Harry stares at me for a moment longer, bites his lip, moans. His hand is still on his dick. He motions for me to twirl, so I do, and he blinks his eyes upwards towards the ceiling. “Be right back,” he says, and shuts himself inside my bathroom.
I know he’s not shaving, but the thought that he’s in there fucking his fist to the image of me is making me deliriously power drunk. Before I put my costume on again, I set my phone to timer mode and take some pictures to torture him with later.
Harry returns with the biggest smile on his face and the front of his dress looking much, much flatter. “I didn’t shave my legs.”
“I gathered as much.”
I do his makeup and fix his wig on him. The red of the wig exactly matches Harry’s own hair, and I get a glimpse of what his sisters might look like. Then I do my makeup, slip my wig cap on, then my blonde wig, and slide my feet into my shoes, making me about nine feet tall, and we’re ready to go.
Harry giggles when we stand side by side in front of the mirror. I’ve given him a big garden spade as a prop, and I have a replica shotgun.
“We look so good. Oh my god. Let me take some pics,” he says, in between yet more giggling.
We snap a few mirror selfies. Harry uploads a photo to his Instagram stories and includes the tag “fit check.”
He’s so fucking cute, even with the bulge. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to ruin either of our lipsticks. I drive us down the lane, and park my car on the drive of Fernbank Cottage—Owen and Mathias’s house—because the pub’s car park is already full. We chuck our trainers onto the back seat, so we don’t have to walk home tonight in four-inch heels.
We’re greeted with the most enthusiastic cheering at the door to the pub. It’s wall-to-wall crammed with people, and we spend a few moments working out who hides behind each costume.
Serasi has come dressed as a dentist with a rather lethal-looking nitrous-oxide mask, and Daisy is Audrey II. I can see why she didn’t want to dress as a regular human with a hole in her stomach.
Mr B is Charlie fromTwilight, complete with the stick-on moustache and a checked shirt. Mathias is topless. A werewolf’s full rubber headpiece sits on the flip-down bar lid, but for now I guess he’s abandoned it.
Dan Chelford, the Cents’ captain, is Beetlejuice, and his wife is Lydia Deets.
Tom and Bryn are Wayne and Garth.
Molly and her boyfriend—friend who just so happens to be a boy?—are a mummy and an archaeologist.
“We have stiff competition for the couple’s prize,” I whisper to Harry.
“Mathias isn’t dressed up,” he whispers back. “That makes me better than him.”
I don’t argue. Don’t tell him that technically Mathias is Jacob but that it’s too hot inside to wear the full mask. But I do pivot Harry in such a way that I keep Mathias’s naked torso in my line of vision. I might not feel attracted to him, but nobody can deny that his body is a fucking work of art.
I’m not the only person ogling him. Several heads seem to follow his movement around the pub, including Harry’s best friend Pi, who until tonight I’d always assumed was one hundred per cent straight. Now, judging by the way he can’t quite find the straw in his drink with his tongue because he won’t take his eyes off Mathias for a second to locate it, I’d be willing to place money on the contrary.
Pi is dressed as Rumi fromKPop Demon Hunters. He’s wearing a long purple wig, denim hot pants so far up his ass I can almost see what he ate for lunch, and enormous joke tits. I only gave Harry little tits. Mostly because I used the bra I’d bought for Daisy, but he seemed more than happy with the size of them.
“Oi oi!” Harry yells to his best mate before breaking into the opening verse of “Golden.”
“How ya going, Abs?!” Pi shouts back, finally tearing his gaze from a half-naked Mathias. Surely he must see more of him in the showers at training? “Love the costume, mate. You’re whatsherface fromDeath Becomes Her?”
“Yes, that’s the one!” Harry says, gleeful that someone recognised him. “We need to get some pics.”
They start taking selfies together, but I grab Harry’s phone from him and snap a couple from further back to include their full costumes. Along with his high-waisted shorts, Pi’s also got fishnets and a little crop top on, and it’d be a crying shame if there were no lasting receipts of this.
Harry’s by my side, grabbing the phone out of my hand and bringing up the photos I’d just taken. Pi joins him on his other side, but before I can react and snatch the device back, Harry has scrolled too far, and now we’re all staring at a picture of me wearing nothing but lace knickers.
I had WhatsApped them to Harry before we left, and they’d obviously auto-saved to his gallery.
“Ohh! Hello,” Pi says, figuring it out before Harry, who’s dumbstruck. Just like last time.
“Fuck!” Harry yells, trying to shove the phone in his pocket but forgetting he doesn’t have pockets. The device tumbles to the ground, and somehow he’s managed to swipe to the next photo and simultaneously zoomed in.
I’m bending over, butt to the camera. Clearly visible through the mesh gaps in the lace are my balls and my asshole.
Pi silently picks up Harry’s phone and hands it to him. “Sooo,” he says after a few moments in which the only thing Harry has done to communicate with either of us is stare at me with owl-like eyes. “You fellas fancy a drink?”
