Formal-wear can be so… formal, sometimes.

He studies her, and as he does so, he imagines himself amongst the party-goers, anonymous in black tuxedo and bow tie. He imagines the other men watching her, unable to drag their gazes away from her. He knows what they’ll be thinking. They’ll be wondering what it would be like to slip their hand inside the long slit on her dress and onto the warmth of her thigh. They’ll be wondering what it would be like to be alone with her, to take hold of the gown’s zip and draw it slowly downwards until the dress slides down her body and pools at her feet.

Well, and then there’s that.