Men's Shirts, Short Skirts is part of Dreamspinner's college anthology Higher Learning
October 17, 2011
Here's an excerpt:
“You look very fuckable.”
Since I'd gotten to the costume party, I heard a few compliments about looking hot in the black mini skirt and trench coat. Even a few of the frat boys had cat called and whistled. It didn't bother me. It just meant our win of the five hundred dollar grand prize was a lock. My roomies in their tight red mesh shirts and dark khol eyes were getting a lot of attention from the ladies. Which was great since the costume idea had been a tough sale. If we didn't win, which we would, they'd still have a blast and hopefully get some play. Even timid Tommy looked good as one of my backup singers and was chatting up a cheerleader.
I turned my head slightly, smile on my face just in case the speaker had a judge ribbon pinned to his shirt. Not a judge. It turned out to be the activist from my psychology class. You know the type. Recycles, won't wear leather, marches in protests. Looks a bit like the male version of an earth mom. A hippie minus the peace signs and psychedelic clothes. I thought his name may have been Roger. In class he slouched in his seat and took up our whole row with his personality. He’s cute, smart and truth be told I’m a bit intimidated.
My friend Lorrie, who I’d been talking to, stepped in for me. “Really? I was going for gruesome.” Unless the guy was into the walking dead, no way would anyone say fuckable about her tonight. Normally? Totally. But with peeling flesh and bloody splatters...well, I'd had to look her in the eyes when we talked so I didn't focus too long on the rotting flesh and get queasy. She was just giving the guy an out. I looked like a chick from behind, even with the top hat, because the black corset gave me an hour glass shape. But up close, even with the makeup and half veil, it was pretty obvious I was all male.
“Actually, I meant your friend.”
I turned a bit more to eye Roger the Activist. He was dressed as a cop. The irony of it, a down-with-the-man, free spirit buttoned into the blue uniform of a police officer, made me laugh.
He touched the badge on his respectable pec and grinned, possibly knowing what I was thinking. “It's my brother's uniform.”
It looked good but there were other cops at the party, just like there were other zombies, so I wasn't worried he'd be competition. The smile and blush and the way he shifted under my leer, made me think he'd spoken before he really got a look at me.
I decided to ignore his earlier comment, like Lorrie, willing to give him an out now that he had seen me and would realize I was a guy too. Don't get me wrong, he looked plenty doable every day. Add the uniform and I was swallowing to keep the drool from ruining my lipstick. I have always had a thing for men in uniform. Recently I had the opportunity to try out handcuffs and I definitely had a horny spot for restraints. So, rebellious hottie with a pair of cuffs on his hip? Hot, hot, hot. But you couldn't hold someone to something they said at some loud college party.
This was the house party. The people who lived here promoted the monthly event all over social media. The place was huge. I’d come to a couple parties last year and still hadn’t made it to the backyard.
“Lorrie, Officer Do Right is in my psychology class.” I figured it was close enough to an introduction that it covered the fact I couldn't remember his name. Now I'd politely pull him into the conversation. I couldn’t remember what we were talking about, the hottie had me distracted, but we’d wing it. “We were just talking--”
“I'm serious.” He rushed to talk over me. “You look good.” He stepped close and let his hand brush across my exposed thigh, just above the thigh high black boots.