Rewritten Title: Opportunities Part Four

Opportunities: A tale crafted for Oxana. By Themes include selfbondage, exhibitionism, and the outdoors. Chapter 4 of 6: The Sketch On Monday evening after work, I took a detour to revisit where I had first met that well-dressed gentleman—the conductor. My spirits were low because my adventure seemed so brief. The shop was quiet when I walked in; an elegant woman in her sixties stood at the counter, going over a ledger.

“Excuse me,” I said, fumbling with the words. “A gentleman whose wallet I ……found asked that I return it to you here.” I wasn’t used to lying, and I didn’t want to admit right away that I had taken the item.

“Ah yes. Thank you for bringing it back. Please wait a moment. There is something special for you,” she said.

She came back quickly holding a garment box. “This is yours. You don’t need to try it on; we saved your measurements from when you visited last time. I am sure you will like it. He chose the pieces himself.”

I accepted the package with grace and stepped outside. As the door shut behind me, I felt isolated and even a bit dismissed. Usually, a mystery garment box would thrill me, but this one felt more like a consolation prize.

Back home, I poured myself a generous glass of wine and sat at the table to open the box. I untied the ribbons, setting them aside carefully, then lifted the cover. Inside lay a fitted ladies’ dress jacket in a very light cream shade, with shortened sleeves, a nice lapel, and a single black button. I was impressed. As I pulled it out to try it on, I spotted another item: a black pull-over shirt featuring a deep V-neck, made of sheer material that might be silk.

I took off my sweater and bra and carefully wormed the shirt over my head so as not to snag or tear it. Then I put the jacket on top. With the button fastened, the lapel edges ran parallel to the V-neck. The shirt sleeves hung just below the cuff of the jacket. The jacket hugged my breasts closely, showing a hint of curvature; respectable yet sexy. Suddenly, that consolation prize didn’t seem so bad after all.

While gathering up the tissue paper and ribbons from the packaging, I noticed one more item in the box: a small envelope. It was likely a gift receipt. I picked it up and set it aside while I collapsed the box to store with my other wrapping supplies. As I moved about, the silky material allowed the jacket to slip back and forth across my nipples. The sensation felt pleasant. I removed the outfit and hung it in the closet before tidying the kitchen and getting ready for bed. On my way out of the kitchen, I swiped up the envelope from the table and headed upstairs.

Before tossing what looked like a receipt into the nightstand drawer, I opened it. It wasn’t a receipt; it was a note.

I hope you enjoy the shirt and jacket. However, this is only part of the reward prepared for you. Dressed in your new outfit, please attend the ART-EVENT at the Expo this Saturday at 7pm. Go to booth 166. There, an opportunity awaits.

I sat up straight, eyes wide, heart pounding. This wasn’t the end; perhaps it was just the beginning.

Saturday felt like an eternity away. By Thursday, I had to inform my friends that instead of meeting them for drinks at our usual spot, I might catch up with them later. They pressed me for details. All I could say was that I wasn’t sure what would happen yet but promised to fill them in on the specifics during brunch.

Saturday morning arrived, and I carried out my routine: groceries, cleaning, laundry. Nervousness kept appetite at bay, so I mostly survived on grapes and crackers. At 4pm, I began getting ready for our outing. After showering and doing hair and makeup, by 5:30 I was dressing up and double-checking the tram route to the Expo.

The electric rail car clicked and clacked along its path, bringing me closer to “my opportunity.” Although unsure what awaited, seeing as it would be in such a public place, I felt little reason for fear.

Stepping off the tram, I put on large dark sunglasses and walked across the street into the Expo. The Art-Event was crowded with people slowly wandering through aisles, viewing various booths. Despite the crowd, there was relative quiet as most engaged in subdued conversations. Consulting the floor plan, I sought the most direct route to booth 166. As I walked, my breasts were caressed and stimulated. Without the jacket, my extremely erect nipples would be obvious to everyone.

Approaching booth 166, I passed artisans including potters, sculptors, and painters, plus a dance group performing nearby. Booth 166 featured work from a sketch artist. A woman in her mid-50s sat quietly working on a landscape based on a photo.

“Excuse me,” I said, feeling uneasy about distracting her.

She looked up at me and greeted with a warm smile. “Are you here for the 7pm sitting?”

“The what?” I muttered back.

“I have been expecting you. Please come in and take a seat. I was commissioned to sketch your portrait. Let’s remove these sunglasses,” she instructed.

She reached out with delicate hands, slipping the glasses off my face to analyze my features closely. “It is easy to see why he would like a portrait; you have lovely features. You will do very well. Settle in comfortably.” She turned on a large floodlight and adjusted it for the right angle. “Please look over at that post there, and keep your eyes fixed upon it,” I did as directed.

She set up fresh sketch paper, organized her pencils, and settled into position. “Ready to begin?”

“Yes,” I replied.

There was a pause. It seemed she was waiting for something specific.

“Dear,” she began in a warm, comforting tone, “the instructions were quite clear: you need to put your jacket aside.”

“What? But I don’t have…” and then it clicked. This was my opportunity. Nudity was common at the art show; however, all visible nipples belonged either to paintings or clay statues rather than people walking around. There weren’t many near-nude individuals about. Here was my chance to experience a fantasy—the exhibition of myself—which I had always wanted. Sitting almost topless for a sketch seemed borderline acceptable in this context.

I turned toward the artist, nodded quietly, and unfastened the single button on the jacket. It slipped off as I folded it and placed it across the chair back beside me. Settling back into my seat, before returning my gaze to the designated spot, I noticed both nipples fully erect and clearly visible through the sheer material.

Others seemed to notice too. People wandered past slowly, taking time to inspect both the artist’s work and my assets. In my mind, I imagined myself as a statue.

My heart pounded; skin flushed. Trying not to make eye contact with passers-by was difficult given their evident interest. Slowly, focus narrowed until all I saw were eyes passing by while everything else went dark. As I embraced the feeling of exposure, these people enjoyed viewing me. Slowly, I sank into a dreamlike state.

Time passed unknowingly until the artist finally spoke again. “You did wonderfully and showed great courage. Thank you for your patience. You may put your jacket back on now.”

As I dressed, self-consciousness returned in waves. Slipping my sunglasses back on, I noticed the artist rolling up the sketch and placing it into a tube. She turned to me and handed it over. The tube was already addressed with postage paid.

“Providing you have a choice. You can send the sketch, or keep it. It’s your choice.” “I don’t understand.” With a youthful grin on her face, she approached me and clarified. “If you’re interested in another…’opportunity’, then mail the tube. Otherwise, if this is as far as you’d like to go, then keep the sketch as a memento of opportunities gone by.” A chill went up my spine. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on. I looked at the mailing address on the tube. Of course, it was addressed to him, the conductor. I opted to go straight home. The evening’s experiences left me confused. How many people knew about the conductor? I didn’t know if I was going to mail the tube. I was haunted by the feeling that I would regret it all my life if I didn’t. The next morning, as usual, I met the gang for brunch. Most were not too pleased with me for not showing up last night, but I think I more than made up for that with the story I had to share. However, I could see that some were not completely convinced that I was telling the truth. It’s at that point that with a single swift motion, I grabbed the tube leaning against the side of my chair, under my coat, and laid it across the table. All fell silent. Opportunities continues in chapter 5