With average daily temperatures of over 90° in the desert
southwest where I live, the annual shrinking of skirts, shorts, tops, and shoes
has begun. This week, I started wearing miniskirts, short shorts, and cropped or
see-through tops when not at work. For me, this is the season to discover and wear
well-considered outfits that are revealing and teasing without looking trashy
or slutty.
A very special woman posted the cute cartoon (below) on
Facebook this morning. I responded to her post, “This is so true. Great cartoon. All things
considered though, if the octopus is nice, educated, well-spoken, and funny, a
little cosplay can be fun!” As I wrote this, I thought about how I came to be a
shy exhibitionist, a bit of a clothes horse, and a sometimes erotic
cosplayer.
I’ve written here in earlier blog posts that as a tween I discovered I had
almost no modesty and took advantage of every opportunity to show off my teen
body. At school, like many girls, I rolled up the waist of my skirts to make
them as short as possible. I’d trim my cutoff shorts to the point my mom would
threaten to burn them if she caught me wearing them anywhere but home. I always
had a next-to-nothing scrap of a bikini in my beach bag I’d change into from
the mom-approved one I wore leaving the house. It was so small, that it barely
covered my budding nipples and the soft fur sprouting between my legs.
As I remembered flaunting myself during my tween through teen
years, I had to search my memory for when I began to enjoy cosplay, specifically
when it evolved from simply showing off to something more sexual. In 7th
grade, I became sexually active. I knew boys liked to look down my blouse, and up
my skirt, and wanted to touch all my private parts. Nothing new there. Girls weren’t
on my radar yet, I wanted to look nice, like the girls in the movies, so
girlfriends would like me. Costumes were still something I wore when I would
sing in my dad’s band or on Halloween.
The hit movie “Clueless” was released at this time. Within a
few months, the “Cher” schoolgirl look and the Calvin Klein slip dress were
ubiquitous among Southern California girls. Of course, I bought into the looks
as far as my allowance would take me. Further, I began to see schoolgirl
fantasy porn alongside Fredrick’s of Hollywood lingerie porn. It tickled my curiosity.
And then, there was this boy. He was a sweet guy, cute, somewhat
popular, straight A’s, and an “apartment” kid, not a rich Hollywood Hills “dripping
money” guy. Like me, not rich, but getting along okay. He asked me to an arcade
and a mall crawl. Yes, he was older and could drive!
We hit it off. He talked and listened to me. He was generous
but didn’t object when I wanted to share some game and food costs. He held my hand
but didn’t become all hands like most boys. And when he took me home, he walked
me to my door (really!) and gave me one simple kiss -- no tongue! I was smitten
a little.
He sat with me at assemblies at school and gave me rides
home when he had his dad’s car. We went out a few times for movies, burgers,
and hanging out with friends at the mall. Of course, I always tried to look
super cute in “Cher” like outfits or twinkie-tight jeans. He always
complimented how I looked but did not seem moved by my adoption of the “Clueless”
style. We grew closer and our kissing led to some minor fondling, which was
lots of fun without “doing it.”
One night, I had our house to myself as my dad took my mom
to a gig he had in San Francisco. Against my parents’ prohibition to have boys
over when they were gone, I asked the boy over to “watch TV.” As we made
popcorn and opened Cokes he asked shyly, “Do you have any lingerie – like a
teddy or a baby doll nightie?” I answered before thinking and said something like,
“Well, yeah, sure I do.” He seemed almost afraid to speak again but asked, in
almost a whisper, “Would you mind putting it on?”
I wasn’t shocked or anything like that but I must have blanked because I wasn’t
sure of what to say. He looked at me with hopeful eyes but said nothing more. I
liked this boy. And I was not unaccustomed to wearing little in public. All of
a sudden it seemed like a great idea. “Be right back,” I said and scampered to
my bedroom and put on a short lacy babydoll nightie with matching panties.
It didn’t occur to me until then that my mom ever intended anyone
other than family to see me in the babydoll or any of other of the nighties she
gave to me in my teens. I think she just wanted me to be cute and girly.
I remember clearly the look on my boyfriend’s face when I twirled
into the kitchen and posed for him. He grinned for a moment and I think he
stopped breathing. He finally gasped, “Outstanding! Thank you!” I wasn’t sure
if he was going to take me in his arms and, well, you know, take me, but he
didn’t.
We cuddled on the couch watching TV, munching popcorn. We eventually
made out like high schoolers do, feeling each other up, discovering each other’s
bodies, and kissing a thousand times. He never tried to take the nightie off of
me though. He was ecstatic to see me in it, to run his hands under it, lifting it
to expose my breasts, then smooth it again over them. Not only that, but he delighted
in teasing me, pulling on the elastic waistband of the bikini panty and peeking
into it.
I loved every second of this. Moreover, I decided then and
there that lingerie was going to be a big part of my life from now on. I was thrilled
by the feel and the flirty exhilaration of wearing something so pretty and so sexual,
and by the reaction of my boyfriend.
We dated for a few more weeks before his family moved to
Oregon. On every date from that night on, I would wear under my clothes or
carry in my purse some pretty lingerie to slip on when I could. Sometimes I’d pop
into a teddy in his car as we drove somewhere, then add a pair of shorts later.
If we were at a park or the beach, we’d wander away from people so I could wear
something revealing or a bra and panty set so he could adore me. One night I was
super brave and wore only a mini slip, sans bra and panties, to a movie. My boyfriend
loaned me his windbreaker to get past the ticket booth and through the lobby.
We finally “did it” on an evening at his parents’ apartment
when they were both away. When we drove there, I wore a longish sweatshirt over
the baby doll nightie I wore that first night. At the apartment I pulled off
the sweatshirt revealing the nightie, sans panties this time. I stood posing
and pulled the nightie up to make sure he saw my perfectly trimmed red bush and
said, “Fuck me?” He did.
I was sorry when he went to Oregon. We didn’t stay in touch,
I think, because so much of our relationship was based on his lingerie fetish
and my complete willingness to please him, that texting or email didn’t appeal.
As time went on, I learned that the “Cher” looks, the
schoolgirl looks, the anime cosplay looks, Star Trek and Star Wars outfits, Alice
in Wonderland dresses, superhero costumes, and all the others, can be as sexy
and as provocative as baby doll lingerie. It’s all a fantasy and in the eye of the
beholder.
