“TiVo is my best friend” thought Morgan as she pressed the rewind button and watched as Dita Von Teese’s corset flew back on her and was tied by a quick motion of her hands. It was the fifth time she pressed rewind and watched Dita’s corset come back on; and each time it was just as enticing, each time the smirk on her face got wider as her eyebrow arched higher.
Dita was absolutely stunning – the flowing, dark wavy hair; the soft round face with bedroom eyes and red lips; the creamy complexion in all its glorious pallor; the smooth slope of her neck and shoulders; the perfect junction of breasts, waist and hips; her long legs and plump arms – her body was the epitome of a true woman, a flawless marriage of soft curves and clean lines.
Leaning against the kitchen door, Davey watched Morgan while he absentmindedly turned his wedding band with his thumb; slightly jealous of the idiot box (and the woman in it) that held Morgan’s attention. He knew he did not have to worry about Morgan in regards to fidelity (regardless of her ambiguous sexuality), but his ego could not help but feel a tad neglected. However, there was something he could do…
She was always the one to go out of her way to do something nice for him – making extravagant dinners for two before and after touring, taking days off her demanding corporate job to take him on exotic (and expensive) vacations, taking detours on her business trips to see him at a show, or staying up with him many a sleepless night making love to him until he slept soundly or until the sun rose (regardless of how tired she was). Morgan catered to every one of his whims and fantasies – even that one of David Bowie, a rubber duck and a green guitar – and Davey could not think of a better opportunity to thank his wife for her dedication other than that particular moment; not to mention that his idea was a surefire way to get his wife off the couch (and in all likelihood into their bedroom). Anything for her and everything to get her away from that stupid box.
He silently slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs into their bedroom. He grabbed his keys and wallet and opened the bedroom window to make his exit (Morgan had the key to the back door and the front door would ruin his plan). However, there was one slight problem with his choice of exit: he was hanging from the second story window by one hand. “Oh fuck” left his lips as he looked up at the cerulean sky. Miraculously, the heavens answered his vulgar prayer with the sturdy oak tree branch conveniently within his reach. With little time to waste, he propelled himself forward and grabbed the branch with his hands and wrapped his legs around the trunk. Once he was safely attached to the tree, he began his descent; it was certainly a good thing he wasn’t too afraid of heights and that he loved Morgan to death and back.
“Can’t believe I’m doing this” was his mantra as he went down, as he touched the ground, as he ran and got into his car, and as he peeled out of the driveway. If his calculations were right, Morgan would rewind the show twelve more times, get a glass of water, and rewind three more times during the course of the next thirty minutes – hopefully it would be enough time to get the stuff, come back and set it up before she noticed he was gone. “Bless TiVo just this once” followed “Can’t believe I’m doing this” until he turned right at the corner and saw the looming silhouette of The Playground – just the place he was headed. Sharp turns of the wheel followed by screeching tires joined Davey’s chant as he entered The Playground’s parking lot. He bolted out of his Crossfire, took the keys and barged into the store calling out to the clerk
“Quick! I need to find something!!”
Davey’s agitated words snapped the clerk out of her reverie and ran over to the crazed customer who was roaming the pantyhose aisle like the fishnet devil was after him.
“What are you looking for, sir?”
“Corsetmatchingpantiespastiessheerthongstockingwithgarterbeltsandhighheelsinasize12” Davey spat out his order in one single breath. The girl stood there looking at the strange man.
“Corset, matching panties, pasties, sheer thong, stockings with garter belts and high heels in a size 12” Davey repeated, this time taking breaths between items.
“Okay, what color?”
“I don’t care, think Dita Von Teese or Bettie Paige” Davey jingled his keys in an attempt to steady himself.
“Anything that looks like it’ll fit me” Davey exclaimed somewhat frustrated but nonetheless appreciative of the girl’s effort. The girl frowned at Davey’s words, but quickly sized him up, counted in her fingers and trotted back to the counter mumbling numbers and codes as Davey trailed behind her. The girl disappeared behind a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. He waited for the girl to come back out with the thing she asked for, and as he did so, he looked the hair accessories next to the counter and picked out a pair of vintage silver barrettes. As he fingered the barrettes nervously, he realized just how embarrassing the situation was – the girl was probably in the merchandise room giggling and thinking he was some crazy ass drag queen on crack. Definitely not a good look.
