Operation: Tights
The Gianni is amazingly cooperative when it comes to responding to challenges. Camera prepped, poised and ready, I use this to my advantage.
“Once upon a time, you claimed not to be worthy of my tights,” I kid him. Oh, yes. Once upon a trip to meet my parents, he’d lumped ruffled collars, pantaloons, and tights together in the category of Good Things That Have Come To An End. Along with the widespread use of the word “ergo.”
He evaluates the costume I’d picked up for him. Too bad I can’t take him to a Renaissance Festival. We’ll have to settle for the college’s Photo Club Halloween Party. “Is this supposed to be a Shakespearian costume?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I reply, anticipating his criticism of it. “I borrowed it from the drama department. Along with this lovely item.” I flash the pirate wench garb which is guaranteed to turn me into a busty, buxom bar maid. Or Silvia, the drama department chair, is going to have a lot to answer for. “You’ll be King Lear and you’ll be saving those leers for me, your Highness.”
He chuckles and picks up his costume.
Wow, if I’d known that getting Gianni into a pair of tights had been this easy, I’d have scheduled a random masquerade party ages ago. Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the process of wiggling into my leather boots when Gianni emerges from the bathroom.
“Hold up!” I command as he reaches for his rain coat. San Francisco is a foggy, drizzly mess, of course. I guess it’s just as well that no one on the street will get to ogle his manly man legs. The students at the party, however… Well, my shoes are at the ready.
“I need a photo of this,” I inform him. My boobs just about jump out of my bodice when I lean over to grab my camera from the end table. “Whew, glad I tested this costume first,” I tell him as I perform a shimmy to get all my tabs back into their respective slots.
I glance up and… Why yes, that is a leer on King Lear’s face.
Grinning, I hoist the camera and command, “Say ‘sexy’!”
He complies. “Sexy,” he rumbles, sending shivers down my spine.
Click!
I set the camera down as he considers the rain jacket draped over one of the kitchen chairs. Glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, he asks, “How determined are you that we go to this party?”
“One hundred percent,” I inform him, trying my best to resist the promise of wonderful, messy sex that I see in his expression.
“So there actually is a party, not like the never-was department meeting?”
Crud. How had he found out about that?
He grins broadly at my brief (but incriminating) frown. He then poses a different question entirely. “How determined are you to be on time?”
Clasping my hands behind my back (which has the lovely effect of thrusting my bosom forward), I sway-saunter over to him. “I was hoping for fashionably late, your Highness.” I give him a long, slow, come hither-let’s-tither look. “If you have a moment, why don’t we step into my room and check the fit of those pantaloons?”
That’s not all we check the fit of, and the happy result of those thorough investigations is that we are very, very fashionably late for the student party.