TRANCE, Inc. 11

The first thing I knew when Amber and I walked into the boutique was that I knew nothing. For someone who was accustomed to visiting the discount department store hoping to score tee shirts with fun designs or cheap formalwear, the place was overwhelming.

The floor and shelves were all a rich, dark wood. The man who opened the door was stylish, in a way that even I could pick up on. His smile was bright and courteous, and he gestured expansively with one hand as we came through the door.

"Welcome in," he said. "Please let us know if there's anything we can help you with." His look turned from Amber to me, and I could tell he was trying not to do a double-take.

I know, I know, I thought, abruptly aware that next to Amber my loose tee shirt and comfy jeans were probably a lot less than flattering. But I was already following my girlfriend as she headed determinedly for what was clearly the men's half of the store, and I didn't look back at the greeter. Then, I was too busy to think about it.

In the next fifteen minutes of browsing the shelves with my girlfriend, I learned more about the fundamentals of style than I ever expected. To my surprise, it wasn't that hard. It was actually relatively straightforward, at least how Amber explained it.

"What about this?" I'd say, holding up a comfy XL shirt, and Amber would spend the next three minutes explaining how and why, "Men in clothes that flop off their bodies look like overgrown boys. No offense, baby."

The selection, even in this medium-sized shop, was overwhelming. I felt like this was the place where people with money shopped — like the twins' family, or people who vacationed in the Hamptons. There were lots of polo shirts and cardigans, shelves of chinos and dress pants, and hanger after hanger of jackets in a range of fabrics and colors. I let Amber take over with the actual selections, while I let my eye roam and haphazardly snagged articles as the fancy struck.

I got a kick out of trying on the long, black winter coat. I thought it made me look like a London banker from the 1800s, or someone out of A Christmas Carol.I just needed a bowler hat.

Amber, though, rolled her eyes. "Taking this as an example," she said, with a sweeping gesture down my body, "another general style improvement comes in using contrast. Here, you've got a dark top," she flicked a finger at my navy tee, "dark bottom," at my jeans, "and a dark jacket. Very little contrast. All of them are also too big for you," she added with a critical glance. "You should probably be wearing medium or small sizes, whenever possible. And more tailored jeans."

I opened my mouth to protest that I hadn't worn anything size medium since middle school, but my girlfriend's eyebrows come together.

"Today," she informed me with a half-joking sternness, "I am your style sensei."

I laughed softly.

"Say it," she insisted, looking at me with those big blue eyes.

"You're my style sensei," I said.

"And your style sensei knows best."

I grinned. "Alright," I agreed, stepping forward and kissing her quickly on the cheek. "She knows best. Thank you for your help."

Amber nodded, smiling cutely and blushing. Then, she tossed her hair back and continued to browse in a businesslike manner. Once, a salesgirl came by to help us measure my arms and shoulders for a jacket, and I admired the way her skirt clung to her ass and hips as she walked away.

I winced guiltily at Amber when she caught my eye, but the stunning blonde just winked. "Another illustration of my point," she said. "Tight clothes look better."

I nodded slowly, resolving to remember Amber's lessons.

When we finally wound up at the central counter and we laid out our purchases, I was happy I was pulling out Mike Lassiter's card to pay and not my own. Even though we had only grabbed what Amber considered to be "just a few essentials" — a couple tops, some chinos and a grey jacket that, I had to admit, felt pretty damn sexy to wear — I had been watching the price rosa-blanca.ru. We were easily spending more on clothes than I had in the past year, maybe two years. The salesgirl from earlier rang up my purchases, exchanging a few pleasantries with Amber. She glanced at me once or twice, but I could tell that she took my appearance like an affront to the establishment.

As soon as Lassiter's card was swiped, Amber leaned forward on her elbows and shot a glance between the girl and me. It was a knowing glance, and the girl raised her eyebrows.

"Yes?" she asked politely.

Amber smiled. "I know my boyfriend's style isn't tip top right now," she said conspiratorially. "Do you think he could use your dressing room quickly to change into something better?"

Hey! I thought, but the woman had already giggled and nodded to Amber, gesturing to the back of the boutique. I had already visited the dressing room, but I'd put back on my tee and jeans in order to pay.

