Pretty, by Ally Pete
“I can see your balls.”
I massaged my temples, this was taking far longer than expected. “I can see your balls,” I repeated.
He snorted, like I was some sort of prude, and sassed back at me, “Calm yourself little miss, I’ll be wearing underwear.”
“Look,” I tried to explain, “If people can see your undies, than your skirt is too damn short.”
His eyes narrowed, pondering my words.
“Remember when Vicky did a cartwheel at Jackson’s engagement party?”
He cringed, “So what should I wear? I don’t want to look like a Sunday school teacher.”
“There’s a lot of middle ground between Sunday school and whore.” I rolled my eyes, boys. “Let’s aim for sexy librarian.”
“Are you going to help me shave my legs?”
I glanced down at his legs, and then stared. I had seen them a thousand times but now pictured them without hair. He had participated in his second triathlon just a month ago. Perched in the 3 and a half inch, peach coloured, pleated satin pumps we had picked up at the Goodwill, and those legs would be lithe and slim, that perfect curve of the calve muscles, the fat free thighs. He didn’t even have any scars. What the hell was I going to wear? Spanx.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling on a black pencil skirt. On me, the hem rested just above the knee, on him it stopped at that perfect spot on the thigh where the inner curve starts to show. Not quite a mini, tasteful, sexy.
“Yes,” I groaned, “I’ll help you shave.”
I’ll admit to an small surge of schadenfreude when the white turtleneck sweater revealed his too broad for a woman shoulders and awkwardly stuffed bra, and to the wave of self conscious disappointment when the black leather bolero jacket disguised all of that.
My fiance looked like a runway model. I pictured him in the wedding dress I was considering, it had a high lace collar and sleeves. I determined then to get something strapless, something he couldn’t possibly look good in.
The wig was cheap and a bit too shiny, but it managed to look just right on him. I’d do a smokey eye and pale lips, and accessorise him in my big silver dangle earrings, and my pale green clutch.
I smiled and shook my head in disbelief, I had grown out of comparing myself to other women years ago, it was no use comparing myself to men in drag.
There was still time to put together a new costume, maybe I would see how I looked in a suit and tie, be the man for the evening and enjoy having the best looking girl at the party on my arm.
Ally Pete likes rice.
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Tags: ally pete, drag, humour, self esteem, short skirt