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Resonance free porn video
"In physics, resonance is a phenomenon that occurs when an external force
drives another system to oscillate with greater amplitude at a specific
preferred frequency."
I saw Suicide Squad this summer. Boy, there are going to be a lot of
Harley Quinns at Halloween this year, I thought.
But thoughts of Harley stuck with me in the following weeks.
I'm the occassional cross dresser: I'll sometimes dress when my wife is
at work on the weekends. (She tolerates my inclination, but more than
anything it just depresses her so I try to keep it out of sight.) I'm
too tall and have too rugged a face to pass, but will occassionally
venture out to "feel the wind" in settings where I know I won't run into
anyone.
But Harley Quinn. Heavy, smudged makeup: anyone could do that. Tendrils
of hair over the face would hide (a little) my male bone structure. I'm
trim; not quite six-pack abs, but maybe just right for Harley's outfit.
Plus, her jacket would disguise my big-for-a-girl shoulders and keep me
from freezing if it were a cold Halloween. Gee, that could be fun.
Every fall I make the 2 1/2 hour drive to attend to my college
homecoming (my wife stays home), returning late Saturday night. As fall
approached, I realized that homecoming was scheduled for Halloween
weekend. Traditionally, Halloween is a big deal on campus, with many of
the students wearing costumes. I imagined transforming into Harley
there, and living the moment briefly (perhaps greeting some other
Harleys?) before driving back home en femme.
Would I actually do it? As time passed, Harley kept resonanting. "Well,
maybe" turned into "You know, I really could," turned into shopping to
keep the option open. Turned out I had a pair of fishnet pantyhose
(whoda thunk?). I bought the shirt and jacket, and a blong pigtail wig
from the local Halloween shop (tips tied with acylic ink turned out
great). I made the belt from some fabric we had here. For the shorts, I
bought a pair of red satin boxers and a pair of blue ones, sewed them
together, and added the shortest hem that I thought I could pull off over
my foam padded hips and rear. Two pairs of "opaque" pantyhose under my
fishnets was enough to hide the nude bodyshaper that holds the pads in
place. So, the hem went up pretty high. My inner Harley smiled.
I thought I could decorate a pair of boots to make them look a lot like
Harley's, but maybe be a little less extreme than hers given that I need
an enormous size (women's 12). I bought a pair of Carolbar "high chunky
heel short boots" (highly recommended), and used black and orange
electical tape to decorate them (that worked surprisingly well).
I bought a wooden baseball bat, and wired a selfie stick into it so that
the phone holder stuck out of the end of the bat, the shutter button was
on the handle, and the wires led up through a slot that I filled the best
I could. Instead of "Good Night," I lettered it to read "Say cheese" (on
a selfie stick, get it?). Gosh I'm clever.
This really is happening, I decided.
The day arrived. Lousy game, but my mind was elsewhere. I had brought
down an old pair of pants, sweatshirt, and shoes, all destined for the
trash. I put those on, and then carried my bat and a box of my things to
a men's room in one of the buildings on campus, a few blocks from the
car. I changed in a handicapped stall. I finished my makeup in front of
the washstand mirror. No interruptions (though I had imagined that it
might be fun if someone had come in then).
I left the box and the old clothes behind and stepped outside into a
beautiful day. I put the bat up behind my neck, with one arm on the
handle and the other near the tip, and strolled to the car. In that
outfit, the hip-swaying strut came naturally; I'm not sure that I could
have walked like a guy if I wanted. I smiled, and felt great.
I turned on some tunes and started the drive back. Jess Glynn's Hold My
Hand and Don't be So Hard on Yourself almost immediately had me singing
and dancing along in my seat. Cranking it up and adding some Pink, and I
felt fully released. I could barely keep my hands on the wheel as I
gleefully rocked my hips, boobs, shoulders, arms, and head in balance to
the music. I felt alive, vividly alive, and having a ball.
I stopped at a relatively rural Walmart to buy some makeup remover for
when I entually got back home. I touched up my makeup, and went in. No
greeter, but I wandered a bit before finding the makeup counter. As I
made my way over, a friendly call from behind from a worker in her
twenties, "Hey, Harley Quininn, where did you get your boots?" Now a
little nervous, I responded over my shoulder, "I made 'em!" and walked
on. In self-checkout, the supervisor, a woman in her sixties, walked
over, and in another friendly voice, started up a conversation. "How
long did it take you do learn how to walk in those boots?" I was now
disarmed, and we had a nice quick chat. "Have fun!" she offered as I
Ieft. Realizing that other people were having fun with my outfit, I now
regretted not having stopped and talked to the first girl. (Maybe she
was thinking of a similar outfit and looking for tips that I would have
been delighted to share!)
But on for a quick fast-food meal. Now having no worries about whether I
would pass (I wouldn't) and whether people would care (they wouldn't), I
more confidently sashayed into a McDonald's. The workers' eyes widened,
but they managed to act as though this was nothing new. After a few
minutes wait, the heavy 50's-ish guy next to me asked with a smile, "Can
I take a picture? My wife would love to see this." I happily posed,
giving a big opened-eyed and open-mouthed look of Harley thinking "Oh my
god, this is so much fun!".
I gotta do this again.
Mei
- 17.07.2020
- 18
- 0
