He expected to find it sexy when she put on his shirt for the first time. Truth be told, he much preferred pictures of women partially naked in men’s wear than pictures of them completely bare. He was especially partial to the ones that included neck ties and toned, bronzed, bared legs jutting from crisp, pressed, spotless shirttails.
On her, however, his wrinkle-free white dress shirt with its delicate navy pinstripes seemed to swallow everything that usually appealed to him. Her legs looked too thin, her shoulders too angular, the rest of her lost in the billow. She looked more like a child in her father’s clothes than he was comfortable seeing.
After, he gave her the shirt and wasn’t at all upset when she began using it as a finger painting smock. Anything so long as the purpose changed.
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