“Can’t believe I’m doing this” tumbled out of his mouth, again, and his cheeks flushed with the darkest shade of red the pallor of his cheeks would allow. He jumped when the girl tapped him on the shoulder and said
“Here you go. Dita Von Teese and Bettie Paige outfit, now you pick.”
The outfits in front of Davey were simply breathtaking – the ‘Dita’ outfit was a gorgeous lilac brocade corset with matching panties, beautiful stockings and gloves of the same color and purple pumps (size 12, just like he’d told her); the ‘Bettie’ outfit was a black leather bustier with matching everything.
“Well, my wife has the black one, so I’m taking the purple one” Davey thought out loud, his mind back tracking to three months before in Oslo when she wore the black one for him and played with him in the snow…’damn, not now’ he thought and focused on the clerk’s question. His blood threatened to rush somewhere.
“You’re Morgan’s husband, aren’t you?” she smiled as she put the black outfit in a corner and put the purple one in Davey’s hands.
“Umm…yeah…never mind how you know that, I think I know the answer to that” Davey mumbled: The answer was, Morgan was a regular at The Playground.
“Go to aisle 12 while I ring these up; there you will find the pasties and the thong you’re missing” she pointed to where aisle 12 was and Davey made a run for it.
“Damn, I have twenty minutes to make it back and put all that shit on…fucking great.” He growled as he tore down the aisle and picked out purple pasties in the shape of stars and moved down the aisle to take the sheer, spandex-like thong that would best match his skin tone – the white one. He dashed back to the counter where the girl was packing his order into a brown box. He threw the pasties and the thong at her (which she gracefully caught) and he dove for his credit card – no time for cash. He slapped the credit card on the counter when he asked the girl
“Are you sure these things will fit me?
“Yeah, it’ll fit you alright; you and Morgan are about the same build so it’d fit her too if you laced her up real good”
“How do you know all this?” asked Davey intrigued and embarrassed that a sex shop clerk knew so much about his personal life.
“It’s called observation and your wife and I are friends; she doesn’t say much about you – she just buys and chats with me about psychology or some interesting subject; how I know the rest is just inference.” Responded the girl in an honest manner.
“What are you doing here then? You should be in school getting a degree and whatnot” Davey seemed to have forgotten why he was in there in the first place but he soon remembered as the girl gave him her answer, a receipt and his credit card.
“This is the best place to study abnormal behavior actually. You should see the freaks that come here”
I bet they’re real freaks. Listen, Brandy” he said, reading her name tag, “thanks so much for your help, but I’ve gotta run”
“No prob. Tell Morgan I said hi…when it’s prudent, of course.”
“Will do!” and he was gone with the wind and his package. He opened the box and quickly took out the pasties, tore open the packet with his teeth and pulled out the pasties. Not caring about who was looking or what was going on around him, he put the box on the hood of the car, lifted up his shirt and stuck the pasties to his nipples. One thing he could cross off the to-do list when he got home.
Davey shoved the box and himself into the car and drove away, leaving the smell of burning rubber in his wake.
Davey did not even bother to park his car in its rightful place; instead he parked it next to the oak tree. He retrieved the box and climbed on top of the car, stuck the box inside a hole in the tree, climbed up the tree, retrieved the box, hurled it through the window with enough force to make it land on the bed and finally leaped off the branch and gained his footing on the window ledge – all with the agility and expertise of a spider monkey.
Back in his room, Davey shed his shoes and pants and walked toward the staircase to check on Morgan – yes, she was still watching Dita on the box spinning around in a giant martini glass over and over. Her lace induced trance would give 15 more minutes or so to get ready.
Off came his shirt and underwear and on came the corset, the spandex thong that threatened to fail in its task of confining his manly (not-so-bitty) bits and peaches, the matching panties, the stockings, the pumps and the barrettes. He slapped on some red lipstick and put on his gloves. Showtime.
