The two women looked at each for a very, very long time before daring to say anything. Opening up that particular package was meant to be a source of happiness in the Driscoll household but, instead, it brought about bewilderment and even a hint of sadness.
"Hmmm, sis... this doesn't look like a Batgirl outfit to me!" Clare finally blurted as she bit her upper lip.
Rose held the glossy attire up high and nodded her head.
"You're right, it certainly doesn't... they must have made a mistake back at the store. It's pretty, though."
"Pretty" was definitely an understatement as deep inside, she was sure to never have seen something so thought-provoking in her life. However, it was not what she had ordered which meant, much to her sorrow, that there was only one possible course of action:
"I'm going to have to return it right away, and hope they have my real costume lying there somewhere, otherwise Josh is in for a world of disappointment."
Josh Reynolds was her boyfriend. He had been the first guy she had ever kissed, but also the third... and the sixth. Ever since the beginning, their relationship had been a troublesome one, with lots of break-ups and following reconciliations. It seemed they couldn't be close to each other for long, but, when they were apart, it was even worse, to the point of almost being unbearable. Perhaps, it wasn't the healthiest of interactions between two people, yet they somehow managed to make it work because, in the end, their mutual interests outweighed their various differences of heart.
One such interest was the convoluted world of comics, of superheroes and supervillains, filled with contradictory stories, alternate universes, and other impossible scenarios. It filled their imaginations with fantastic and hopeful visions, for a world of humans beyond humans meant there were lots of possibilities worth exploring, instead of succumbing to conformity and resignation whenever things went south.
However, there was also the kinky factor involved as all the tight clothes and revealing cleavages that populate these exotic universes are an open invitation to sex and lust, giving rise to many fetishes. Rose definitely had her share of those and Josh wasn't any different. The Batgirl outfit she had fallen in love with was sure to have other uses besides being cute Cosplay material at the Wondrous Dreams Convention.
"I think you should try it on before you do that," her sister said, with a little hint of jealousy.
"Tempting, but no... It's someone else's fantasy," and having said this, Rose returned the suit to its cardboard box, closed it the best way she could and dashed towards the door, saying: "I'll be back as soon as I can."
* * *
Fantasy Realms was the name of the store. It wasn't the most original one, and the place hadn't opened up with a bang either but, ever since day one, the outfits on display had managed to captivate her imagination, awakening both the inner child and the lascivious woman at the same time.
It had taken her two months to find the guts to go inside and get herself a custom-made costume, though. One might argue that giving up to a capricious whim was quite an easy feat to accomplish, but not in her case. Rose liked to ponder things, to check and re-check arguments until she was sure she was doing the right thing. She was also against buying things by means of plastic, much to the despair of every major credit provider in the city and, as such, only when she managed to amass enough money from the bar tips, did she indulge herself.
With all these things in consideration, it's not difficult to understand why it was so hard for her to open the front door and get inside once again, this time to complain.
She noticed two things the moment she stepped in the threshold of that fantasy sanctum: the first was that the air was laden with some kind of incense mixed with something else she couldn't identify, which gave the place a more ethereal atmosphere than usual; the second was that the owner stood smiling behind the wooden counter, and he too looked a little different than the last time they had seen one another. As strange as it sounded, he looked way shorter and his face was also slightly emaciated but, then again, it could all just be a trick of the light...
"Good morning, Miss. How may I serve you, today?" the man asked, slowly twirling his thin mustache.
"Good morning. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I ordered a custom-made Batgirl outfit a couple of weeks ago and asked for it to be delivered in my place," she placed the package on the counter and slowly began to open it. "Well, today this came in the mail but, as you can see, it seems there was some confusion. This is not what I ordered!"
The man looked at her, quizzically.
"Actually, I do remember you very well, Miss - unfortunately, we don't get a lot of customers! - and it seems to me that the confusion is actually on you," he said as he glanced at the outfit. "That's exactly what you asked for."
"No, I already told you... My order was for a Batgirl outfit and..."
He interrupted her, mellifluously.
"Miss...," a pause to awaken a memory within. "Driscoll? That's your name, isn't it? What I do remember is the following: you did come in here looking for a Batgirl outfit, but then you had a change of heart after going through our catalog. That suit, our Special Number 3, was what you ended up choosing in the end, and you even asked for it in shades of dark green. I measured you in the room at the back after that and then proceeded to have your order taken care of. Surely this rings a bell!" he concluded with an adamant conviction.
