Ladies Pocketbook Novels & Stories

"I don't even know what some of these things are called." "Well, from what I figured out earlier, there are two petticoats, one under the hoopskirt and one over it. There's stockings and garters. Then the bloomers - which I think were really called drawers." "And how does an accountant know so much about Victorian wardrobes?" He pulled off the second boot and tossed it over her shoulder. Gently, he ran his hands up her calves over the heavy black stockings. Shelby felt her face heat. Squeezing her eyes shut, she admitted, "Romance novels. My secret vice."

Chapter 22 - You can’t decide what’s important for other people ‘This fucking bitch.’ The girl thought to herself as she opened a pink bag that was sitting under the table. The girl saw a wallet, sanitizer, pen, and paper. There was nothing other than that and it made her frown even more. She grabbed the black wallet and opened it to see 10 bucks in cash and no cards other than her I.D. ‘Is this even her bag?’ The girl searched and couldn’t find anything of importance other than her wallet, it didn’t even have any cards in it.

Every so often the little girl would stop what she was doing and simply twirl. “That’s her requirement for every dress,” Electra grinned as Emily stood in the middle of the playground and twirled her blue gingham checked sundress. “I have to twirl.” “And pockets,” Hadrian added. “I love dresses with pockets,” Tanisha gushed. “It’s like designers think that we don’t carry things also,” Yolanda complained. “You have purses,” her husband countered. “Because we don’t have pockets!” all the women chimed at once. They all gave a little laugh as they bonded over the curse of women’s fashion.

I waved both of my hands, hoping she would know that I am grateful. "Oh right, I forgot..." She said before she reached in to the front pocket of her pink apron. The woman pulled out a pink mini notebook with a snap button and a small pen tucked in the gap of the strap. "Here." She said as she offered me the notebook. Accepting the book with both of my hands, I looked down at it with confusion. "I thought it might come in handy. Besides it's small enough to fit in to a wide pocket so you can carry it anywhere." The woman said.

The silhouette that was not the exaggerated elegance of performance but the specific quiet confidence of a woman who knew what she was. And at the left side. Hidden. A pocket. Small. Accessible only to the wearer. Not for the ammonite. Not large enough for the ammonite. For something smaller. Something specific. I looked at the pocket. I looked at Amara. She was watching me look at it. The expression that was entirely hers. "What goes in the pocket?" I said. She looked at the dress. She looked at the pocket. "I don't know yet," she said. "But something will." A pause. "The pocket is for things that need to survive." She looked at me. "That's what I make them for."

The weight of our situation pressed down, heavy and suffocating. It was then, amidst the debris of a collapsed building, that Kelly unearthed it – a small, tarnished silver locket. It lay half-buried in the dust, its surface scratched and worn, yet somehow managing to retain a faint, almost ethereal glow. We gathered around it, the faint glimmer a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Inside, nestled amongst the faded velvet lining, was a single, faded photograph.

“Of course I do, is that so hard to understand?” “Well... no”, the lady took in her appearance, “It’s not every time you see a lady come to a library…dressed like…this…a sword by her side” Raisel looked around, she did have a point, “It is very important actually” “Well, what exactly do you what?” “A book on pearls, gems, stones, you know what I mean” “Oh, I see”, the lady closed the book in her hand, “Which one in particular?, Emeralds, sapphire, ruby, diamonds?”

It looked like a flash drive, but it was encased in platinum. "The payload," he said. "Where do I put it?" I asked. "The dress has no pockets." Elara smirked. "I am The Weaver, darling. I anticipate the needs of my clientele." She knelt down. She adjusted the hem of the dress. "Lift your leg," she ordered. I lifted my leg. Inside the heavy hem of the dress, hidden in the lining, was a tiny, reinforced pocket. "Perfect for a knife, a cyanide pill, or a data drive," Elara said.

Belt. Hairpins... What else has she on her? I have resources... At last! Fucking resources! I check for pockets first. The electric-blue spandex skirt turns out to have two small pockets; one empty, one containing a half a packet of mints. Murphy's Law says of course that they're sugar-free - I could have used the calories - but still, the small lozenge slipped under my tongue sets my mouth running and flavour zipping over my tongue and lips. I set the rest of the packet carefully to one side, out of harm's way.

These ones also have pockets hidden all over the dress. There are pockets in the bodice, some in the belt, others are just in the folds of the dress. I can only estimate that with any one of these dresses I would be able to carry 50 knives on me or more. My eyes immediately fall on a purple silk dress that is slightly lower cut in the front while still concealing many hiding places for me. As soon as the seamstress sees my eyes land on the purple dress, she walks over to it and holds it out for me to try it on. I have never worn something this nice so I am not quite sure how to proceed at putting it on.