Forgive me if the tags are wrong. This is a fictional story about a father-in-law and a closet crossdresser. If that offends you, please carry on…
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I slipped off into the garage while everyone else filed in through the front door. My feet ached. My pride was tired of bouncing between senses of freedom and embarrassment.
A few groups of older, too grown to still be trick-or-treating folks passed by along the sidewalk, each oblivious to me sitting alone in the dark.
I found a joint my father-in-law stashed beside the ash tray, lit it up and admired myself as I crossed my legs. It had been a long night.
The deadbolt on the door into the house turned suspiciously behind me. The door creaked open. I glanced over my shoulder in time to recognize my father-in-law’s silhouette as he crept out into the garage.
I crossed my legs the other way, the slit in my dress falling open to reveal my thighs. The nylon on my legs finished whispering as his footsteps approached. The smoke began working its magic.
My father-in-law had two glasses in hand. He stopped beside me and held one out.