Page 71 of Man Cuffed
“Meg?” Maguire calls as I disappear, sounding concerned that maybe a demigorgon has sucked me into another dimension. Not to worry. That only happens on Netflix. I emerge holding onto an outfit straight from the puritan 80s. Or my mother’s puritan 80s wardrobe. It’s a pastel pink power suit with shoulder pads to die for. “Do you want me to be vintage and weirdly subservient?” I put on a sweet-sounding voice, “Yes, Maguire. Anything you say, sweetie. Or….” I drop the hanger onto the doorknob and jump back into the closet.
This next idea takes a couple of minutes, because I need to put on this outfit, instead of holding it up in front of me. And these fucking garters take a while to connect to the pantyhose.
When I finally emerge, I’m wearing barely anything. I’m clad in a black leather bra with my nipples exposed, a chain that connects from my bra to my garter, thong underwear, a garter belt, and mesh stockings. I’ve also slid into a pair of stilettos.
“Holy shit…” he breathes.
And then I crack the whip. Literally.
Every actress needs an assortment of props. Every woman, really.
“Do you want me to be the one in charge?” I ask, strutting toward him.Stomp stomp stomp. I fold the whip, using just the tip to trace a line down his chest down to his...Hello, sailor!At least part of Mac likes this getup. “You’d have to be my subordinate if we go with this outfit, okay? Try saying: ‘Yes, Mistress. Your wish is my command.’”
Mac blinks back at me with half-dilated eyes. “That one might be a little...much…” he manages to say. “Maybe save that one for later.”
Sure. Gotcha. Back to the closet I go. I pull on a T-shirt and some Daisy Dukes.
“How about this? I could play the girlfriend from the wrong side of the tracks who listens to Billy Idol and wants to fight the system.”
“So we’re back in the 80s?” he asks.
“What of it? It was a good decade and I didn’t get to experience much of it.”
“Maybe you could be from the right side of the tracks. But still want to fight the system?”
“I could, huh?”
He smiles up at me, his body spread out like a relaxed cat taking in the sun. I wonder if this little exercise is making Mac think about what he’d like in arealgirlfriend. And I wonder if he can see me in that role.
“Let me try on something else,” I offer. “While I’m dressing, you tell me the kind of girlfriend you want me to be. I can pretty much be anyone you want. Except Australian. That’s an accent I just can’t manage.”
“Hmm,” he says as I go back to the closet.
I find the perfect dress, peel off the Wrong Side of the Tracks outfit and slip a new dress over my head. No bra needed. And I wait to see if Maguire will start talking. Sometimes, I’ve found, if I leave his line of sight, the words come a little easier.
After a whole lot of silence that’s starting to verge on the awkward, he calls, “Why do you have to be any certain thing? Why can’t you just...be Meg?”
“Yeah, but which Meg?”
“All the Meg!” he says. “You’re perfect just as you are.” He says those words. Out loud. And I hear them.
I could do a lot of things right now. I could call him on it. Point it out. I could celebrate.
But that’s not the way to go with Maguire. He has to come to realizations on his own, and that could take some time.
Still, the compliment hits me right in the tits. I’m perfect just as I am, huh? I smile to myself just as he starts to backtrack. He’s a little on the frantic side now when he says: “I mean, you don’t have tobeanything really. I asked you to go originally to make my brother and sister-in-law a little, I dunno, jealous. But that’s not really the point now, I guess. Really, I just want you there…”
It sounds like he could stop right there. Put a period on the sentence.I just want you therewould be lovely. But no. The ass has to keep going.
“...I just want you there to take some of the pressure off. Show my parents and my siblings that I’m doing just fine.”
I poke my head out the door so he can’t see me yet. “You are doing just fine.”
“I know, I know. But I could be finer.”
I decide now is the time for the big reveal. I walk out and twirl around. I’m wearing a soft marigold-colored dress, made of a crepey silk that catches the air when I twirl. It’s got spaghetti straps and I’m not being vain when I say my tits look amazing in this dress. That’s just a fact. It glides around my waist and then flares out. This is a dress that I spent hours searching for and when I stepped out of the dressing room, Aubrey and Cassidy both sighed. I think Aubrey cried a little. This dress is that good.
“Be the Meg that wears that dress,” he says. His voice is a little less frantic now, and has more than a hint of desire in it. Then he reaches for me. “Come here,” he says.
