Compromising Positions by Mary Whitney

and I were going. I answered her freely and happily, though I didn’t quite feel that way.
    “Got it,” Trish said and presented me with the dress. “Isn’t it gorgeous? I wore only once to an NFL banquet.”
    “Yeah,” I said, scrutinizing the scraps of material dangling from the hanger. “It’s a little slinky, though, don’t you think?”
    “Of course, it is. Whatever you might say, you’re going out with a guy to a nice restaurant not with a mayor to a diner. You should enjoy yourself.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I ignored the rest of her commentary and simply reached for the dress. “Let me try it on.”
    “Here you go.”
    After I had taken off my T-shirt and jeans, I removed the gown from the hanger. Trish shook her head. “No. No bra.”
    I looked at her like she was nuts. “But my boobs are going to be totally hanging out there if I don’t wear a bra.”
    “Yeah. That’s the idea with this dress.”
    “Okay… but I’m not an NFL wife. I’m a congresswoman,” I said as I undid my bra. I slipped the dress over her head and zipped up the side. “How does it look?”
    “Gorgeous,” she said, clapping her hands. “Come take a look in the mirror.”
    I walked toward the full-length mirror by the closet, and Trish stood behind me, straightening the deep neckline. The loose silk hid my breasts, but it left nothing to the imagination. Trish patted my back. “Alan is going to die. You look so hot.”
    “Thanks,” I said, though I really wasn’t certain if that was the reaction I wanted from Alan. Smoothing the silk over my hips, I tried to be grateful to Trish. “It’s a really pretty dress.”
    “Told you it was perfect for you.”
    “I think I’ve got shoes to match… somewhere.” I began to walk away, but stopped to take one more look in the mirror. “Are you sure it’s appropriate? It’s so revealing. Alan is another member of Congress. He’s a colleague and—”
    “And what if you were going with another member of congress?” Trish huffed and sat on the bed. “Would you feel different? Would you want to show off your body then?”
    “What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant. Unfortunately, Trish knew me too well, so I hid my face in the material as I pulled the dress over my head.
    “Jessie, don’t be like this. What’s going on between you and Michael?”
    “Nothing,” I mumbled.
    Trish sat in silence and looked out the window while I changed back into jeans. How could I explain myself to her? I knew she wouldn’t let this go. What I was feeling was so inexplicable. When I finished and sat on the perfectly made bed, she looked me in the eyes and said, “C’mon. Talk to me. Before I walked into the living room last night, I heard you two talking, and you were giggling. Giggling! You really like him, don’t you?”
    I sat motionless, waiting for some great explanation of my complex set of emotions. There were words in my head, but I wasn’t ready to share them with her. I had to say something, so I played with the fringe on one of the bed’s dozen throw pillows and said, “I do.”
    “Oh, Jessie .” Trish took a seat next to me on the bed. “Let’s talk.”
    “Sure,” I said with a tinge of relief in my voice. I supposed I was tired of keeping my feelings secret.
    Trish propped herself up on a few pillows and leaned against the enormous upholstered headboard. Then she touched my arm. “It’s okay. The man is hot as hell, and he’s really sweet to you. Who wouldn’t like him?”
    “What do you think of him?”
    “I’ll get to that in a second.”
    “What does Larry think of him?”
    “Larry thinks he’s a great guy, but that doesn’t count because Larry likes everybody.”
    I’d witnessed Larry get into multiple fist fights over the years, usually over something inconsequential. “That’s not true.”
    “You’re right. Let me rephrase that. Larry likes anyone who’s worth liking. Otherwise, he hates your guts.”
    “Now, that’s