Author's Note: I'm going to be taking a break from writing while I deal with some health issues. I wanted to thank the readers who have taken the time to offer kind comments and helpful feedback about my stories. And, to the people who weren't fans, I'm sorry that my works weren't your cup of tea. Take care of yourselves, folks.
I stood looking at the outfit I had assembled for the evening: a pleated plaid miniskirt, a fitted women's dress shirt, a navy schoolgirl blazer, white knee-high stockings, and a pair of black platform stilettos. I had scoured various thrift stores in order to keep costs down. As a college sophomore, I wasn't swimming in excess funds.
I had taken some liberties with the costume, as one would expect for a college frat party. It was going to be a new experience for me, so I decided to fully embrace the "slutty Halloween" trope, even though it wasn't Halloween. I felt proud of my efforts; I was hopeful that most people would be able to tell who I was supposed to be.
The theme of the party was Tarantino. Since it was only 2005, there weren't going to be any Djangos or 'inglorious basterds.' I had been expecting to see quite a few guys in black suits though, whether they be Reservoir Dogs or Vincent Vega would likely come down to small details.
I tossed my robe to the floor, standing completely naked in front of my full-length mirror. I stared at my body, acknowledging the uneasy truce that I had come to with it earlier that year. I had gained the ubiquitous freshman fifteen, which had made me incredibly self-conscious. I'd changed my diet and exercise regimen a little too drastically at the start of the following year, and the effects of that overcorrection were still somewhat visible.
I scanned my lithe, five-foot-seven, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame. I was much more diminutive than most of the other men on campus. I fell squarely into the category of twink, which I had also learned to accept. Aside from my small stature, I was pretty unremarkable in most other regards - sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles on my cheeks.
I had been told that some of my features were more feminine, including my full lips and perky ass. I wondered if they would work to my advantage that night; it was the first time I was going to dress up in women's clothing. It felt like a coming-of-age experience to finally be dressing in drag after watching
Too Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar
more times than one would imagine humanly possible.
I walked over to my top dresser drawer, opening it to reveal a pair of red lace panties and a padded bra. I pick up the panties and rubbed their soft lace between my thumb and index finger. I'd originally been planning to wear black briefs under the skirt, but I realized that the underwear would be visible at times if I were to bend over or move too quickly. I decided that I wanted to sell the full fantasy.
I pulled the panties over my freshly shaved legs. I had gone to town on myself, removing pretty much all of the hair on my body from the neck down. I had never felt so smooth. I yanked the panties into place. As a major grower, it wasn't too difficult to position my soft three-inch dick against the frilly fabric in the front of the garment.
I pulled on the rest of my outfit, aside from the platform stilettos. I traipsed over to my backpack leaning against the wall and removed a small bag. I pulled out two "chicken cutlet" inserts that a friend had lent me. I poked at them for a few seconds before sticking them into my bra.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
My friends Sasha and Vicky walked in before I had time respond. I had known them since the first week of college. They were both popular sorority girls that didn't have any difficulties navigating the campus social scene. I had become their sensitive, artsy gay friend. It wasn't a complete cliche, but it was pretty close.
"You look so good!" Vicky howled.
"Thanks," I said with a demure smile. "I'm loving your looks too."
We had decided that we wanted to dress up as characters from the same film. I was Gogo Yubari, Vicky was The Bride in her signature yellow outfit, and Sasha was Elle Driver in the hospital scene with the nurse's outfit and matching eye patch. Needless to say, they had taken some artistic liberties as well. Vicky's pleather jumpsuit was so tight it looked like it was painted onto her body.
"Time for the
really
girly stuff," Vicky said, holding my wig in one hand and a make-up kit in the other.
I sat in my well-worn chair in front of the mirror. Vicky and Sasha circled around me like sluttier versions of Cinderella's fairy godmother. I listened as they described each step of their process - double false lashes, foundation and contouring, smoky eye shadow, and a gloss that gave my lips a shiny ruby hue. After the makeover was complete, they helped clip on the long black wig to ensure that it was well-secured.
"You look fucking amazing!" Sasha said with her signature vocal fry.
"I'm going to have to keep Liam away from you tonight," Vicky joked, referencing her boyfriend. "This might be too tempting for him."
I rolled my eyes as a smirk appeared on my face. I stood up from the chair to better see myself in the mirror. They were right; I actually did look really good. I don't know why I hadn't been able to see it while they were transforming me. My body was tight and lean, while the softer features of my face popped even more with the help of the cosmetics.
I was feeling incredibly sexy, but in a way I couldn't quite describe. It wasn't like how I felt when I tossed on tight jeans and an overly-fitted tank top. I pulled the bottom edges of the shirt above my flat stomach, tying them into a loose knot. I reached down and rubbed the smooth skin.
"That is so fetch!" Vicky said, channeling Gretchen Wieners in what was already becoming a dated reference.
I chuckled before snapping back to reality. I grabbed the platform stilettos from where they laid near the foot of the bed. I could see the very bottom of the red lace clinging to my ass cheek as I bent forward. I sat back down on the chair to fasten the ankle straps.
Vicky, Sasha, and I did a final review of our outfits before heading out for the night. It was still quite warm for September so we didn't need to wear jackets. We all did a pre-party shot of Absolut to get the vibe going before we left my apartment.
The next few hours went by much as one might expect, but with a few surprises. We danced, drank a lot, smoked a cigarette on the back patio, and had a generally fun time. Vicky was flitting back and forth between us and Liam. I quickly learned that heels are no joke. I kept finding myself going to the kitchen just so I could easily lean against the bar countertop. I'd realized that, unfortunately, my skirt was far too short to be able to sit.
The biggest stunner of the evening was that so many of my friends didn't recognize me at all. They had to wait for me to speak to realize that I wasn't someone else. I'd always disliked my voice; it was higher-pitched than most men's. People often assumed that they had the wrong number when I answered my phone.
Sasha and I had just finished shaking our asses to Rihanna's "Pon de Replay" when she excused herself to go use the restroom. I decided it would be a good time to go perch against the kitchen counter again and drink some water.
The kitchen crowd had thinned out since the last time I had sought refuge. I grabbed one of the red Solo cups and filled it with water from the tap. I shimmied a few steps to leave the space open before reclining against a cupboard. I was feeling overheated from the dancing, so I removed my blazer and set it on the countertop.