"No... I...," she muttered, baffled. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
"That's certainly strange," the man said as his hands began searching for something under the counter. Eventually, they found it: it was a small book with a handmade crocodile paper binding, where he kept a record of all his orders. Hurriedly, he flipped through its pages and then opened it on an entry with the date May 7th on it. "Ah... Perhaps this will jog your memory, then! Isn't this your signature, Miss?"
Rose looked at the all too familiar handwriting and got even more confused. Indeed it was, and the item referred next to it had the initials S.N.3, with the word "green" scribbled in the left corner of the page.
"I honestly don't get it," Rose mumbled even though the truth was right there before her eyes.
"I think you should try the outfit on to clear any doubts," the man said with an uncanny glint in his eyes. "You can do it over there if you wish," he concluded, pointing to the well-lit dressing room on his right.
"No, I... I just want to return this and..."
"I'm afraid that's not possible. Had it truly been a mistake, I would take haven full responsibility for it, but it's obvious you're the one who's equivocated. That costume was diligently handmade and all the hours of hard work and sweat poured into its design can't simply be thrown away just like that. Just put it on, Miss Driscoll, for I can't think of any reason that would have you continue thinking about returning it, once you do."
The glint returned, becoming more of a sparkle. Rose's heart skipped a beat and she suddenly ran out of the store, feeling terribly unnerved. She failed to notice, however, that she was still holding the package firmly as she did so, and that realization only came to her, half an hour later, when she was already back in her house.
* * *
Clare had already left for work when she returned. With no one else around, that meant that she had to deal with the bizarre sequence of events on her own, a thought that was far from agreeable. Trying to rationalize it all also proved to be a rather fruitless effort.
The main problem was that she really had no recollection of all the things the store owner had said and shown her, and such a memory lapse was perfectly incongruent, to say the least. She also had a looming sensation about the man himself, a feeling entirely different from the one she had experienced in their first encounter. Out of the blue, her mind suddenly started thinking about old sci-fi movies featuring humanoid replicas or Pod People. The laugh she got out of such nonsense helped clear the air a bit.
In the center of it all, of course, was the costume itself. Special Number 3, as it had been named, was undoubtedly unlike anything she had ever seen, and it was quite hard to describe the sexiness it exuded.
Rose wasn't sure if it was made of latex or not, but it felt slick and tight. Emerald green was its primary color, but the asymmetrical, malleable metal plates around the breasts, shoulders, and kneecaps were of a darker and glossier tone that she was really fond of. In terms of accessories, it came with opera gloves, a hood, a very small facial mask and a pair of patent boots that were simply to die for.
Overall, it gave off the vibe of something both futuristic and supernatural, the kind of ensemble a sexually dominant Techno-Fairy would use to ensnare the unwary humans that crossed her path, and the thing she liked the most were the various naughty zippers scattered everywhere, as they made her imagination run faster than anything else.
When she eventually gave in to the temptation to try it on and faced the mirror, she immediately felt a rush of erotic energy coursing through her veins and was amazed at how the clingy fabric modeled her entire body into an overwhelming spectacle of curves. The extra pounds she had always wanted to lose over the years simply vanished before her eyes, leaving only a walking wet dream in its place.
"Oh, wow..." she muttered, irrevocably aroused by her own transformation, as she proceeded to touch every inch of the costume from head to toe to make sure that the tactile ecstasy was truly real and not just a figment of her estranged thoughts. Each impression was electrically charged with whirling rapture, as she became one with this new identity. "If only Josh could see me now..."
"That's going to have to wait a bit," cooed an alluring voice that lived within the green delights and now within her soul. "There's something you've got to see, first." and her right hand moved on its own making the nearest TV screen come to life with a single twitch of a finger.
The special news report was a very intriguing surprise. Apparently, a group of armed individuals - their exact number had not yet been determined - had invaded the facilities of the First National Bank's headquarters less than an hour ago and were now barricaded inside with more than twenty hostages at their mercy. It was all very Hollywoodesque for such a small town and yet, it oozed a primeval appeal.
"They don't want to admit it," continued the uncanny manifestation with a supernatural conviction "but the police forces on the scene are a bit baffled as to the right approach to this whole situation. They're inexperienced and I'm afraid prolonged hesitations will result in a dreadful outcome."
"Such as...?"
"You already know the answer to that question: hostages, desperation, and loaded guns are never a good combination, my dear."