Monday, July 6, 2015
S(he)-Devil with a Sword
Jamie burst into Gypsy's dressing room at the Pleasure Club without knocking. "You gotta stop him," he begged her. "He's gonna—"
"Too late." Gypsy shrugged a robe over her dance costume. "He already is."
"Sonuva—" Jamie raked his hand through his already-messy red hair. "He's gonna hurt hisself."
"It's a rubber sword, Jamie."
"I ain't talking about the sword."
Gypsy pursed her lips. Even she, a connoisseur of exotic costumes, had questioned Lamar's latest choice. But once a snake-shifter tossed his coils around a notion, he tended to squeeze it to death. There'd been no deterring him. "I voiced my concerns," she said. "It was all I could do. I have some salve for afterwards, if he needs it." She rested her hand on Jamie's shoulder. "Can you stand to watch?"
"Guess I better," Jamie grumbled. "Case I have to carry him offstage."
The performance had already started by the time Gypsy and Jamie reached the floor. Lamar was in the middle of a sinuous sword dance, writhing in ways only a snake could pull off without physical damage. The audience ate it up, forgetting even the food and steins of beer on the tables before them. When a crowd's made up of mostly predators, that's high praise indeed.
Jamie couldn't help wincing. "I can't believe he'd wear that. I can't believe she wears that."
Gypsy nodded in sympathetic agreement. "Ouch."
After the Amazon warrior had popped into existence in Talbot's Peak over a week ago, there'd been a minor fad at the Pleasure Club, with the dancers adopting warrior-woman garb. Gypsy herself had devised a variation on a Xena costume. It wasn't practical for fighting but allowed for adventurous dance moves.
Lamar had gone in a totally different direction. A flaming red wig and two brief strips of glittery metal barely inches away from a wardrobe malfunction. Calling it a bikini was being generous. Even for Lamar it was risqué.
"Is that real chain mail?" Gypsy asked.
Jamie nodded glumly. "He bought it off some cosplayer. They had a comic book convention down by the exit last year."
"Some poor human girl was wearing that?" Gypsy shook her head.
"It's a genuine Red Sonja costume, so he's been telling me. The theory is, the bad guys get distracted by her boobs and forget to fight. Lucky for her. That armor don't cover up scat."
"It covers enough. Just barely." Gypsy couldn't stop staring at the bottom half of what passed for Lamar's outfit. All that interlinked metal pressed up against a woman's most sensitive area. The mail didn't even leave room enough for protective panties underneath. She shuddered.
"It ain't so bad for him," Jamie said, interpreting Gypsy's queasy expression. "Snakes don't have body hair, and his personal property's tucked away in the pouch. The falsies protect his nipples. Still, it's gotta pinch. But you know Lamar. Anything for art."
"If he chooses to suffer for a performance, that's his decision. I wouldn't wear anything that dangerous, though. Not even after a wax."
"It's not about the performance so much. It's afterwards. He wants to wear it to bed. I ain't snuggling up against that. I got body hair."
Gypsy couldn't help but smile. "He wants you to be Conan?"
"I got nothing against that either. Wish I had the build for it. I ain't no Schwarzenegger. Hey, you know who'd make a terrific Conan? Sergei. Least he's got the muscles." Jamie gulped. "Aw scat."
"I just pictured Sergei in a loincloth. With a sword. I think my balls just ran for cover."
Gypsy also imagined her massive lover in furry briefs, wielding a broadsword, with his long hair flying and his shaft at attention. She growled happily.
"What about Tarzan?" she asked Jamie once she got her voice back. "They always used to cast swimmers as Tarzan for the movies. They're not as bulky. And you'd get to wear a loincloth."
Jamie watched Lamar shake his near-naked ass at the audience. "Tarzan and Red Sonja?"
"Tarzan and Jane. The books were written back in the '20s, I think. Jane always dressed modestly. Nothing that threatened the skin. At least … " Gypsy's dimples appeared. "Until she put on the leopard-skin swimsuit."
"Yeah." Jamie looked thoughtful. "Boas are a jungle snake. Bet he'd go for that. Wonder if I can do the yell? It's pretty close to a howl."
"You'll be fine," Gypsy said absently. Her mind had drifted back to thoughts of Sergei in a Conan pose. All of a sudden she wanted her shift to be over. Somebody was going to be doing a lot of yelling tonight.
# # #
Which brings us to today's public service announcement. For all you female comic fans out there, I direct you to The Hawkeye Initiative. This site is devoted to pictures of male superheroes copying the skimpy costumes and contorted poses too often foisted on women in comics. Enjoy!