As his high heeled feet touched the first floor landing, he heard the noises coming from the idiot and he instantly knew she was still watching that woman spin around in that damn martini glass – after all, he had watched the show with Morgan the first three times.
“Can’t believe she’s still doing that…and I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
He came up behind the couch, turned on the stereo to a random song and took the remote from Morgan. He turned off the idiot box and came around the couch to face his awe-stricken, flabbergasted wife, whose eyes threatened to bulge out of her sockets and splatter against her eyeglasses. Davey could not have hoped for a better reaction. Conveniently enough, a very familiar Nine Inch Nails tune started to play just as Davey strutted sexily towards Morgan and shook and swayed his delightful body at her.
At that moment, Morgan forgot about her new TiVo, Von Teese and everything that only moments ago had seemed relevant. There was only the man before her, the epitome of a true man – a tastefully vulgar display of sharp contrasts, lean muscles, brute strength and power that washed over her and awakened that primal lust within her, that lust which her mate was fond of provoking. It was moments like those that made her painfully aware that she was a woman and Davey was a man, regardless of their attire – she still wore part of her business suit (a shirt, vest and underwear), and compared to her husband, she was severely overdressed. She would have to remedy that in the next few minutes.
Davey used every muscle in his body to move; he gyrated, dropped to his knees, crawled and got back up, and he roamed his body with his gloved hands to the words and rhythm of the music. Then came the shedding of his outfit, but before he got to that, he sat on his wife’s lap and kissed her deeply as one of his hands gravitated toward the buttons of her vest. Morgan’s hands snaked around his upper back and neck, her mouth eagerly responded to Davey’s kiss and she fought to keep him close to her, but he pushed away and whispered in her ear
“Would Dita do that for you?”
“…no?” Morgan uttered, not tearing her eyes from Davey, her Davey. She doubted Dita would be as good as Davey.
“Damn straight, sweetheart” Davey got up and pulled off his gloves with his teeth and threw one at Morgan, the other glove he hung from the side of his lilac panties; the glove brushed lightly the growing bulge in the lingerie – a growing distraction that tore Morgan’s eyes away from her man’s face and forced them to focus elsewhere. What Morgan saw happening in those panties made her get up and fan herself with her hand in a feeble attempt to keep herself from fainting – somehow passing out and missing on Davey seemed like a such a bad idea; she had to keep breathing and force herself to speak.
“It looks like those clothes are mighty tight on you. Would you like some help taking those off?” Morgan tried to hide the excitement and lust in her voice as best as she could, but Davey knew better. He unhooked one of his garter belts and sweetly told Morgan “Not thank you. I’m a big boy, I can do it myself”; he unhooked the other belt and flashed her a smile.
Morgan continued to watch the tattooed beauty swaying and running his hands through the short silky strands of hair. The clash of milky white skin and dark ink made for a colorful spectacle; the skin moved on par with the lean muscles, leaning and stretching as he moved. Morgan followed the movements of his hand – from his hair, to the neck, to the shoulder, over the chest until they disappeared behind his back and began to pull on the laces of the corset. The time for the unraveling had finally arrived. Morgan shed her vest and gaped at Davey when the corset came off, revealing that familiar torso with purple pasties covering the nipples. Morgan choked on her own drool – part from extreme laughter and part awe – and gasped for air like she had never had any. Davey giggled and blushed but did not stop his sultry dance. He threw the corset at her and it landed straight in her face.
“All for you.” He said seriousness clouding his face for a single second, then disappearing and leaving those fierce and sensual features intact. Morgan wanted to laugh, Morgan wanted to cry, Morgan wanted to stay there, Morgan wanted to go to him. It was one of those things, simple things that Davey said that made her heart reel and her heart expand inside her chest until it hurt. It was amazing how Davey’s three word phrases evoked a thousand emotions, far more than a whole lifetime of talking to someone else ever could.
As if the pasties weren’t enough shock for Morgan’s feeble heart, Davey climbed on top of the coffee table in front of the television, just like any other stage, kicking the magazines, books and Morgan’s glass of water off to the floor and took a stand before Morgan. He gave Morgan a long look and hooked his thumbs on the lilac panties. Morgan plopped on the couch and commented with a dry mouth
“That’s another piece of furniture I’m never getting rid off.” Davey looked too damned good on top of that table – and he’d look even better naked on it screaming like a shameless whore.
