Resonance
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As I said in my first posting, I teased myself into making a Harley Quinn
costume and wearing it on the way home from a college homecoming trip on
the Saurday before Halloween. Once I got over the fear of being caught,
it was a happy delight. The experience had me bouncing all day Sunday,
and I wrote it up and submitted it.
As I headed to the office the following Monday (Halloween itself), I
recalled Halloweens past when I would leave work early, get dressed, and
parade a little before heading home. One year (when I was much younger) I
wore a classic French maid outfit, tailored satin that I lovingly shaped
to make the most of my assets (thin frame and lower arms and legs), and
minimize my awkward feature (big neck, big upper arms, and biggish
shoulders). Another year I was a witch, with gray tights, a nice black
dress, big sunglasses, and a great (handmade) witch's hat: that outift
brought a "great costume!" from a passerby that I'm pretty sure was
unaware that I was a guy.
No leaving work early this year. But Harley tugged at me all day, and I
contemplated dressing again after the last treat-or-treaters had gone.
(In our town, trick-or treating ends at 8:00.)
As I said in the last installament, my wife knows of my dressing, but has
preferred not to see or think about it. She and I usually watch some TV
after dinner, and she usually heads up for a long bath around 8:00,
sometimes coming back down at 10 for The Daily Show. I could probably put
the costume back on after she went up, and take it off at 10, I thought.
Or just keep it on, and see what she thinks, tempted my inner Harley.
I got home at 6:00. When changing out of my suit, that same inner Harley
suggested that I go ahead and pad my hips and butt, and put on my tights
and fishnets. Nervously, I did. Happily, my jeans still fit over it all,
though of course not the way that they normally do.
After dinner, I did the dishes, and it was getting dark. I could do more
to get ready, I thought. I put on my foundation, and rejoined my wife,
who was engrossed in a video game. You can do even more to get ready, my
inner Harley teased. I put on my bra, and rimmed my eyes with a touch of
light crayon eyeliner. The doorbell rang, and I hesitatingly answered the
door. But all attention was focussed on the trick-or-treating kid, who
couldn't have been more than 3 years old.
8:00 was drawing near, and there were no more trick-or-treaters in sight.
I added my blush, contoured the outside corners of my eyes with deep red
and blue shadow (red on one eye, blue on the other, of course), and used
liquid eyeliner to add batwings. I was definitely noticeable now, if
anybody looked.
8:00 passed, my wife still engrossed in her game. I turned on Pandora,
and tuned in a station based on songs by Pink.
Was my wife going to take her bath, or stay up till 10? Or should I just
tell her I had a costume and see how she reacted?
I nerviously paced, afraid of her reaction.
After ten minutes of nervous pacing, Sara Bareilles' song "Brave" came on,
and my inner Harley prevailed. Standing behind where my wife was sitting
(and out of the direct light), I told her that I was inspired by the
lyrics and had a costume--"girl clothes"-- that I wanted to wear. She
didn't grill me with her eyes, and, to my relief and delight, said "OK"
without any hint of annoyance.
I lept back to the powder room and finished getting dressed and made up.
When I came out, I was initially out of her line of sight. As I walked
into her view, I prepared her saying that I thought my costume was pretty
good, and pretty funny.
Happily, she agreed.
I proudly pointed out the features of the costume, how well the little
heart on my right cheek came out, how clever my selfie stick was, how nice
my boots came out. She laughingly agreed, and even cooperated in taking a
few photos.
I told her she was the greatest for putting up with me. I leaned over to
give her an affectionate kiss, which she accepted despite the weirdness.
(If this were fiction, I would have claimed that happened while Katy
Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" played. Sadly, that song never came on.)
Ultimately, my wife did head up for bed without a bath, and I quickly
joined her (washing off the makeup and replacing the costume with regular
men's silk boxers). We're older, and things are generally very quiet in
bed. She was on her side facing away from me, and I again appreciatively
kissed her, this time on the shoulder. But passion had a hold on me, and
the kissing continued up her neck to her ear, turning into nuzzling.
Things progressed from there, and 45 minutes later she was (if I may say)
humping like a bunny, something we haven't experienced in years.
Harley, what have you wrought?
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