Bad Clothing

My husband surprises me in spite of myself.

My husband Joe continues to surprise me in spite of myself.

“They’re designed to help with cotton mouth,” he said.

My brow furrowed. Neither of us are stoners.

“I pictured your mouth overflowing with saliva.”

“Naturally,” I said, looking at the unwrapped box of mints for potheads. “Which are we having first?”

“Now?”

I looked to either side of me, saw our dim, quiet home, and said, “Why not?” A surprise, for a surprise.

I opened my mouth and laid my tongue flat. He put a small disk-shaped mint on it. It made my mouth tingle like it does when I eat unpasteurized aged cheese - an experience I’d also first had with him. Cheese, to a midwestern 90s girl, was homogenized.

We both enjoyed the effect.

-

Surprise was pleasant if one was open to it. Practicing my relationship death meditation helped me, but it was an uphill battle against my nature.

I checked the weather every morning - for over a decade - to know what I would walk into that day. My dad used to say there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. I’m used to knowing what’s to come, or given Minnesota’s unpredictable cycles, for being prepared for anything.

Nothing about Joe was predictable. I told him so on our first date. “You make me unsettled,” I said. I wonder if that’s what brought me to him.

-

Joe’s next surprise started with a text.

“What are your measurements?” a WhatsApp message pinged from the other room where he sat listening to a dozen voices over a Zoom call. He needed everything. Arm length. My neck circumference. My crotch to shoulder. I gave him answers and didn’t ask for any in return. Not knowing is power, in a way.

It had been nearly a year since I’d told him I once got aroused at a Planned Parenthood promotional booth when someone asked me to place my finger against a dental dam.

“Dental dam. What an odd name, come to think of it,” he said, or I said, I cannot recall. I did remember the convo. I thought what a good opportunity to buy something sexy for us, but it didn’t come. Not until the doorbell rang, and he brought in a brown package from the stairwell.

His voice was excited. “Do you remember when we ate pancakes at Cafe Luluc when Lou was tiny? You’d said...”

“The dental dams? I remember.”

“This isn’t dental dams. But…”

I smelt balloons before I pulled back the tissue wrapping.

“You got me a sexy balloon suit.” I looked up to see his eyes, which were waiting to register what mine were saying. They said I was surprised - in a good way.

He laughed, relieved, and said, “Alright, let’s see it then.”

“Now?”

“Of course!”

I’m no stranger to dressing up. But I am a stranger to latex. I’d spent my life in cotton, wool, and silk - weather-dependent. What would latex prepare me for?

I stripped and stepped into the dry suit. It was powdered, for ease. We zipped the back. It matched my proportions - wrapping me tight from crotch to my neck's nape. Joe came in close. He kissed my neck - I felt his warmth, his wetness. His saliva left a sheen on the barrier.

Joe said, “You feel toylike against my skin.”

“Keep touching me.”

His hands warmed my outfit. The material kept the heat. I felt smooth. I felt tight.

I said, “Stop. I want to look at myself.”

I admired my form in our bathroom mirror. I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sexy,” - which surprised me more than him. He laughed, and grabbed me again.

“You’re outrageously sexy.”

I felt free in my bad clothing.

“Thank you. For this,” I said.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” he said.

Soundtrack:

Thank you for reading, love lovers.