“Just how much furniture are we not getting of?” Davey asked, dancing to the beat of the music; Morgan’s eyes never leaving him.
“Well, there’s the whole kitchen, the dining room, the china cabinet, the couches, the bedroom, the bathrooms, the garden shed, the closets, the library and the lounge chairs by the pool” Morgan counted in her fingers, mouth still dry, eyes still on Davey. Her mind was racing.
She could not think to save herself, except those thoughts of the furniture and what had occurred in or on those items and places – nice thoughts to salivate her mouth. Those thoughts, she doubted would get into heaven…especially that one of the time Davey wore Jade’s priest costume and proceeded to fuck the bejesus out of her and made her scream things like ‘Unholy Mary, mother of slut!’ and ‘Holy Christfuck”. Morgan would have put both fists in her mouth at that thought, but there was only room for one.
“Enjoying the show?” Davey mocked Morgan, who was enjoying the show so much her panties were wet and she was acquiring a blueish tinge from not breathing. Davey removed the fist from her mouth and replaced with his mouth and tongue. Then Morgan started to breathe again – gasping, panting and writhing like a woman consumed by passion could. His heart softened but his body didn’t.
Her hands clamped on to his back and she inched forward to be closer to him, the way he was crouching invited Morgan to settle her body between his legs and her hands to gravitate toward his fleshy rear end, rubbing and squeezing the exquisite flesh.
With the aid of her wet panties, her brain had a brilliant idea. All of her nerves sprung to action and she pushed Davey back – high heels and a crouching position offering next to no leverage – and he fell backward dazed and confused. The tables had turned (pun intended?) and now it was Morgan who ran the show.
“Morgan, what the fuck was th- -“ He was cut off by Morgan landing on top of him and she deliriously (and deliciously) bruised his mouth with kisses. There were many things he could do to regain control, but he chose to remain still and kiss Morgan back with the same intensity. Whether or not he was in control, he was still going to have one hell of a good time. Besides, knowing how impatient and touchy she was, he was amazed she had lasted so long without pouncing on him.
Morgan’s ferocity returned to her and it showed on her face. She licked her lips and slowly peeled off one of the pasties with her teeth; now it was Davey's turn to gasp and fight the urge to faint. She did it again with the other pastie and he screamed, lost in the thoughts of her and sensation of her teeth, lips and tongue grazing his skin.
With one hand, Morgan held and massaged Davey's neck; with her other hand, she unbuttoned her shirt – Davey’s hands sped up the process.
A quick change of hands and the kiss remained unbroken, the shirt was off and both of them moaned when Davey’s hand found Morgan’s skin – hot and soft, goosebumps rising everywhere Davey’s hands rested.
Morgan’s hands became tangled with Davey’s as they both tried to pull down the lilac panties trapping Davey’s hips, bottom and crotch. Davey let out a little sigh as Morgan’s hips lifted up and away from his, but his frustration was short lived by Morgan’s hands tugging the lilac panties down and her face twisting into a mixture of neediness, anguish, lust and intense pleasure.
“Oh man…” was the last thing her mouth said before it settled on the spandex-covered bulge between her husband’s legs, working the heat of her mouth and the wetness of her tongue over it in long strokes punctuated by gentle sucking.
The attention Morgan was lavishing on him made Davey scream like the shameless whore he knew himself to be when it came to her. The skills of her mouth, coupled with his feelings for her and the sensations she was making him feel made something inside of him snap, grab her by her arms and slam her against him above him.
The force of his action made Morgan grunt with pain, but the pain disappeared quickly and was replaced by a hungry mouth feasting on hers, soft hands with long fingers clawing at her back as well as the bra clasp, and a strong chest crushing her heaving breasts and echoing her heavy breaths.
The urge to buck her hips was too much so she rocked against that gorgeous body that clung to her; in response, that gorgeous body rocked back and wrapped pythonesque legs around her frame forcing wet fabric against wet fabric, soft yielding flesh against hard and pulsating flesh. A match made in heaven heated by the burning flames of hell.
