other pristine white satin Oscar suits off their hooks and scattered them at their feet. “Remember when we were in the tub at my house, the summer before tenth grade?” he told her urgently, pressing his lips against her neck.
Serena blushed again. How could she forget? It had been their third time. When they were both still counting.
“Let’s do the same thing again,” Nate practically shouted. “Pretend all these white dresses are the bubbles!”
Whoa. Who ever said boys lack imagination?
“Yes!”
“Oh, yes!”
“Found something you like, dear?” Joan, ever the helpful Bergdorf sales matron, poked her gray head through the opening in the thick velvet curtain. She stared at the confusion of tanned, writhing limbs and white satin on the floor of the dressing room and then quickly withdrew, popping a few blood pressure pills before attending to a new shipment of Missoni sweaters. That sort of vulgar behavior was completely unladylike and therefore completely un-Bergdorf’s, but there wasn’t much she could do. Serena van der Woodsen had opened a Bergdorf’s charge account when she was seven and had been a loyal customer ever since. And of course it was nice to see that she was so comfortable in the store.
Nate began to cry as soon as it was over. The Viagra had worn off just in time. “I just can’t believe you’re going to be wearing one of these,” he murmured, extracting the skirt to one of the suits from underneath his bare ass.
“Well, I haven’t even tried it on yet.” Serena let her head fall back, closing her enormous dark blue eyes as Nate pressed his soggy cheek into her hair. It was sweet and sort of feminine of him to cry after they’d done it, and she suddenly realized she was the stronger, more “masculine” one in their relationship. At least they’d finally done it. Now they were more authentically a couple.
That’s some couple.
“I already have this yellow Tocca dress I really like, anyway. Maybe I could bleach it or something,” she continued distractedly.
Then Nate’s mind began to wander, too, to his final history term paper.
Talk about multitasking!
He was writing about the origins of lacrosse, but would his history teacher, Mr. Knoeder, aka Mr. No Dick, think it was un-PC or whatever to write about an old Native American sport without really dealing with the politics of how the Indians had been treated in colonial times and all that? After all, Nate was going to Yale next year to play lacrosse, not to become some kind of lacrosse historian.
Obviously.
He propped himself up on one elbow and tugged a tissue out of his navy blue canvas Jack Spade book bag. He’d grown accustomed to carrying tissues.
“Maybe we should have gone to Bendel’s to look for dresses instead of here,” Serena mused, fingering the buttons on one of the suits.
Nah, their dressing rooms aren’t nearly as big.
Nothing Can Keep us Together
Gossip Girl 08 - Nothing Can Keep Us Together
See b die and go to heaven
Why Blair had never been inside the Madison Avenue Oscar de la Renta boutique before was beyond her. The boutique was modeled after Mr. de la Renta’s home in the Dominican Republic, with imported Dominican coral stone walls, plaster palm trees, and a shoe display set up like a catwalk. The eveningwear was hung in a special lounge furnished with love seats from de la Renta’s furniture collection. Too bad Blair wasn’t in the market for a black tulle ball gown or she would have tackled Marcus and pulled him down on one of the toile love seats just to thank him for taking her there.
“Hello, Marthe,” Marcus greeted the amazingly beautiful, Amazon-like, Latina saleswoman. She was wearing a gold pouf skirt and a tight, hot pink short-sleeved sweater that were simultaneously fifties retro and ultramodern.
At first Blair’s hackles rose and she started to bare her fangs, but then she quickly realized that being jealous of anyone that impossibly tall, curvy, and gorgeous
Serena blushed again. How could she forget? It had been their third time. When they were both still counting.
“Let’s do the same thing again,” Nate practically shouted. “Pretend all these white dresses are the bubbles!”
Whoa. Who ever said boys lack imagination?
“Yes!”
“Oh, yes!”
“Found something you like, dear?” Joan, ever the helpful Bergdorf sales matron, poked her gray head through the opening in the thick velvet curtain. She stared at the confusion of tanned, writhing limbs and white satin on the floor of the dressing room and then quickly withdrew, popping a few blood pressure pills before attending to a new shipment of Missoni sweaters. That sort of vulgar behavior was completely unladylike and therefore completely un-Bergdorf’s, but there wasn’t much she could do. Serena van der Woodsen had opened a Bergdorf’s charge account when she was seven and had been a loyal customer ever since. And of course it was nice to see that she was so comfortable in the store.
Nate began to cry as soon as it was over. The Viagra had worn off just in time. “I just can’t believe you’re going to be wearing one of these,” he murmured, extracting the skirt to one of the suits from underneath his bare ass.
“Well, I haven’t even tried it on yet.” Serena let her head fall back, closing her enormous dark blue eyes as Nate pressed his soggy cheek into her hair. It was sweet and sort of feminine of him to cry after they’d done it, and she suddenly realized she was the stronger, more “masculine” one in their relationship. At least they’d finally done it. Now they were more authentically a couple.
That’s some couple.
“I already have this yellow Tocca dress I really like, anyway. Maybe I could bleach it or something,” she continued distractedly.
Then Nate’s mind began to wander, too, to his final history term paper.
Talk about multitasking!
He was writing about the origins of lacrosse, but would his history teacher, Mr. Knoeder, aka Mr. No Dick, think it was un-PC or whatever to write about an old Native American sport without really dealing with the politics of how the Indians had been treated in colonial times and all that? After all, Nate was going to Yale next year to play lacrosse, not to become some kind of lacrosse historian.
Obviously.
He propped himself up on one elbow and tugged a tissue out of his navy blue canvas Jack Spade book bag. He’d grown accustomed to carrying tissues.
“Maybe we should have gone to Bendel’s to look for dresses instead of here,” Serena mused, fingering the buttons on one of the suits.
Nah, their dressing rooms aren’t nearly as big.
Nothing Can Keep us Together
Gossip Girl 08 - Nothing Can Keep Us Together
See b die and go to heaven
Why Blair had never been inside the Madison Avenue Oscar de la Renta boutique before was beyond her. The boutique was modeled after Mr. de la Renta’s home in the Dominican Republic, with imported Dominican coral stone walls, plaster palm trees, and a shoe display set up like a catwalk. The eveningwear was hung in a special lounge furnished with love seats from de la Renta’s furniture collection. Too bad Blair wasn’t in the market for a black tulle ball gown or she would have tackled Marcus and pulled him down on one of the toile love seats just to thank him for taking her there.
“Hello, Marthe,” Marcus greeted the amazingly beautiful, Amazon-like, Latina saleswoman. She was wearing a gold pouf skirt and a tight, hot pink short-sleeved sweater that were simultaneously fifties retro and ultramodern.
At first Blair’s hackles rose and she started to bare her fangs, but then she quickly realized that being jealous of anyone that impossibly tall, curvy, and gorgeous
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