After the batches of superheroes and fairies dwindled down to just a few who-are-they-kidding older teenagers, I retreated to my bedroom downstairs to put on my full Rocky Horror.
My parents had renovated the basement a few years earlier, planning to eventually put in a kitchen so they could rent it out. I moved down there “temporarily,” and the kitchen was shortly forgotten. Occasionally, my father would peruse the newspaper and mention what rent on a bachelor unit in the neighborhood was going for, my mother would look over his shoulder and nod, and nothing more would be said. I don't think either of them was keen to have a stranger living below them.
My room was big, with a generous closet—all the better to hold my costumes.
For that evening, I had a glitzy outfit that wasn't an exact duplicate of anyone from the movie, but definitely inspired by the sexy ladies.
I wore tall, black, lace-up boots, thigh-high stockings with garters, a black leather mini-skirt, and a sparkling, copper-hued corset that shoved my boobs up to form an impressive shelf of boobage. You'll notice I didn't mention panties. Oh, I was wearing some, but they were a very special pair, given to me as a joke gift a few years ago by some theater friends at college. They weren't exactly crotchless, but they had an opening. During normal wear, the two folds of fabric crossed over—much like the front flap on mens' tightie whities—but if a girl wanted to get into a little trouble without a lot of fuss, the good parts were … let's say accessible.
As I pulled on the thigh-high stockings, my pulse began to race with excitement. The tightness of stockings on my legs always gets me hot, and with the anticipation of a midnight show, plus the plans I had for Trevor, I was in overdrive. Alone in my bedroom, I kept posing for my full-length mirror, rubbing my hands up and down my body, pleased that the clasps for my garter were visible as bumps underneath the thin leather skirt.
I had turned around and was checking out my round, spankable bottom when the doorbell rang.
My mother was already running for the door, clomping madly overhead, so I chuckled to myself and let her have her fun talking to Trevor while I checked my makeup again. My hair was such a normal-looking color, with the shades of brown, so I'd had to compensate in other ways wild and untamed look going on. Thick, black lines ringed my eyes, set off by long, sparkling false eyelashes. My mother would hate it; I looked perfect!
I threw a ragged lace shawl over my bare shoulders and raced upstairs. I found Trevor in the kitchen, with a hammer, tapping a piece of trim into place below one of the kitchen cabinets. His black hair was different that day, gelled up into little spikes.
“And then you use the big nail to sink in the finishing nail,” he said.
“Secret trick,” my father said.
My mother nodded. “So smart.” She turned to me. “He's so smart.”
Trevor beamed. “Now you just fill the hole with a little wood fill in a matching color, and it's invisible.”
Seeing Trevor with a tool, fixing that little patch of trim that was always coming loose, gave me a feeling. Like a pang. My heart squeezed and I felt a force drawing me forward, to him. A little voice in my head said, you love him.
He turned and smiled at me, and the squeezing in my chest only increased, until I thought I might faint.
My mother broke the spell, saying, “Naomi! You're not wearing that out of the house!”
I gave Trevor an exasperated look. “She's always like this. Every Halloween. I took her one year just so she could see everyone at the show dresses up.”
She pursed her lips. “I was the only one there with clothes on.”
Trevor placed the hammer back into my father's never-used toolbox and put one protective arm over my shoulders. “Naomi looks beautiful, as always. I'll be at her side all night.” He stared down into my eyes, a good foot below his. “Wait, who is this girl?” He let go of me and stepped back.
My parents laughed. My father said, “Let's scrape off some of that shoe polish and see who it is.”
“You guys!” I said.
My father said, “Sounds like Naomi.”
I grabbed Trevor's big hand in mine and dragged him away. He seemed to be wearing standard Trevor clothes, though the all-black version, with a shiny black button-down shirt and black trousers. We'd texted back and forth about what to wear, and while he didn't want to wear anything silly, or get his tuxedo covered in food, we'd both agreed plain black would be just fine for him.
When we got outside the front door, Trevor ambushed me with a kiss. As his lips crushed down against mine, I giggled and mumbled into his mouth about my lipstick and getting it all over his mouth. He continued to kiss me, roughly and then softly, until I stopped protesting and went limp in his arms.
His hands stayed above my waist, simply holding me up and against him as we kissed. I could taste the wax of my lipstick, along with the taste of Trevor, of his skin. His chin rubbed against mine, but his was smooth, recently-shaved. I arched my back, pressing my corseted torso up against his. The night was so quiet and dark, I could hear the scratching sound of my sparkling bustier scratching against the fabric of his shirt.
When he pulled away from me, I was keenly aware of the cool air on the bare patches of my skin, between the tops of my stockings and my garter belt.
“You look so ...” He stepped away and looked me up and down.
I started walking to his truck, waiting for him to finish with an adjective, but he didn't. He held open the door, and after I stepped up into the tall truck, he leaned in and put one hand on my thigh.
I pulled him toward me and kissed him some more. As we kissed, his hand traveled up slowly, between my thighs. His fingers explored the tight hem of the stockings, and then fondled the fasteners for the stockings. He kept kissing me, his tongue hesitant, but his lips sure. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I parted my legs, my body sending the signal for him to explore further.
Touch me, I thought, and he did.
His fingers moved down, rubbing in between my thighs, and then along the cotton surface of my special panties. The fingers moved up and down, exploring, and then one finger slipped through, into my wetness. His touch was searing, pushing my desire higher and higher. His fingers were slow at first, unsure, and then he pushed one fingertip into my wetness, between my folds and into me, then brought the slick finger out and up, searing again, over my clit. I moved up in my seat, tilting my hips, encouraging more. Wordlessly, he kept kissing me as he worked his fingers, faster now, in and out of me and around and around, up and across, feathering lightly and then gently grinding into my nub.