bow tied slits over the breasts and crotch areas. “Do you have the right size?”

“My wife is a size 32” he replied.

“Oh, she’s a plus size?” lori asked.

“Oh no, she’s a size 32 in the waist” he answered.

“Um, well, teddies aren’t really sold by waist size but if that’s her waist size she’s probably a large or maybe extra large. What sizes do you have there.” she said grabbing the teddies out of his hands. “These are all mediums. Here, let me switch these for a size large so they’ll fit.”

She quickly switched sizes on the teddies he had picked out. “Do you want me to put these on the counter while you look some more?” she asked.

“Uh, that’s ok. I’m ready to pay. I’m kinda in a hurry.” he answered looking nervously around the store again. This was a sure sign to get him to the register to pay before he bolted from the store.

Lori carried them to the counter and rang up his purchases. “Are you from the military base?” she asked while he waited.

“Um, yeah, I’m kinda in a hurry ” he barely repeated not looking up. He quickly paid, grabbed the bag, practically running out the door.

“He was a little nervous” I said solemnly, smirking a bit.

“Well, you know how guys get in this store. They’re always nervous in here. I don’t think Sarg was any more nervous than the other guys who shop here” she said casually dismissing him.

“Sarg?” I said.

“Yeah, Sarg. That’s my pet name for our new customer” she smiled.

Two weeks later it was military pay weekend again and the store was busy with Army guys buying lingerie for their wives and girlfriends. On Saturday evening when the store traffic had died down, our new customer Sarg entered the store hovering near the entrance again. Lori and I were working together again that night and she called out to him “Hey! You’re back! We got in some new teddies since you were last here. Let me know if you want to see them.” he nodded his head and disappeared behind a rack of long gowns.

Lori and I resumed our girl talk. About 10 minutes later Lori said “Let me go check on Sarg and see how he is doing”. She drifted over to the rack he was perusing. Like on his last visit he was holding several teddies.

“Do you have the right size in these?” she asked as she flipped through the three teddies, one pink lace, one white lace and one in red lace, checking sizes.

“Um, I think so” he replied shyly.

“So what else can I help you find?” she asked. “You know we carry more than just teddies.”

“Um, I think this is good. I’ll just take these. I’m kinda in a hurry” he answered taking his purchases to the counter. He paid and left quickly like the last time.

“Wow, his wife is one lucky lady. I wish my husband would buy me lingerie as often as he does” Lori said.

“Strange bird, but easy money, I guess” I said, ever the business woman.

Two weeks later it was military weekend again and like the two previous pay weekends, Sarg showed up on saturday evening. Once again, Lori and I were working and, once again, engaged in a little girl talk when Sarg entered.

We greeted him like we usually did by ignoring him and went back to our conversation. After a little while Lori went over to our new regular customer sarg to see if he needed help. He was, as usual, hiding behind a rack of lingerie.

“Still looking for teddies?” she asked him.

“I, um, was thinking about a garter belt and stockings. Do you have one in a size 32?” he asked.

“I’m sure we can find something” she replied snagging a measuring tape on her way to the rack of garter belts.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked. “Do you want lace or satin? Black or red or white? Maybe a pastel?”

“Um, I, uh, was thinking, uh, maybe black lace” he replied. “And black stockings with the seams up the back”.

“Sure, we’ve got that” she said measuring large black lace garter belts to make sure they would fit a 32 inch waist. “We have several garter belts that will fit a 32 inch waist. We have satin and lace and a mixture of satin and lace. Here’s one with ruffles. And here’s some black seamed stockings.”

“I’ll take all of them” he answered scooping them out of her hands and carrying them to the counter. Lori rang him up and he darted out the door with his purchases barely saying “Thanks” as he sprinted for the door.

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that he buys lingerie to fit a size 32 inch waist?” I asked her.

“Well maybe his wife really does have a 32 inch waist and that’s how he’s comfortable buying for her” she answered. “You know how strange men are when they shop in here”.

“Still” I persisted “something seems a little off”

Two weeks later, another military pay weekend and Sarg was back. Once again Lori greeted her new regular customer who was hiding behind a rack of bras.

“Hey! You’re back!” she said. “What can I help you find this week?”.

“I, uh, was thinking about a corset. That’s one of those things that fits snug around your chest with garters, right?” he replied.

“Yeah, corset, bustier, same thing” Lori replied.

“Size 32 inch waist” he replied back.

“Ok, I can help you with that” she answered once again grabbing a tape measure.

They walked over to a rack of bustiers and started flipping through them. “What did you have in mind?” she asked. “Satin, lace, sheer, white, pink, red, black?”.

“Uh, black lace” he stammered. “32 inch waist”.

Lori pulled out several black lace bustiers measuring to make sure they would fit a 32 inch waist. “Any of these catch your eye?” she asked.

“Uh, um, well, they’re all nice. Could I try them on?” he whispered.

“Eh, yeah, sure” she replied. “We usually don’t let men in the fitting room but since no one is here go right ahead” she said, ever the professional though I could see she was stifling a smile. She led him back to the fitting room with the bustiers. “Let me know if you need some help with these”.

I looked up from some paper work I was doing at the counter and before I could say anything she said “Don’t even” glaring at me.

I couldn’t resist “I told you something was a little bit off with your buddy Sarg!”

“So he’s in the military and he’s a cross dresser” she said. “Different strokes”.

“Huh, yeah, different strokes. His money is still good here” I shrugged.

“No reason to be bitchy” she answered back. “ We cater to all persuasions here”. Lori believed everyone was pure of heart no matter what their intention. And who knew what Sarg’s intentions were with all the lingerie he was buying.

“I don’t care what he does with the stuff when he gets back to his barracks” I said giggling at the thought.

Lori huffed off to the fitting room and called back to him asking if he needed anything. He answered no and a few minutes later came out of the fitting room with the corset he wanted. “I’ll take this one. Do you have any fishnet stockings?”

Lori added on a pair of fishnet stockings to his total. He paid for his purchases and hustled out the door.

Once again, two weeks later, Sarg came in to shop. Lori pounced on him the minute he walked in the door. “What can I show you this week?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a long silky gown” he answered looking her in the eye this time.

“Size 32 inch waist?” she asked.

“Yep” he replied.

Every two weeks after that Sarg came in to shop in our store for sexy things to wear, possibly under his military uniform until he was transferred to a different military base. I think Lori missed her new regular customer.