Except Lylia and I. And George. Lylia's my next door neighbor. Her husband George came along for that ride. He was an electric blue square dance queen in the back seat. They were both blonds and in those heels, their knees were up to their chins in that little car. What a hoot. We bet a lot. When they lose, Candy and Cattie get gussied up. When we lose, well, let's just say our action can really get hampered.

But tonight I didn't lose, Lylia did though. I had no idea how George was going to turn her out for the party, but it would be terrific.

Candy's got on an inflatable bra and panty girdle. Little tubes let you blow the things up to whatever proportions seem right. Dolly Parton would look emaciated next to Candy tonight. Crammed into that super tight whale-boned corset, with his hips, buns and bust inflated to mammoth dimensions, Candy looked, well, wanton. Not just hot, she looked in heat. I've screwed dangling bells through his pierced ears and buckled shiny silver belled bracelets onto each of his gloved wrists. Even his choker's got about a dozen tiny silver sleigh bells. He tinkles delightfully with each step on those five inch silver heeled sandles.

Holloween Queen

I really like him in red. That dress is a killer. While it leaves his right shoulder and arm bare, it drops to the cuff on the left. The top drapes way down over his bosom and the draping's covered in tiny sparkles. The skirt's short and tight and slitted up to mid thigh revealing a hint of black sheer stocking top with each jouncing, jiggling step. Of course his right hand's bare to show off those inch long nails, but I've got a silver shoulder length lycra glove on his left

arm.

The effect's terrific since his crimson nails match his big moist lips and the rest of his face is an artist's dream. Deep blusher fills his high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyeshadow brings out the light blue of his eyes. Of course he's got waist length blond curls teased out ten miles around his head. It sort of looks like he's been doing something oral with an air conditioner. Just for giggles I sprinkled him with silver glitter, so his hair, face and bare shoulder sparkle along with the top of his satiny dress.

All of this really embarasses Tim. He hates to be Candy. But that's our deal. Tim gets off on tying me up. I don't. I get off on making him into Candy and watching him squirm. So we bet. This is a big loss for Tim, but at least it's Holloween right? Anyone who recognizes him will just comment on his 'costume'. Although I'm pretty sure that there'll be a surprise in store for him anyway.

As I drove him to the party, he couldn't stop squirming and whining. "How

will I keep this skirt down when I sit?" He moaned. "What if people don't think it's a costume and feel I like to get dragged up?" He chirps. "Lylia, this could ruin me. Come on. What will they think down at the bank if they find out about this?"

Roles Reversed

"That you should have thought through before the bet. I know if I'd lost, I'd be sitting over there squirming in some kind of kinky straight jacket and leg irons trying to communicate through six pairs of panties or worse crammed into my mouth. So sit back and enjoy. Besides, why do you think anyone will recognize you anyway in that getup. You look like one hot bimbo, Baby."

"Ohhh," he grumbled, pulling at the slit in his hem, jingling delightfully. "I'd never take you to a party that stringently bound. And when they see me come in with you, everybody will know who I am pretty quickly."

I loved the distressed and uncomfortable look on his face. That corset must have been killing him along with the extremly tight panty girdle that folded his male apparatus between his legs and back. I smiled wickedly at my frothy car mate as I told him the rest of the plan. "We aren't going in together Candy dear. We're meeting Lylia and George out side and you're going in with her. George and I will come sometime after."

He really came unpinned with that. "Huh? I can't prance in there with another woman. I mean with a strange woman." He was pulling at his neckline now, trying to get it to cover more of his recently shaved chest. "And who knows what kind of outfit Lylia's going to be in. Why we'll stand out like a couple of hens at a rooster convention. Stop it Nancy, I want to go home."

Too Much Leg Show

I thought the poor miserable little dear was going to cry and ruin her wonderful makeup. "Stop it this moment Candy, you'll loose your eyelashes if you bawl and blubber. Now pull out your compact and freshen up your face, we're there and that's all there is to it. If you don't hold up your part of the bargain, I won't do mine and that will get you awfully upset next time you want a damsel in distress.

He got control of himself and repaired his face as I drove into the parking lot beside the hospital. This was the annual gala for the medical center and the cream of society would be here tonight. This was the first time we'd been invited and it spoke well for Tim's work at the bank and mine at the magazine. Tim's small for a man, slight in fact. That's why he looks so good in my clothes. It also explains the Napoleonic obsession he has to his work. Bright obsesives