In this scene, it's the night of the prom, and Michael has chosen to work, because there's no one he wants to go with, other than the boy he doesn't have the nerve to talk to, much less ask out. The checker tells him that the strange guy is there, the one who wears a skirt and pink heels. Curious, Michael decides to stealthily check him out.
Okay, first things first. He was wearing a skirt—black and short—beneath which his long bare legs could be seen, smooth and muscled, and very shapely. The skirt accentuated the fact that he had a very cute ass, as well. The shirt he wore was a pale cream color and bare midriff, so that I could see that his stomach was indeed flat. And upon his feet were a pair of very pink, very high stiletto heels. But it was obvious to me, from the first glance I got of him, that he was used to wearing them, as he rocked back and forth steadily, intent upon what he was doing, totally unaware of my presence. Or so I thought. I moved closer, trying not to be too obvious, my mission being to return the can of coffee in my hand to its proper home. But he must have heard me, for he turned his head…
…and oh my God, I found myself staring into the devastatingly beautiful face of Rob Marshall.
Well, I might have wished it. But to actually see him like that, in the flesh and dressed in women’s clothing, was totally unnerving—and intensely electrifying, as I felt my autonomic system take hold, moving into autopilot—in other words, instant hard-on. I had to catch my breath, and I’m sure I must have come across as some sort of slack-jawed idiot, as I stopped in mid-motion and simply stood there, looking at him.
“Michael,” he said softly. Oh my God, he even knew my name? He didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest, and I realized that he was wearing an earring in one ear—a gold stud. Not clip-on, but pierced. I found that very sexy as well, and I wondered if he had any tattoos burned into his body, blushing at my own thoughts. “I didn’t know you worked here.” How did he know I worked here? Oh yeah, the uniform… duh….
“Um… yeah….” What a witty response—not!
He didn’t seem to be self-conscious about his unusual attire, but I was becoming increasingly aware of it. Painfully so. “You’re not at the prom,” he observed, pushing back his hair behind his ear.
I hope you enjoyed this little piece of Prince. Don't forget to check out the rest of the writers who are participating in the blog hop. You'll find them here. See you next week!
Until next time, take care!