Little Black Cocktail Dress

Finding the perfect dress for a formal affair is never a small feat. There's a lot that goes into the decision process. What color will compliment me the most, and in what style? Off the shoulder, strapless, long skirt or mini? A-line or flowy? What kind of jewelry? Gold, silver, sleek or chunky? Maybe a strand of pearls. Shoes, shoes, shoes. Flats, heels...how high should the heels be? Just enough to give you a but of oomph, stiletto, wedges?

And the kicker; pantyhose or bare legs?

But then, all a woman had to do was determine the type of occasion.

Recalling the formal invitation, the decision was made.

Black tie affair.

Therefore, little black cocktail dress.


* * * * * * *


The music was surprisingly delicious for something put arranged by party planners hired by stuffy, record executives. Melodies and pulsating beats intermingling at a lascivious pace which seemed to resonate inside the chest of each and every guest as they moved around the ballroom facility.

Champagne glasses never appearing to be empty, the over the top charity function was undoubtedly a smash before it got into full swing.

Mike Dirnt stood beside someone who's name he couldn't recall -- and not because he was getting tipsy on all the bubbly, but because they just weren't important or interesting enough to really keep his attention -- and he was wishing he was suddenly elsewhere. He let the boring person ramble on and on about, possibly, a the downfalls of going green.

Mike couldn't be sure, he was tuning them out almost completely at this point.

So there he was, pretending to care, pretending to listen, and his mind wandered off on him like that of a toddler innocently chasing after a butterfly.

He let the music invade all his senses, his blue eyes closed for mere seconds and reopened, now completely lost in a daydream as he imagined the music playing as the soundtrack to a fantastical sexcapade. After all, the sound and feel of the music was just right for setting such a scene.

The woman in the daydream was no one in particular, though a nice rack and a full, bottom lip always got him reeling.

He liked imagining the woman on top, breasts tightly pocketed into whatever tight dress she was wearing but billowing over the edge of the bustline, screaming to be free from their material confines, and all the while the smooth, milky mounds are slightly rising up and down from the movement of her body making the same motions on him.

Mike smiled. It was a nice daydream. But it had to end.

"Did you hear what I just said? Ethanol is not the way to go, and I was wondering what you thought about it?" the boring person was inquiring, clearing having been trying to snap Mike out of his daze.

Parting his lips, Mike shrugged. "Uh, I don't have original thoughts. Ask Billie Joe." With a nod of his head, the brown-haired, 35-year-old bassist bid the bore adieu and walked off, snatching another champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray.

He smirked.

And let his eyes wander the crowd.

Billie Joe and Adrienne were chatting up another couple about who knows what, and then there was Tre who was dancing with his latest girlfriend on the dance floor about to--

Yep, there he goes.

--dip the woman.

Mike shook his head with another smirk.

Tre always dipped ladies backward when dancing with them. It was like, his thing or whatever. Rob Cavallo, longtime producer and friend of the guys was with his wife as well, talking to another record producer whom Mike knew but who's name escaped him at the moment.

And this time it was because of the liquor.

He blinked once, then twice, then turned his attention to the left and for not real reason at all. He couldn't explain why, he just felt compelled to.

Delicate, black heels clicked inaudibly against the floor's surface as a pare of newly waxed and obviously soft legs worked their owner closer toward the hors d'oeuvres.

Mike was completely spellbound and at a loss for words.

Never in a million years had he expected this woman of all people to be here, at this charity function.

What were the fuckin' chances?

Sidling back away from her line of sight, Mike watched her, unnoticed for a few moments, as she grabbed at a single strawberry. He studied the way she brought it to her lips, and don't ask why he knew this but he, for some reason, knew the exact shade of lipstick she was wearing.

Dusk pink.

Mike bit his own lip as hers parted and bit down onto the strawberry. One more bite later and she was finished with the small, red fruit. Another passing waiter walked by and offered to take the leafy remains for her, which she thanked him for.

His heart beating a little faster, Mike lowered his eyes to the ground, working his way up to study every inch of her body and what it was she was wearing.

A little black cocktail dress. Flowy skirt that fell just above her knees and a corset top which pushed her ample chest up to the hilt, as if beckoning the eyes of every red-blooded man or lesbian in the room to attach their focus to her girls.

Around her neck, but loosely, was a simple silver chain with a dark blue gem, most likely a sapphire, adoring the piece of jewelry like a quaint tear drop. And it immediately drew Mike's attention to her shoulder bones as well as her bedazzling cleavage.

Slinking off into the crowd, just a smidgen, Mike wandered stealthily amongst the other guests until he knew he was standing directly behind the woman in question. A few steps closer and he was literally an inch away.

Sensing the warmth of someone's breath upon her bare shoulder, she tensed; her posture straightened. As she began to turn around to determine who it was that was invading her personal space, she felt the presence of their breath getting closer and warmer as it moved toward her left ear.

A smile played upon Mike's lips as his eyelids drooped momentarily as his thought process formed words.

"What happened to that little black tank top that first caught my eye?"

Hearing the never forgotten voice of the man who fully took her innocence, Beth Lehsten finally turned around to look into his face, and it suddenly felt like it was only yesterday.

"How long's it been?" he inquired further.

Instead of smiling like a loon or some twenty-something concert goer who had fucked a famous rockstar one night in Atlantic City, Beth played it cool, smirked gently and nodded her head in acknowledgment.

"Almost two and a half years, I believe," she replied coolly.

Mike studied her face, reaching out and touching his hand to her arm for the briefest of seconds.

"It's a small world, seeing you here."

"Tell me about it," was the noncommittal retort. Her hazel eyes drifted away from his face as a thought ran through her head. Several thoughts actually. Most of them of the X-rated variety. She blinked them away, however, and focused on being calm and collected. She brought her eyes back up toward his face. "You never called."

"No, I didn't," he admitted freely, with an obvious hint of regret in his tone.

"I never actually expected you to, anyway."

"You look amazing," he blurted, not exactly trying to change the subject, but unable to help himself in stating what he felt was the God's honest truth.

Beth smiled. "Thanks. You don't look half as bad, either."

"Well, I try," he shrugged.

They stood there for a few moments and finally he spoke up again.

"It's too loud to talk in here. Would you like to go into the hotel's bar?" he asked, hoping to dear God she said yes.

"A hotel lobby is where we first met."

Mike shook his head. "No, I first saw you in the crowd, then we first met near the slot machines at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. The bar came afterward."

Beth smiled now. "I know. I was testing to see if you remembered as well. However, the bar is what led to more than just a wink and a drink, if I recall clearly."

Suddenly, Mike's face lost its jovial and playful expression. He sobered up, in a sense, became a shade of serious and leaned toward her face, and whispered as loud as he could so she could hear over the music's din, without any other soul hearing what he imparted to her.

"It could lead to more than just a wink and a drink again if you'd like..."