(image courtesy RedEssie)
There is a fabulous reason why Girl in the Hat looks suddenly sexy.Today, I gleefully introduce to you the incomparable Averil Dean, my esteemed writer-friend who agreed to play a game of literary truth-or-dare with me. She picked dare (that daring girl) and below, you can see what I made her do.Tee hee hee!
(I picked truth, of course. If you like dares and want to see my answer, find me at Averil’s place.)
*
THE CORSET
by Averil Dean
Today I am wearing a corset under my scrubs. It’s a red and black number with fake crisscrossed laces up the front and a number of real hook-and-eyes up the back. I held it up this morning in the dim bathroom mirror, smoothed it against my body. I had to put it on backward to get all the little hooks done up, and turn it around again for some strategic rearrangement while I tugged at the demi cups, hoping at least for, um, coverage.
Before your eyebrows pucker and you wonder what kind of friend is this Averil and why is she smutting up Anna’s lovely blog, let me point a righteous finger at our Girl in the Hat and say, She made me do it. She dared me. She triple dog dared me. Wear something unusual under your clothes for a day, she said. Report back.
So I’m at my desk. In a corset.
A couple of observations. First, like every other ultrafeminine garment, this fucker is hideously uncomfortable. It feels like a collection of spare bits from the recycling bin: hard plastic boning, lace like frayed cardboard under my arms, underwires that may well have been cut with a pair of poultry shears from the bottom of a tin can, one of which has slipped its mooring and is wedged between my breasts. Clearly the corset was not intended to be worn for more than ten minutes, and as the afternoon drags on, I begin to feel mocked and strangely bereft, as though I’m all dressed up for a date in the bedroom while my man is passed out on the couch. I have an urge to paint my nails, if you get me.
Still, the corset from hell has stirred a bit of cantankerous lust in me. When no one’s looking, I sneak a quick peek down my scrub top. It looks as though I’m smuggling a baby under my shirt-if that child was upside-down and dressed in red satin bloomers. I dig through my purse and find a tiny vial of perfume, slide a dab into my cleavage (soft as a baby’s bottom, yes indeed). It’s a covert maneuver, a coy bit of female shenanigans. I apply some lipstick for good measure-three strokes, press and dab.
The corset asserts itself as I go about my day. I avoid jogging down the stairs and reaching for objects overhead, and find it difficult to look my well-endowed boss in the eye. Over lunch with my husband, I keep the secret of the corset. I don’t smile too much, I don’t whisper in his ear. When he reaches for me, I laugh and push him off so he won’t feel the boning at my waist and think it’s a come-on, that I’ve worn it with nefarious intentions for a tryst in the rooftop stairwell. He thinks it’s all for him, always for him, and usually he’s right. But not today.
Today I want to think about how it feels to spill out of my cups and roll my hips as I walk across the floor. I want to feel the bite of the wires and the chafe of cheap lace, the juxtaposition of tight sexuality and loose cotton utilitarianism. I want the exaggeration, the posture, the scent of my skin, because for all the insult of being female there are also delicious rewards-not the least of which is release.
Today the corset is for me. Tonight my husband can help me out of it.
I dare you to take a dare. I dare you to let me assign it. But if you’d rather take a truth, the Girl in the (White) Hat is waiting at my site, and I’m pretty sure she won’t make you wear a corset.
*
‘Today I want to think about how it feels to spill out of my cups and roll my hips as I walk across the floor. I want to feel the bite of the wires and the chafe of cheap lace, the juxtaposition of tight sexuality and loose cotton utilitarianism. I want the exaggeration, the posture, the scent of my skin, because for all the insult of being female there are also delicious rewards–not the least of which is release.’——> WOW!!!!
Thank you, Munira. But you ain’t seen nothing until you read Anna’s truth. . . . Le swoon.
Every time I read Averil Dean, I have to fan myself.
I dare you to gimme a dare, Averil.
Okay, Sarah, this is a tame one. Write a little note. Something daring, or something sweet. Then find a suitable library book and slip the note inside, so that the next person who reads the book will find the note. Then report back: What did you write, where did you leave it.
