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Story Notes:
So this popped into my head while I was trying, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep last night. And then again when I was, unsuccessfully, trying to read for class. And cemented by my watching "Branch Wars" on my new season 4 DVDs.
Author's Chapter Notes:
The title comes from the Ben Folds song. It really has nothing to do with the story, I just really like Ben Folds. So, I've seen Walk Hard and Blades of Glory and yeah, Jenna Fischer is sexy. But let's operate under the assumption that Pam has never seen herself as sexy.
Okay.


So here’s the thing.


Pam knows she’s adorable. She’s cute. Definitely. But here’s the other thing, Karen? Was sexy. And Pam is cute, but she’s not really all that sexy.


She used to drive herself crazy imagining Karen and Jim together. Karen, who had those smoky eyes and olive complexion and silky dark hair, and who Pam would imagine in a silky negligee sliding her hands and body over Jim’s.


When Pam tried on lingerie it was cute. It was never sexy. Not really, and when she tried to make sexy faces in the mirror it looked ridiculous. She looked ridiculous. Definitely not sexy.


It was times like this that she wished that she had some real girl friends. Because Jim was great and all, but she knew the exact response that she would get if she asked him how she could be sexier.


“But you are sexy,” he would reassure.


She wanted to knock him off his feet. She wanted to show him that he hadn’t made a mistake by leaving Karen for her.


But she wasn’t sure who exactly she was supposed to ask.


Meredith was out. Her idea of sexy involved lots of booze and probably some moves that Pam was pretty sure she didn’t need to know.


Kelly wasn’t exactly sexy. She was cute, yes, all bubble gum pink and frills. Pam knew that she would be more than happy to help, but it would involve lots of pink and bows and ribbons and Pam didn’t need to look like a bottle of Pepto Bismal threw up on her.


Angela would make some snotty comment about whores and mattresses and probably slip an abomination of God in there for good measure.


And Phyllis? Well, Phyllis was sweet, but sexy was not the first word that came to mind when Pam thought of her.


She was kind of out of options.


Which is how she ended up at the Steamtown Mall with Oscar of all people. Oscar, who was pulling lingerie off the hangers and pushing them into her arms and pushing her into the dressing room at Victoria’s Secret.


She had approached him after their Finer Things Club meeting.


“Oscar? Can I talk to you for a second?” She asked as they were cleaning up the little sandwiches she had painstakingly cut the night before to look like grapes for their discussion on The Grapes of Wrath, and Toby looked sharply up.


“Sure, what’s up Pam?” And Pam sent a look Toby’s way, and he shuffled out of the room .


“I kind of, well, I kind of have a favor to ask,” she twisted the cloth napkin between her fingers and bit her lip. And before she could lose her nerve, it spilled out in one long sentence, “Ineedtobuysomelingeriebecauseit’sJim’sbirthdayandI’mnotverygoodatpickingoutlingerieandIwantedtolooksexyand couldyoumaybehelpme?”


Oscar’s eyebrow raised, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.


“Sure, sure,” he agreed easily, and she relaxed a little and they made plans to meet that Saturday morning at the mall because Jim had a standing pick up basketball game on Saturday mornings and Oscar’s partner Gil had yoga or something, she wasn’t sure, and on the drive to the mall she almost turned around four times.


“How about this one?” He asked, grabbing a black and gray bra and panties set. She looked down at the one that she had in her hands, a polka dotted maroon set and was glad she had invited him along. The black had a distinct lack of bows, and was decidedly sexier.


“Try it on, and let me see,” Oscar said nudging her towards the dressing room. He had devised a system which ranked the lingerie on a chili pepper scale, and whistled when she walked out in what he called a jalapeno. Pam blushed at first, tugging at the straps and trying to cover herself up, but Oscar was so funny and nice that she started to loosen up and by the time they had moved onto Macy’s (to compare, Oscar explained, not to let Victoria’s Secret be the end all of lingerie. It was a monopoly, he declared, pulling at her hand, a monopoly on bras and he would not stand for it) she was giggling and striking poses and she suddenly felt confident and, well, sexier.


They agreed on a gray lace corset type thing back at Victoria’s Secret and Pam bought it with a flourish, clutching her little pink striped bag as they made their way back through the mall.


To thank Oscar she bought him an Orange Julius, and they got Chik-fil-a and talked about books they loved that weren’t exactly Finer Things quality and how Toby was a little too obsessed with the Finer Things Club, and how it was ridiculous that he wouldn’t let them read any book that had been picked by Oprah for her book club, because that was selling out, when they both knew that she had some really great books on her list.


And they agreed to meet for drinks later that week so that they could gossip about their boyfriends and their officemates and she gave him a hug goodbye as she carried her bag to the car.


When she tried on the lingerie for Jim two days later on his birthday, his eyes widened and he licked his lips.


“I like that,” he said hoarsely. “I like that a lot.”


“Oscar helped pick it out,” she told him, her hand on her hips and her hair falling in soft curls.


“I like Oscar,” Jim whispered as he moved towards her. “I like Oscar a lot.” And she knew, she knew she looked hot, but Jim had trouble undoing the little tiny buttons on the corset and he accidentally broke one of the straps and she ended up laughing hysterically and feeling very non-sexy, but maybe sexy was overrated and later that night, when she had slipped on just a pair of panties and a tank top, and Jim’s hand snaked underneath, she decided that being cute was okay.


Her phone beeped with a text from Oscar, asking if Jim had liked the corset, and she replied,


“Definite success. Are you any good at sewing?”


bashert is the author of 37 other stories.
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