"What was that?" I asked, as my girlfriend led me by the hand to the back of the store.

Amber paused at the doors, lowering the bag of purchases and turning to face me. She gave me an honest glance. "Chance," she said. "You came with me this afternoon because I am giving you the very beginnings of your total style makeover. This is the first step. And I want you to see something,"

I groaned in protest — Clothes shouldn't feel like work, I silently complained —, but my girlfriend wasn't done. She stepped closer, rested her hand gently on my chest and leaned in to whisper in my ear. "If you let me help you buy a going-out outfit for tonight," she murmured, and I could tell she was channeling her sexy pornstar purr. "Then I'll drop to my knees in the changing room and suck that amazing, studly cock of yours the moment you've put it on."

Oh... Wow. I groaned again, only this time it was a deeper sound in my chest. My core lit up at Amber's words, and I felt my length begin to swell in my pants.

Amber brushed her lips gently down my jaw, then stepped back. She bent in her heels and selected several items from the bag. "Put these on. Then, I think we just have one more thing to buy before you're ready for tonight."

Mutely, I entered the dressing room and removed my shirt and pants. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my boxer briefs, I paused for a second to assess the situation. I remembered a time, not more than a couple weeks ago, when I'd looked in the bathroom mirror while fucking Carmen at the French restaurant, Delicieux.

What a gorgeous babe, I had thought. And also, Damn, what an off-putting dude.

I drew my shoulders back, puffing up my chest. There's a difference, I told myself. You've been making improvements. But I couldn't tell if I was just trying to convince myself. I'd been doing daily runs with Carmen, and daily martial arts training with Terra, but I had to remember that these things needed time in order to function. My stomach still drooped over my waistband, my jaw was rounded and soft-looking, and my body had more of a pear shape than the inverted triangle that you always see in models and movie stars.

I put on the outfit that Amber had chosen, and checked my reflection again. I had expected the tight v-neck to accentuate my belly and unflattering upper body, but instead...

It kind of looks like I work out. The fabric clung to my biceps, making them look full and round, and it must have been an optical illusion but I could have sworn the dark chinos made me taller. I threw on the grey jacket — I was pleased Amber had added it to the pile — and grinned at myself. Abruptly, I realized how useful fashion could be. I can't upgrade my body or fitness immediately, I reflected, poking my flabby stomach through the shirt. But I can change my outfit in less than a minute.

Crap, dude, another voice chimed in. It was Devil Chance, who had arrived with the intention to criticize. He sounded uncertain. You don't... look terrible.

I stood a little straighter. Damn right. I tugged at the lapels, enjoying the innate feeling of swagger that comes with wearing a well-fit jacket. Then, rolling up my other clothes into a ball, I tucked them under my arm and stepped out.

Amber's reaction was what every guy would have desired from his girlfriend. She put her hand to her mouth, then bit her lip while her eyes glowed and traced down my body. "Damn, baby," she murmured, sauntering closer. Then, she kissed me, her mouthwatering breasts moulding themselves to my chest as she pushed me back against the closed door.

My hands were on her hips, then instinctively sliding lower. I groaned, responding without thinking. Then, we were full-on making out and my fingers were kneading the bouncy, malleable hemispheres of her ass. Her lips were soft and inviting, and it took me a moment to remember that we were in public.

I pulled back with a soft gasp, my hands returning to Amber's hips. I swallowed, shifting my weight and staring into her eyes, panting gently. Glancing down, she smirked and let her hands trail down across my chest before she stepped away. I followed her gaze. Luckily, the chinos were sturdier and more restrictive than my habitual bottoms, because it was only on direct examination that I could see the tent in my crotch.

"Look at you," Amber said softly, "making your girlfriend all weak in the knees for you."

I glanced away, probably blushing, and saw the greeter staring across the boutique from the door. His eyes were wide, and they still were when I tossed him a grin over my shoulder as we left.

"Where to now, sensei?" I asked, slipping my hand around Amber's waist. I pulled her closer, enjoying her touch and her scent, which floated in the air around her like a cloud of potent pheromones.

