I found the perfect skirt as soon as I started looking-a nice flowy nonbinding little polyester number. I'm usually a 100% cotton kinda girl, but I figured I could sacrifice my standards once in a while for love. While I was there, I decided to look at shoes as all I'd brought with me was a pair of black sandals which would never fly at the Awful Waffle what with OSHA and all their open toed shoe rules. I found a nice pair of heels that were chunky enough for me to be able to walk in but high enough to look feminine, which is a stretch for me. Then, being as how I'm all oldschool, I went and looked at pantyhose. I got to thinking about how I'm dressing up for my man, so why not go all out and get stockings, which they just so happened to have a pair of in jet black. They were also magic stockings-the kind that stay up with no garters necessary. I went back to the Alibaba Inn to model for myself.
I put on the blouse and the skirt, unbuttoned a few buttons to admire my boobage, and put on the apron. I pulled on the stockings one at a time and arranged the nice lacy tops around my thighs. Not too bad so far. They seemed like they were going to stay put and felt nice and sexy, so I stood up and went to the mirror. Oh. Mah. Gawd. Gravity is unkind. Cheese and butter and milkshakes are even meaner. I did not even recognize the stuff coming out of the tops of the stockings as part of me-kinda reminded me of Amish friendship bread dough just kind of oozing down around the tops of the pretty black lace, all pale and doughy and lumpy. Ahh, fuckit, I thought. Boy has not been laid in two months, and his view will have my knees behind my ears which will stretch all that dough out nice and taut, so I decided what the hell.
I changed back into my jeans and went out to get something to eat. (Why the hell not? The damage is already done.) While I sat at Sonic, I pondered the fact that I had even bothered to change my clothes at all. It's not like anyone would know that I was actually wearing fantasy clothing, right? Which brought me to the inevitable. If I can walk around in public and no one knows I'm wearing fantasy clothes, why not walk around in public in fantasy clothes with no panties on? (Keep in mind that whilst Boy was away having no sex, Girl was home minding the farm having no sex, either...Girl done got herself all horny waiting on Boy.) Okay. We are gonna do this.
I finished sucking down the last of my shake and pulled across the street back to Walmart and decided that I would get some of that personal lubricant that they are advertising on TV just in case. 'WE' don't normally use things like that-on our honeymoon I broke out some lotion and a vibrator when the Unit's back was turned and you'd have thought I'd hit him with a cattle prod. He just doesn't take kindly to marital aids, so those things are locked away while he's home. But I am of that age when sometimes nature needs a little nurturing. So. I ran in and bought the stuff-Yours and Mine, I think it's called. You never know-the Unit might want to get jiggy in the car before we headed back to the Pleasure Palace and I wanted to be prepared. I headed back to the hotel to get ready to go pick him up from the airport.
As I dressed, I hit a sticking point. Do I take the panties off now and go commando, or do I wear them to the airport? I'm already feeling naughty for wearing the outfit in the first place, so I decided I would just wear them to the airport and take them off later.
I got to the airport and walked across the lot, discovering on the way that the shoes that had fit perfectly in the store were in fact about a size too big once my feet were encased in the magic stockings' spandex embrace. They were flapping up and down and I was just sure I was going to break my neck and end up in the hospital again, this time without even the dignity of a Big O under my belt to tide me over. So as soon as I got into the terminal, I headed straight for the Jane. I grabbed some toilet paper and stuffed a wad in the toe of each shoe, and took off my panties. Now. What to do with them. I looked around and weighed my options. I could put them in the little metal personal hygeine item depository or throw them away, but they were new. So I did the only other thing I could think of-I folded them up and put them in my apron pocket. Then, not wanting Boy to know that Girl sometimes needs a little help in the lube department, I applied a little of the HERS portion of the stuff I had purchased, rearranged myself, held my head up high and walked out into the lobby to wait.
HOLY SHIT. You see those KY commercials where she puts hers on, he puts his on, and then they proceed to tear their clothes off to combine them? I got news for you. They are not tearing their clothes off to have sex. They are trying to get each other's clothes off so they can PEE on each other to put the FUCKING FIRE out. Yes, I want a smokin' hot hoochie, but NOT THIS WAY. I am in an AIRPORT for God's sake. All the cameras are on me. I am wearing SEXUAL FANTASY CLOTHES, I have TOILET PAPER in my shoes and STEPINS in my tip pocket and I am starkers down under. Great. Just great. I haven't seen my husband in two months, and I am now shooting sparks out my vagina and worrying about being shaken down by Homeland Security. Try being in this situation and not imagining that every eye in the joint is on you. Just try. I couldn't. And of course every security guard, every sanitation engineer, and every passenger I made eye contact with gave me a big ole grin, assuring me that YES WE KNOW. SLUT. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
In any case, the earth did move. And it will move again. But Linda Lu is getting a little rest. My heart can't take the stress.
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