Bodycon

I looked at my wife, stunned at the dress she was wearing. Bodycon wasn't her style before kids, certainly not after since she carried about fifteen pounds she never managed to lose. 

"Well?" she asked.

"I...I never...I mean..."

"Not quite leggings and an oversized shirt, is it?"

"N...no," I said, used to seeing her in little else.

"I have to admit I'm a little self conscious," she said.

"You...you could wear something else," I said.

"You don't like it?"

"No, you look...I mean...wow...I just...I know you're..."

"This is how he said to dress," she said. "Tight, short, low cut. He doesn't care about the extra weight, if anything he likes it."

"I...I never cared," I said, "you...you could dress like that for me."

She smiled. "Sweetie," she said, "don't ruin it."

"I...I'm sorry," I said. "Where...where are you going?"

"Some club," she said, "I don't know that I ever heard of it, over by the warehouse district."

"That...that's not the nicest neighborhood."

"I'll be fine with him," she said with a laugh, "that's his scene."

I bit my lip, didn't know what to say. "I...I suppose."

"You said you were good," she said.

"I...I am," I said, "I...I guess fantasy...fantasy is one thing, seeing you dressed like this to go out with a guy and...it's just...reality."

"You good?"

I nodded. "Yea," I said. "I'm good."

"You don't have to wait up, I promise to wake you when I get home so you can...you know..."