"We've made progress," she said. "But we still don't have the ingredients for a club quality outfit." The woman was scanning the nearby stores, blue eyes alert. She saw one, and began to pull me toward it. "Luckily, I know just what we need."

Club quality, I thought as she led me toward a store for what looked like jeans and jean products. I wondered what that meant. All the girls are going to look great tonight, I suppose. And if I want to go along then I've got to measure up, too. Despite the confidence boost I'd received from my new outfit, I still felt the looming shadow of the coming evening.

"How do you know all this?" I asked Amber as she strode confidently into the store, glancing this way and that. It was obvious she had something in mind, and she glanced at me several times in an inspecting sort of way.

"Know what?" she asked, approaching a wall of cubbies that were stacked high with jeans.

"Fashion," I said. "For guys," I elaborated.

My girlfriend pouted thoughtfully as she tugged down a pair, shook them out, examined them, and put them back. "I think it's a couple things," she said. "But mostly it's just being aware of what looks good. I work in an industry that is about making people look as sexy as possible. And, say what you will about TRANCE, they're some of the best in the business. We have a quality control technician, for goodness sake," and she flashed me a bright smile. "When we do higher-budget stuff, we get style consultants, too. And TRANCE does workshops. If actors stick around long enough, the company teaches us all sorts of things: body language, fashion, fitness... They want their actors to be the best."

There was a hint of pride in Amber's voice when she talked about the corporation, but before I could really think about that she held up a pair of jeans in my direction. She had a satisfied look on her face.

I hesitated. Then, "They're ripped," I pointed out. The jeans were black and had a single long tear across the front of each knee.

Amber gave me a look. "That's kind of the point."

"Yeah..." I said slowly. But I've never worn anything like that before, I thought.

My girlfriend saw my uncertainty, and gave me an understanding smile. "Let it out," she advised. "Why don't you like them?"

I hesitated, then worked my mouth. "In my family," I explained, "we kids grew up being taught that everything should be used for as long as it was serviceable. No waste, if we could help it. That went for clothes, too. In our household, torn and faded jeans were the old, ratty ones we used for yard work and chores. Not... some sort of fashion statement."

I could actually recall a memory of my mother being approached one day, in the grocery store, and asked which brand had done the fade and tear of her jeans. My mom had looked at the young woman, a little surprised, and answered, "Two and a half years of gardening."

Amber nodded in agreement. "I get that," she said. "I think a lot of people feel that way. But... Here's another way to think about it. You're not buying these for work. You're buying them for fashion. And," her blue eyes shone. "You're buying them to make your adoring girlfriend melt when she sees how hot you look."

She has a good point, Devil Chance commented, crossing his arms. But could you really pull off the ripped jeans look? How do you know you wouldn't look silly and try-hard?

I frowned in response to the discouraging voice, but Amber took it as a resistance to her argument. She stepped closer, and I could practically feel her seductive charms turning up a notch. "Just try them on for me, baby?" she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes at me.

I found myself staring at her eyes and then her mouth. Her lips were soft and inviting. Her breasts looked absolutely amazing in that tight sweater. Blinking slowly, I nodded and accepted the offered clothes. "Sure, babe," I said. Then, I glanced back up into her face and nodded again. "Style sensei knows best," I joked.

"That's my man," she said encouragingly, and leaned forward to kiss me gently on the cheek. "Go put them on, and I'll grab a couple other things for you to try while you're in there."

"Alright," I agreed, then blew out a breath and squared my shoulders as I wound my way around and past wooden display tables toward the back of the store.

On the way, I passed a young sales assistant slipping jean jackets onto hangers and hooking them onto the rack. She was cute, and wore a pair of hipster glasses that made her look right at home in this store and its atmosphere. Her hair, tumbling out from a knit beanie, was either blonde with brunette highlights or brunette with blonde highlights. Either way, it looked good on her.

She glanced up from her work and met my eyes. Because I was already watching her, I could see the flicker of movement as her gaze traced up and down my body. "Hi," she said. She smiled, and noticed the pair of jeans in my hand. "Are you looking to try something on?"

I nodded, gesturing with the pants toward the door to the short corridor of dressing rooms. "Yeah. Just back here?"

