This was orig­i­nally writ­ten 2 years ago before this blog was up and run­ning.  I sat at the com­puter with noth­ing more than a photo of the cos­tume I wish I could wear on Hal­loween.  The rest, as they say, is fic­tion … or was it?

So, I had been perus­ing Hal­loween cos­tumes online. They always show these very thin women dressed in the sexy out­fits. Some ads will say “Plus Sizes Avail­able.” Oh groovy! How­ever, they don’t often show what a pleas­antly plump, fully bosomed woman looks like in said ‘plus size’ costume.

It’s a harsh real­ity when you take the “bar wench” cos­tume from it’s her­met­i­cally sealed plas­tic wrap. You attempt to work out the creases and folds from the acrylic fab­ric in a steamy shower. You use all the hot water try­ing to fill the bath­room with enough steam to iron it out. To no avail you’re left with, at best, a slightly damp wrin­kled garment.

While don­ning your flesh tone 18-hour bra and granny panties, you slip into your fan­tasy wench attire. The capped puff sleeve goes up on one shoul­der, then the other. You look down to find your 18-hour bra doesn’t want to be dis­creet. You attempt to pull the top to cover the bra. In doing so, the lace-up bodice slides upward to the cen­ter of your ample bust. You’re feel­ing more than plus-size. You think Omar the Tent maker might be get­ting a call.

You strip and go in search of that hor­rific yet slut-a-rific get up you bought in hopes of wear­ing it one day to turn on your man. How­ever, the man never came along and it was too much sweat and tears to get it on. This mod­ern day ver­sion of medievil tor­ture looks far too com­pli­cated. The hook n’ eyes on the BACK of the bustier/girdle/torture device mock you. You think to your­self that you once con­quered those sec­ond skin Levi’s that were too small.

You real­ize that you’re not as lim­ber as you once were. So, stretch­ing is in order. After­all, you have to man­age to get your arms behind your back. The art of dis­lo­ca­tion isn’t your strong suit. There­fore, you seek out that yoga DVD that’s only gath­ered dust since you bought it from that annoy­ing, yet con­vinc­ing skinny bitch who swears (at 3 am on a paid pro­gram­ming ad) you’d lose weight in the first week. You skip putting on the spe­cial yoga out­fit. Your 18-hour bra and granny panties will suffice.

Sweat­ing and feel­ing worse than you did before the DVD, you head to the shower. How­ever, there is no hot water because you wasted it all on try­ing to get that bar wench cos­tume steamed out. So, you just towel off and head back to the tor­ture cham­ber where the bustier and her friend, the mighty gir­dle, await you.
With a lot of wrig­gling and bounc­ing you man­age to get the gir­dle pulled up over your butt. In the mean­time, you’ve knocked every knick­nack off the dresser from bounc­ing. You stop for a moment and rest on the bed’s edge. You look down to find that this gir­dle is clearly forc­ing your inter­nal organs to jut upwards and spill over the top of the gir­dle. You find solace in know­ing the bustier will give you an over all smooth­ness.
Stand­ing up you face the hook n’ eye chal­lenge. Suck­ing in your organs, you man­age the first cou­ple hooks. You feel behind you to make sure it’s not cock-eyed. Awe­some! You’re on a roll. Now, only 20 more to go. On hook 8 You need a breather and water. The heavy pant­ing has left you breath­less and parched. With both breasts wav­ing to and fro you head down­stairs to the kitchen. You real­ize the cur­tains are open so you drop to your knees and crawl like you’re in Army boot camp. At the refrig­er­a­tor you find a bot­tle of water, but don’t stand up in fear that the neigh­bor could be out there. Lean­ing against the wall you drink your water and pray your efforts will be worth the pain.

Shim­my­ing back upstairs you face the enemy. Five hooks down. How­ever, the blood has left your arms and shoul­ders and you feel a tin­gle. You won­der if this is a stroke. You shake it off and con­tinue. Alas the final hook is hooked, but your boobs are still dawdling above the cups. You adjust and cram them where they are sup­posed to reside. You look in the full mir­ror hop­ing to admire the fruits of your labor only to real­ize your back fat is now fully pushed to the brim of the bustier and you have a lovely Qua­si­moto hump work­ing back there.…and you have to pee thanks to the bot­tle of water you chugged an hour before.

Down­stairs you go. Com­pletely not car­ing about the neigh­bors see­ing you in this get up. If they dare to peer into your win­dows they deserve to be fright­ened! You wig­gled and squirm try­ing to get the gir­dle down far enough so you can go to the bath­room. Relief! You do your busi­ness and get the gir­dle back up. You fig­ure you might as well put on the super sup­port queen size pan­ti­hose before you put on the fish­net stock­ings that were sup­plied with the cos­tume. Another tri­umph and lots of sweat! You chuck the fish­nets because they aren’t intended for any­one over 5’0″ and the crotch hits you about mid-thigh.

At last! You get the cos­tume on and you get a call that your friends will pick you up at 7pm… TOMORROW NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!! You tell them to for­get it! You’re cer­tain you’ll be in trac­tion and unable to attend.