Okay. Not sure this was sweet, exactly, but it was a bit daring:
“If you’re enjoying this story and Edward gives you that amazing, tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach and you long for eternity in his dangerous arms, please keep this number—you might need it someday:
1-800-SAFE
(The Domestic Abuse Hotline)”
I printed off a bunch of them on my break and tucked them into the last third of all the Stephenie Meyer books we still had on the shelves.
Does that count?
Oh dear lord. Yes!! I’m dying . . . I wanna be a librarian when I grow up.
My god, this is good. I don’t know who Stephenie Meyer is, but I think I get the idea. And think- you may have just saved someone’s life!
Yes you do. She’s the writer of the Twilight series.
I’m in awe once again, Averil!
You’re afraid this time, Laura, as well you might be after the dare I assigned you last time. Which I never did hear back about. . . . You classy chick.
XO
*shifty eyes* Say what now?
Lovely idea ladies! Gorgeous truth and very sexy dare. Now I’m smirking. You’ve given me an idea.
Oh reeely. Would this idea involve someone tall, dark and handsome?
My comment disappeared, so if this is a repeat, please delete:
I dare you to dare me, Averil.
Yeah, WOW!! Loved this. Now I long to wear something sexy, Averil. It’s not much fun for me unless I can catch myself in it when I pass a mirror, so I’ll have to wait until spring so I don’t freeze to death.
Wish I could take a dare, but I’ve got trust issues. It’s not you. It’s definitely me.
No, I really think it’s me. Look how afraid everyone has become!
We are cowering in the corners. We wonder if you have a whip hidden in there, too.
I am jealous of your owning of a corset that does not seem to drive you (too) mad with discomfort - I would be calling in sick just so I could get home and switch it up for something less binding. Well done for bringing your usual poise and class to this dare!
My usual poise and class. {Looks over shoulder.} You talkin’ to me?
The corset was a sonofabitch. It won’t be seeing much play in the future.
Damn, girl! You did it again. I wish I had a paddle. I’d love to swat your bottom.
I went swimming last week and watched a woman climb into a corset after her workout. The strangest part was that she replaced sweaty sweats for clean ones. So there she was, leaving the gym in a corset and sweats. I was baffled. It took everything in me not to follow her.
I’ll take a dare but be kind. I’m not at 100% capacity.
Geez, you’d think the gym would be torture enough. A corset and sweats? Maybe someone dared her!
Okay, kind dares are my specialty. Find an old book, something you enjoyed but won’t read again. Write something personal in the margins or inside the cover, and leave it in a public place-a coffee shop, park bench, waiting room. Report back, little chicken.
(I wish you had a paddle too. I’d let you swat me with it.)
Okay, gimme a dare! But I’m warning you, I don’t own a corset (tho am quietly impressed by those that do).
Righty-oh. Let me crack my whip while I’m thinking. . . .
Alright. I would like you to send your man a sexy text. A sext. But not something so racy that you can’t repeat it here-with his response. (No text-ability? Pick up the phone, darling.)
You are so fun Mrs. Whatever your real name is. Go on give me a dare, I dare you.
Oh my goodness, CJ’s going in!
Lemme see. . . . Okay. I would like you to write a suggestive note to your husband and pin it to a piece of his clothing for him to find later. We want to know what you wrote, what you pinned it to, and how long it may take for him to find it.
(Dr. Dean: Spicing up sex lives, one note at a time.)
He wears Brooks Brothers everyday. But when we met 17 years ago he lived on a sail boat and wore Cardharts. A few weeks ago he bought himself a corduroy shirt, flannel lined, to wear as a jacket when he walks the dog. I just pinned this note to the soft inside of it-paper clipped it actually. “worker boatie boy I miss you.”
Aww, that’s sweet, and so romantic. I’ve never lived near the water but a sailboat has always seemed sexy to me. All those mysterious nautical terms, all that excess rope. . . .
Trick knots and special gloves I know them well.
After reading CJ’s answer, I ran and put little love notes in all my man’s pockets for V day.
Okay, so I email him an invitation that goes, “What would you do if I suggested a tumble in the car after work?” And I was prepared to wait awhile for a response, because he’s busy at work, after all, but almost immediately he replies that the mailman might catch us in the car, so how about the garage?
Hahahaha!
