I dig through the mountain of undergarments until I find a sealed plastic Ziploc bag.Holy sweet Jesus. I forgot all about this.It’s a costume I bought for Scott for our first Halloween together. I only wore it once,and I remember it didn’t stay on for very long. I take out the getup. The black patent leather squeaks against itself as I remove the bustier from the bag. It’s accompanied by a pair of shiny black thigh highs and what I remember referring to as “assless” spandex booty shorts, which bear a resemblance to a thong but actually have the butt cheeks cut out of the back of what otherwise would fit as a full-size panty. I remember the very first time I saw them, I thought it was a design flaw. But no. That was all intentional, courtesy of comeandgetmekitty.com, an online sex shop that I frequented one time only but have received spam from up to twelve times a day ever since.
I have black heels that would pair nicely with the thigh highs, and since my hair is drying wild all over the place, I might as well just leave it out and curly. I pump some mousse into my palm and rub it through my damp mane. Hopefully it won’t look too ridiculous. In the bathroom, I apply a few quick dabs of concealer and a layer of powder, and then go extra hard on black eyeliner, green eyeshadow, and black mascara. I purse my lips and paint them blood red, which makes my teeth look super white.
I squeeze my body into the outfit on the bed and opt to leave the pleather whip in the Ziploc. I wouldn’t want to give Colin the wrong idea. I dig a pair of black high heels out of the bottom of my closet and slide them on. Then, I hastily dump all the underwear back into the drawer and return it to the empty space in the dresser where it belongs.
Finally, I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror.
Hmm.
It’s possible that I may have overdone it with the eye makeup. My face kind of looks like a cosmetology student’s dummy. Or maybe a vampire, thanks to my lips.
Easy fix!I quickly move through the house and turn off all the lights. The sun still beams in through the windows, but at least it’s a little bit better.
The buzzer alerts me that someone is in the downstairs lobby. I catch my breath. “Who is it?” I ask in my most sexy, nonchalant voice. It’s bad. I sound like an elderly smoker.
“It’s Colin,” he replies. “Should I come up, or do you want to come down?”
Come down?“Um, you should come up. Definitely.”
“Okay. Be right there,” he says. I buzz him in.
I pace back and forth.Why would he ask me if I wanted to come down? Is thisnota midday mounting?
I’m all confused and nervous when the doorbell rings.Guess someone used the stairs—#MVP. I laugh.
I look through the peephole. He’s just standing there, looking all cute. Dressed in jeans and a hoodie, it looks like.
Shit. I think I read this situation wrong.
And this is when panic ensues.
“Um, hey,” I say, through the still-closed door.
“Hey. You gonna let me in?” he asks.
“I don’t know if I should,” I reply.
“What? Why?”
“It’s just, I, um. I may have misread this impromptu little get-together.” My palms begin to sweat.
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Open the door, crazy.”
I look through the peephole and see him smiling.
“Okay, but just know that I’ve never done this before.” I muster up all my courage and unlock the chain.
“Never done what?” Colin asks as I pull the steel door towards me. I hide behind it and poke out my head. “Oh. You look…different.”
He comes inside the entryway of my apartment. There is nowhere to hide as the door shuts, leaving me standing there in front of Colin Yarmouth, scantily clad in a dominatrix outfit and drag makeup for whatI am suddenly realizing mightnothave been an afternoon-delight Netflix and chill.
“Holy shit, Gracie!” Colin’s eyes pop open wide, as if he was just stung by a hornet. “What…are you wearing?”
My face is lit on fire by the blowtorch of his expression. I have no idea how we got here. Without a clue of how to proceed, I say the first thing that enters my brain. “Surprise!”
“Um, yeah. This is a surprise all right.” His eyebrows imply concern, but his smirk suggests something else. Enjoyment, perhaps? Appreciation?
I do a quick spin. “What do you think?”
