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Patrick blinked. “Like, everything?”
“You can’t put this stuff on over jeans. It doesn’t work that way.”
Patrick glanced at the door.
“Nobody’s going to come in. Everyone’s busy as hell out there. That’s why we need to get changed and go help out, right?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
I had my clothes off in a moment and stood watching Patrick with silent appreciation. He was a good-looking kid with a swimmer’s body. He was going to look incredible in the Maverick Molly’s get-up. The confidence would come with time. That was the most important thing in this job, but it wasn’t always there at the beginning. Patrick definitely had the looks, but he needed an injection of chutzpah to have a chance at this gig.
I sifted through my things and found the black silk garter belt. I held it up and waggled the straps. “You should have something like this in your pile?”
Patrick’s gaze locked onto my crotch, so I glanced down to see if my dick was hanging out or something. But everything was tucked away in the neat little pouch of my lace panties.Oh…
“Wait! You’re wearing panties. Nobody told me I had to wear panties.” Patrick’s eyes had bugged, and his voice held a shrill timbre.
“You don’t have to wear panties. They just work well with the outfit, you know? And I like ’em.”
I loved panties. Why men got the short end of the stick on this one, I’d never understand. I, on the other hand, didn’t abide by many gender expectations. I’d worn men’s bikini underwear since I’d started shopping for my own clothes, which had been earlier than most kids, seeing as my mom wasn’t the best parent on the block, to put it mildly. Once I was brave enough, I’d started buying the prettier, lacier panties that were now available for people with penises.
“Your panties are”—Patrick swallowed—“really cute.”
“Why, thank you, Patrick,” I said, posing with one hand on my hip and grinning with contentment. “You have some in your pile. So do I. But these are my own,” I said, waggling my behind.
“Oh.” He smiled, and he went from cute to breathtaking in an instant. Yeah, he’d do.
I fanned my face. “My, my, you do have a lovely smile, Patrick. I think you’ll do just fine.”
I went over to where Patrick was standing and gestured to the pile of garments in front of him. “May I?”
He nodded.
I rifled through his ‘uniform’ and quickly found a pair of black lace men’s panties.
“Here.” I held them up. “Start with these.”
Patrick looked down at himself in his snug blue boxer briefs, then eyed me in my lacy red panties, and took the black ones from me. “Okay.”
I turned around politely while he changed his underwear and grabbed the garter belt from my pile before I turned around.
“Oh, hell. Yeah, those work,” I said, fixating on Patrick’s,ahem…package, now tucked tidily in the front pouch of his lacy panties.
“They’re so soft!” Patrick said, stroking the fabric as a giggle bubbled from his lips.
“Trust me… It’ll be hard to go back to boxer briefs after this.”
“What now?”
I helped Patrick get sorted out with the garter belt and stockings, which did take some getting used to. Then I showed him the frilly bloomers with a cheeky smile. “The guys love these…almost as much as they like the corsets.”
I pulled mine on over my stockings and fastened the buttons on the gusset. Wide pink ribbon weaved through the leg openings above the frilly fabric on mine, baby blue on Patrick’s. The bloomers and chemises were exact replicas of what would have been worn—by women, mostly—at the time, and that Sebastian had requisitioned from a local seamstress.
“Next—the chemise,” I said.
We pulled on the blousy cotton garments with their elbow-length sleeves that fanned out in soft frills at our elbows.
Patrick caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror.