I don’t know what’s cutest, the speed of his reply or the thought of fooling around in the garage.
That’s adorable! My husband never responds faster than when I sext him. Usually there is a flurry of eager replies to follow: And you’ll do what? And you want ME to do what? What time is it, and is your office empty?
So I’m lying in bed now, it’s 11 o’clock Wednesday morning, and Ms iSkirt’s still in bed too. I’d love to claim it’s cos I shagged her senseless all night for my birthday treat, but truthfully, getting close to back operation time, I can barely negotiate the steps, let alone the sensational wild terrain that is Ms iSkirt’s curves.
So I just read out this post and all the comments to her, and I get to the end, and I’m laughing uncontrollably, then I say Ha ha, Men are so stupid…. HEY !!!
Damn it’s confusing being one of the girls.
Ok, where’s my dare sister ? I mean bitch… I mean… damn, I’m just making this worse for myself ain’t I ?
You crack me up, Mr iPants. As you’re still in bed, with company, here’s your dare:
I would like you to get a pen and write something on Ms iSkirt. And we want to know what you wrote and, um, where you wrote it. But for god’s sake, don’t get carried away.
Ooo. This is a good one. Will he use a sharpie? What will she do?
Run, Ms iSkirt!
You crack me up.
Ok, well, um, hmmmm.
Good people. Your intrepid adventurer, armed only with a ball point pen, a sense of fear, and later, a camera, ventured into territory that could have led to him getting into more trouble than… Ok, I’ll shut up.
The limerick was written in one curvy line, starting at…. No, umm, that’s not it.
“Stop sweating and get the job done will you ?”
“That’s not sweat, it’s saliva.”
He began with a downward stroke on the upper adipose tissue in close proximity to the right axilla….
Damn sexy terminology that hey….
The sharpness of his nib darted toward her….
Damn, this is harder than I…. woops.
He was writing. In the writing, he reached for her. It meant more than either of them would ever know, for here, now, was the one time his pen would truly touch her.
Ok, I started a couple of inches down and a couple of inches in from her right armpit, and made my way around the curve, avoiding the speed hump, streaked across her abdominal region, narrowly missing a very cute pothole, down her left thigh, turned right and crossed to the right thigh and worked my way back up.
Averil, I am never taking a dare from you again. Anna, what were you thinking letting this woman play in your sandbox ?
It was a limerick. It says,
A scribbler, Harry iPants,
loved to horizontally dance,
but his strange predilection,
(dipped in chilli protection),
only made Ms iSkirt start to rant.
She’s off to work now. And hoping her appendix doesn’t burst.
I’m dying!!!!!!! Oh Ms iSkirt, you are a good egg. That was hilarious.
XO
I am stunned. I am completely agog. Flies are zipping in and out of my open mouth. This is fabulous. Averil, you and your friends can come over any time.
Thank you for having me, Anna. This was a lot of fun.
XOXO
Uh oh, I can’t resist!
Me next, Averil, what’s my dare? Keep in mind a five-month-old sleeps next to my bed, and the nineteen-month-old is directly across the hall…
Mame! Huah-hahaha. . .
Okay, I would like you to send the Tall Drink of Water on a scavenger hunt. Plant a sexy note where you know he’ll find it first, then leave clues to another and another. Do at least five. The last one should be a love letter or a sexy bit of come-hither for when the babies are all asleep or a sitter is available.
XO (Miss you.)
Oh yes YES! Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever opted for a dare… but I’m feeling daring today. Bring it on.
But no corsets… mine is packed away into storage.
Someday I want to get a custom one and wear it out!!
Yay!!! A friend of Anna’s. I was afraid I’d scared you all away.
Okay, here you go: In sisterhood with Ms iSkirt, I would like you to write “KISS ME” somewhere on your body. Someplace a little ticklish, maybe, and then report back on what your husband makes of it and how well he follows instructions.
Not scared away! I love your dare — and I have an idea for a twist to add to it — but it might have to wait a few days, since we’re in the middle of moving and everything is all crazy. But report I will.
this was fun-not sure if the comments or the post was more entertaining. that said, the line about spilling cups was genius. i need more of that kind of poetry, somehow both tasteful and tasty at the same time.
thanks for that.
