“I’d go a size up there, big boy.”
With my eyes now on his dick, Dax does one final turn in the mirror, then retreats to his dressing room, muttering “on to bigger and better,” a fitting mantra and one I’ve used a lot this week as Dax has adjusted to his new digs and new life.
It’s been a week, to put it kindly. As expected, things did not go well with Dax’s insurance. His account is in arrears. There’s not much he can fight them on, even if he could afford a lawyer. The power scales are tipped in the wrong direction.
Dax is also struggling with his new living situation.
Dougie and Brandon are welcoming and supportive. They’re just both really set in their ways. Brandon likes to do his virtual CrossFit every morning at five-thirty. Normally, he does it in the basement, but he happily moved to the living room to accommodate Dax. However, that means Brandon’s doing burpees above Dax’s bed. It’s like waking up to a violent thunderstorm every morning. But Dax feels terrible about sleeping in Brandon’s usual burpee space, so he feels like he can’t complain.
Then there’s Brandon’s regular bacon craving and Dougie’s continual memory lapses and failure to stick to the secret knock when he’s on a mission for the freezer. We’ve started to have sex with shirts on just in case Brandon gets hungry because we only have twelve thumps on the staircase before Dougie’s head appears, asking us if we’re hungry.
This shopping trip was an attempt to get Dax out of the house. We need costumes for tomorrow night’s party. Dax needs something to take his mind off the fact that he has to go in for his orientation session in the morning to start training on Monday.
“I think I found the winner. How sexy am I in these?”
He draws back the curtain. If the last pair of pants were tight, these are painted on. They look like leggings. Dove gray, and I enjoy how they cling to every muscle and curve of his body.
“I’m sure we could find you a vest and a puffy shirt. You’d make a very dashing Prince Charming.” The party theme Dougie and Brandon finally settled on, Lovers in a Dangerous Time, leaves lots of room for interpretation. I don’t recall Cinderella’s story being filled with danger, but I’m sure the prince carried a sword, and Cinderella’s shoes were made of glass.
I leave Dax to scour the racks for anything that could work for the rest of his costume. As I search through piles of secondhand clothes, my mind turns to the same place it has gone whenever I have a moment to think: the invisible hourglass looming above me, with only a few grains of sand left before time runs out. Tomorrow night the moon moves into waning gibbous, and I’ve yet to make a decision. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve made my decision several times over the last few days, but then changed my mind an equal number of times. Do I leave behind my glass slipper or turn around and run into the arms of my prince?
Maybe it’s fitting that I go to the party as Cinderella. She too had a curfew. A ticking clock counting down until her dreams turned to dust. But even when she ran out of time, things worked out for Cinderella and Charming, right? Their love prevailed. In the end, their happily ever after was worth all the angst that led up to it. Maybe that’s a sign? In the end, Dax and I will be fine. He might be a tax associate. It may take us some time to get on our feet, but we will be happy.
I find the perfect white shirt, as well as a purple velvet vest and a hat that’s a bit more Pan than Charming but that I bring to Dax anyway. He disappears behind the curtain, then reappears a few moments later, looking like full thrift shop royalty.
“I think we have a winner, my prince.”
Dax’s eyes linger on his image in the mirror. He does a quarter turn one way, then the other. “I like it. Although I’m getting more Montague vibes. What do you think? Are we better suited as Romeo and Juliet? It’s far more dangerous.”
He does have a point. As soon as he says it, I see it. His outfit is all Romeo. Except that story is not the type of ending I’m aiming for. But Romeo and Juliet’s issue wasn’t a lack of love. It was logistics and preteen-level communication skills. Dax and I don’t have any big secrets to hide unless, of course, you count the fact that I’ve somehow created a slip in time.
Conflicted, I return to the racks. It’s time for me to find something equally amazing to stand beside Dax. I find two old prom dresses that, with the right costume jewelry, could transform me enough that I’ll look the part once everyone has had a couple of beers. When I step out of the changing room, Dax is staring at his phone, looking like his dog just died. Or maybe like his life’s work burned to ash, and the wound is still very fresh.