A loosened bra is a lost bra.
Davey lost the shoes and Morgan pulled down the stockings.
Both lovers wiggled out of their remaining garments and then the show really began.
The secret show, their show. A spectacle of writhing bodies, a long and elaborate horizontal tango dance number, shouted obscenities, loving words and plenty of inarticulate sounds; the finale was an explosion of sight, touch and sound that drove the crowd wild, clapping like racing heartbeats.
Such a show deserved an encore.
And another. And another.
Davey and Morgan would have gone at it once again, but there was only so much they could do, they were human after all (regardless of what anyone might think).
After some moments spent catching their breaths, Morgan and Davey decided to move to a more comfortable place than the coffee table; the unanimous choice was the couch.
Davey closed his eyes with his arms wrapped around Morgan’s torso and his head on her chest. She smelled like orange blossoms with a hint of vanilla; little beads of sweat moistened her skin. Davey opened his eyes and watched as the little liquid droplets gave a new life to the phoenix tattoo on her stomach. Beautiful creature that was…the bird too.
Morgan ran her fingers through Davey’s messy barrette-free hair and asked him
“So, what made you do this?”
“Love, some self-loathing, hatred toward T.V and a bit of jealousy” he giggled the words into her chest, planting a little kiss between her breasts.
“Why self-loathing?” she giggled with him.
“Because I just jumped out of a second story window, climbed down a tree, drove to a sex shop and the clerk knew who I was, came back home, put all that stuff on and acted like a total drag queen…that screams self-loathing” embarrassment coated his voice and he buried his head against her neck and hair trying to hide his shame, a shame he should not feel, but it was kind of cute the way he hid himself. The fact that he had been willing to jump out of windows and put himself through all sorts of situations just to do something nice for her spoke volumes about his love for her and the kind of person Davey was. Morgan smiled and giggled at the little boy of a man in her arms; she gently coaxed his face out of hiding with her hands and tenderly kissed the top of his nose.
“Honey, you might be a drag queen, but you are MY drag queen”
“Oh that’s reassuring…nothing more empowering to a man than being called a drag queen by his wife” Davey feigned insult, sort of.
Davey’s fake angry gestures always made her laugh
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, girlfriend. I absolutely loved that little show you just gave me. It was one of the cutest and hottest things I have ever seen” If she had ever seen something better than Davey, she must have surely turned a blind eye upon it.
Davey’s face changed from upset to childlike and his voice almost cracked when he asked her
“Hotter than Dita Von Teese?”
“Darling, Dita ain’t got nothing on you. She might be pretty and sexy, but you are beyond just pretty and sexy; I would never trade you for anything or anyone in this world or the others. Hell, Dita can never make me want to hump the T.V., but you, you can make me scream just by looking at me or speaking my name” Morgan spoke each word with the most absolute and heartfelt truth. Her words made all emotions inside Davey well up and made his lips curve into a soft smile.
“Then can we get rid of the damn TiVo?” Davey’s smile did not waver and he gave Morgan one of those looks that could be interpreted as innocent but had nothing to do with that.
“I will give away my cool, brand new TiVo just for you…on one condition – you must do that as many times as I want, whenever I want. If I can’t have a TiVo, you’ll be my TiVo.” She declared in a manner that left no room for discussion. Not like Davey would argue with her over that.
“I can live with that”…certainly, thought Davey. “By the way, Brandy says hi.”
“Aw, how sweet of her. I’ll go see her tomorrow and pick up something on the way home” Morgan no longer talked to Davey…she was now talking to no one in particular. Davey always found it kind of strange that Morgan did that, but who was he to judge? According to her, he sang Boy George songs in his sleep …and most likely she was telling the truth.
“But who’s getting the TiVo?” asked Davey, curious to know who would be the next victim of the evil box.
“Adam. He will love the TiVo…now he’ll have something to watch penguin porn on over and over” she commented nonchalantly and walked into the kitchen to get another glass of water.
“Penguin porn? What?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!” could be heard from the living room as Morgan calmly sipped her water leaning against the counter and tucked her hair behind her ear.