-g
I’m glad you enjoyed it. My buddies are clever and deliciously funny. I hope you’ll come hang out with us in the den of iniquity.
hot! continue…please…
Thank you, Tony.
XO
I never would have thought the discomfort of being punctured by underwires and scraped by stiff lace could end up turned into a lyrical piece of writing. I remember getting poked by wire and hoping air would escape and I’d deflate a few cup sizes. Of course I was also the kid who tried sandpaper to get rid of freckles and believed little people lived in my stomach and ran around with buckets when the dinner bell rang, so go figure. Great piece though. You should do something with this. The Sun magazine must have an essay topic this would fit.
You sandpapered your freckles, I suntanned in cooking oil. It’s hell to be a woman.
This was great-a great story that I thought was “just a story” at first, though a very good one. It makes me think of my (facetiously declared, though I bet it’s true in places) “statistic” that says that people spend most of their workday thinking and talking about sex, but at happy hour, they spend most of their time talking about work.
The most entertaining bunch of comments I’ve ever heard following a blogpost, I think. The talk about the garage makes me want to find a girlfriend and spend time with her in a garage, even if it means renting a car-sized storage unit for just a month. Yes, I’d do it. I’d also like to leave just my phone number in some mystery book in the library sometime, except with my luck, some guy would call and ask, “So, you like to watch mystery movies?”
Who knew the garage could be so damn hot?! All those drills and greasy wrenches and such. Tee hee hee.
I wonder which book you should leave your phone number in. Averil will probably know. Which book should Kevin leave his phone number in to attract the right woman? (Does this mean you want a dare, Kevin?)
Well, if we’re talking mystery, for me it has to be Agatha. You could leave it in Endless Night, and be all dark and mysterious. Or maybe The Moving Finger if you’re feeling wounded and ready for true love. Or, you could try a Wodehouse if you’re feeling silly. . .
Sadly, I only know the old fashioned mysteries. We’d need Sarah’s advice for a newish one.
I tip my hat to your unparalleled bravado, my dear. Truly inspiring antics that prompt me to wonder what kind of a dare a gentleman like me would be asked to endure. The feminine wardrobe is at once both lovely, creative, and endlessly challenging. I applaud your success! I trust your gentleman assisted you out of it and applied the necessary massage
~Foster
Hmm. . . Men’s clothing choices are not nearly so exciting. I might ask you to write us a poem about feminine undergarments, and what they do for a man.
Don’t let us down, Foster. . . .
Just to clarify, my lady…
Should I take your statement “what they do for a man” to mean:
(A) How a man is affected by wearing women’s undergarments, or
(B) How a man is affected by a woman in undergarments, or
(C) Something entirely unrelated to either of my interpretations?
I shall do my best to appease you any way I can, but in truth I find that when I write effective erotic poetry the important thing is that I do not let myself down, so to speak
~Foster
B. Please don’t try to wedge yourself into a corset, love. Trust me on this.
(You’ve discombobulated me, Foster. Surely I could have been more clear.)
I shall begin at once, madam. Thank you for that gentle direction
~Foster
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I just purchased a bustier on a whim! I think about it the way I think about heels; they hurt like heel, but they make you look damn sexy!
Off to take a dare.
Or do I ask for a dare here?
http://averildean.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/first-kiss-guest-post-by-anna-fonte/#comment-8227 is where the dares happen. I seem to be stuck in the boring old truth here.
OOoooo. I wish you had included a picture. I need to revisit the idea of faux-foundational garments, for sure. And I need more reasons to put on my heels.
I don’t know if you’ll be able to open it or not, but here’s a link >>> Sexy Reversible Zebra Print Satin and Pink Corset http://amzn.com/B0051DUQ50
Also, I’m not sure if it’s user error or not, but I can’t leave a comment on they post. There is no box to comment in. No dare for me.
Pink! Laces! What an amazing scrap of fabric!
Okay, so you have the gear, so you should do what A did– wear it all day under your clothes and tell us if it made a difference. I have a theory that everyone has unconscious x ray vision (close relative of gaydar) so suddenly, they will all perceive the zebra-striped goddess and melt at your feet. You will be our sexy guinea pig.