"Mhmm." The young woman stopped what she was doing and reached for her belt. Keys jingled, and she motioned for me to keep walking. "I just need to let you into one," she explained.

"Thanks." I followed her to the hallway and waited as she knocked quietly on the first door. "What did you pick up?" she asked, glancing over before selecting a key from the ring.

I hesitated, uncertain. I'd never in my life had a store attendant act interested in my choice. Then, I said in a joking tone, "My girlfriend thinks I can pull these off." I shook 0ut the jeans, making sure the rips were evident.

"Hmm..." the young woman responded thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one finger and casting a critical glance up and down my body. Then she nodded. "Definitely," she agreed. "It would actually be an easy incorporation to your current style. You could add a nice edgy vibe to some of your more dapper outfits."

I blinked. Wait, you actually think so? I wanted to ask, but the girl was already smiling brightly and opening the door.

"There's a button in there to call me if you need anything," she told me. "And I'll let your girlfriend know you're in Changing Room 1."

"Thanks." The door clicked shut behind me, and I was once again standing in front of a full-body mirror.

Did she just assume I had dapper outfits? I wondered. I looked myself up and down again, comparing the salesgirl's reaction to the one I'd received in the previous boutique. You look good, man, I told myself, and I realized that in the wake of what had just happened I actually felt a measure of belief in the statement.

Nodding to myself, I held up the ripped jeans in front of my legs and looked in the mirror. It was odd, feeling like I was doing something difficult by putting on a pair of pants, but I tried to remember what Amber had said. This is a total style makeover, I told myself firmly. Kind of like the total body makeover you're working at with Carmen. It's out of your comfort zone, so it's bound to be a bit uncomfortable. I focused on the feeling of satisfaction I felt, knowing that the cute salesgirl had noticed my outfit and assumed that I had good style. Is that how you want your appearance to affect the people around you? I asked. Or do you want them to look at you like James the valet?

As I removed the chinos and pulled the jeans up my legs, I thought about all of the changes I'd been making recently, and about the worry I still had for the coming evening. I'm going to all of this effort, getting a new outfit and everything, and I still worry I'll make a fool of myself somehow.

You probably will, Devil Chance muttered. He raised his eyebrows skeptically as I examined the jeans in the mirror.

I knew my worries about tonight — about looking silly, about embarrassing my dates, about feeling uncomfortable and alienated — were a lesser incarnation of the fear I'd hinted at to Carmen this morning during our jog. What if I'm just terrible at socializing and making friends? Not only had I rarely gone out, but the memory of my last evening excursion, with Victoria and Amber, brought a sour taste to my tongue.

Your track record speaks for itself, the snide little voice concluded.

These were things I never would have consciously worried about before, and I knew that my girls were the cause. In the past, I'd always stayed safely where I was. So long as I did the things I was okay at, I never had to feel bad about myself. But now, just spending time around a group of gorgeous and interesting women had me realizing how much work I had to do.

"You've got this, man," I told myself, looking myself in the eye and trying to shrug away my pint-sized inner demon. "You can do it." I knew, of course, that my girls would enjoy themselves no matter what tonight. They had been hypnotically programmed, after all, to enjoy my company. In spite of that, it was beginning to be more and more important to me that I earn their affection 'the right way' — by being sexy and interesting in my own right.

"Babe?" Amber's voice broke me from my reflection. "How you doing in there? How do you look?"

"Oh, hey!" I answered. I gave myself a once-over. The ripped jeans, to my surprise, did add... something... to the outfit. I couldn't have put my finger on it, but... "I think," I told her through the door, "that I look good."

My girlfriend gasped happily. "Great, baby!" she enthused. "Just wanted you to add this, if you could." A grey shirt came up over the door, and when I lifted it up it proved to be a tee with a big, scooping neckline and thin, horizontal stripes.

"New shirt?" I asked, removing my jacket obediently.

"Yeah," Amber agreed. "I think so."

I pulled the tee over my head, enjoying the softness of the fabric, and then slipped back on the grey jacket. Even I was stunned when I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't know exactly how it worked, but the new shirt made my outfit pop.