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.
