I made it work

I wracked my brain.

It wasn’t a high effort party last time. Most people were in jeans. Wear something cute, and it’ll be fine.

I sifted through the clothes in my dresser. Almost none of it had any shot of passing for remotely feminine. If I wanted to make this work, I’d have to take some drastic steps.

I took scissors to a ratty pair of jorts, and did the same to an old D.A.R.E. shirt, turning it into a crop top. Slipping them on, I already felt good about the choice. The jorts came up over my waist and ended just as my thighs began, making my ass look fantastic. They were a bit loose, but that was nothing a belt couldn’t fix. The shirt, too, looked good, at first, then my eyes landed on my belly.

Why the FUCK did I do that? I don’t need people seeing all of *this*.

I twirled, and, despite my misgivings, I couldn’t help but grin. I was starting to look fabulous, and, besides, no one would know it was me. This girl would be gone tomorrow. Still, in a bid for modesty, I threw on an oversized yellow flannel and rolled up the sleeves. None of my shoes fit, but I found, in Dale’s room, a pair of Doc Martens. I stuffed some socks in the toes, so that they’d stay on.

In the mirror again, I liked what I found. I looked like if Laura Dern in Jurassic Park had an edgy sister. I reached up to adjust my hair, which pulled the shirt with it. I put my hand down immediately. I almost flashed yourself! And the rubbing of the denim on my skin reminded me I hadn’t put underwear on yet either. I couldn’t do anything about the bra, but the underwear…

Well, there I had an option.

Despite the dread piling in my stomach, I reached under my bed, putting my whole head and arm down there: I had buried this box deep. Inside, I found a few pictures I’d forgotten that I try not to look at. More importantly, tucked into a corner laid an old pair of my ex’s panties along with a few little tubes of mascara, eyeliner and lip gloss.

Guess she’s really not getting these back now.

I kicked off my jorts, baggy enough that I didn’t even have to take off my boots, and slipped the soft red fabric over my legs. I looked at myself in the mirror.

Damn, I would kill for that ass.

The wonderful thing was I didn’t have to. It was all mine. I put my shorts back on. My own underwear would probably not fit anyway or bunch up in a weird way or raise questions if my shorts fell below my waist.

Yeah, lots of good reasons to wear these panties…

There wasn’t anything to do about the lack of a bra. I’d just have to be careful not to flash anyone. Probably a quarter of the girls at the last party went braless anyway.

A makeup tutorial later (well, several tutorials later), I managed to apply some eyeliner, gave myself a half-decent wing, and coated my lips in a light pink.

This is as good as it gets.

I checked my phone, and my heart jumped. 8:30! I only had half an hour!

And I saw a text from Jack: “Hey, can you make it? We got beers with your name on them.”

I texted back, “Sorry, couldn’t get away. Is it okay if my roommate comes?”

Instantly: “FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”

“SHIT!!!!!!!!”

“PISS!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Then: “Yes, of course! Neighbors have a standing invitation.”

I sighed and fell backwards onto my bed, my new hair tickling at my neck. The only thing left now was to wait.

All this to go to a stranger’s party? Is it really worth it?

Yes.

Some deeper part of myself that I hadn’t heard in months, maybe years, roared to life.

You need to let loose, honey.