Pretty Boy

Angel dabbed the last bit of shadow around his eyes and untucked the towel from around his neck. The luscious purple silk of his dress rustled as the protective cloth fell free, and as he stepped away from the mirror the cool whisper of the skirts sent a delicious shiver through him. He stopped for a moment and admired the beautiful woman in the mirror.

She was slightly too tall, true, but she was wonderfully slender, with brown eyes made dusky and smoldering by the cosmetics. Her flat chest was made lovely by a tight waist and softly curved, narrow hips. Her blond hair was short and perfectly arranged to play up her high cheek bones, and her lips were painted a luscious red. She was dressed in a tight sheath of deep purple satin that swelled into generous skirts, rippling and flowing as she walked.

He looked magnificent.

Everything was set. The sun was already setting, and he was as ready as he was going to be. He slipped his feet into the matching shoes, specially made just for tonight by a friend of Angel’s tailor. They fit perfectly, shaping his feet into ladylike works of art, the heels just high enough, not adding too much to his height while still adding elegance. That done, he picked up his clutch and took a deep breath, settling into the role he was about to play.

The lady that blew out the candle and stepped out of Angel’s room was a thing of beauty, floating along on the rushing tide of her own skirts, head held high and hips swaying.

*****

Tonight was the Duke’s Masquerade, the best night of the year. The Duke of Silverlarch loved grand festivals, and the midsummer gala was the biggest. The city came alive in a pulsing throng of lights and music, and everyone was in costume. Beasts and beauties and monsters and maidens flooded the streets. Everyone dressed up and went out to revel in the sultry summer night, the scents of blooming flowers mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol and the musky smell of sex. It was the night that the whole city let its skeletons out of the closet, and it was the one night that Angel could really be himself.

The heart of the festival was the Duke’s manor, built atop the hill at the center of the city. It was a glowing dome of light tonight, so many lanterns strung from its eaves and in its gardens that it was as if the stars had come down for the party. Only the richest, the most famous, the best bred were allowed into that paradise. Or, occasionally, a very lucky boy with a letter of invitation, courtesy of a friend of a friend and a generous bribe. He’d had to scrimp and save on his miserable clerk’s wages, both for the bribe and for the dress, but tonight was going to be worth it.

The guard at the gate was dressed as a stag, with a graceful sweep of horns and heavy boots fashioned to resemble cloven hooves. He eyed Angel greedily, barely glancing at the letter before he waved him into the celebration. Angel could feel the man’s eyes on his satin-clad ass, and he added a little more sway to his step as he slipped through the gate and into the glamorous throng beyond.