Occasions
Hankering for Halloween
by Debra Hyde

Sometimes, though, I envy my childless BDSM friends who have the time and energy to assemble wild costumes and then party hearty. That's not to say I haven't thought about donning some of my fetishwear for the cheery task of handing out the goodies. I have. Last year, I came dangerously close to wearing my Paul C leather corset. I figured that by accessorizing with a skirt, boots, and silver-toned armbands, I could pass for Xena, Warrior Princess. But, at the last minute, I realized that parents, who more often than not accompany their kids, might realize that I was wearing a real corset made of leather. Not a faddish Goth corset, not a haute couture design, but real leather with real stays, suggesting that I'm into something a bit too controversial for our staid little neighborhood. I decided to remain discrete.

I guess that rules out the PVC catsuit from Purple Passion.

Costuming, though fun, has always been a hit-or-miss prospect for me. Years ago, I labored over a Mandarin costume for my husband, sewing it all by hand because we were too poor for a sewing machine. We planned to join co-workers at a party, and I worked so hard on completing his outfit that I entirely neglected mine. I was too exhausted to pour much effort into my own costume, deciding instead to capitalize on the MTV Big Hair and odd, mis-matched clothes of the early 80s. Well, my Flock of Seagulls attempt failed miserably. Everyone took one look at me and said, "That's a costume?" Turns out, everyone figured I probably dressed like that anyway outside the office -- they could see even then that I was too Bohemian to deeply adopt any suit mentality.

The closest I came to hitting the mark with my own costume was towards the end of my second pregnancy. And it took all of ten minutes to make. Halloween was two short weeks away from my due date and, although I never reached water buffalo proportions, I was as plumb as a hay-bellied pony. So I took a big old husband-sized T-shirt and, in black magic marker, wrote Goodyear across it. My belly stretched it out nicely and, as I took my son around the neighborhood, more than one neighbor broke out laughing over my blimp of an outfit.

Planning for myself has always been somewhat problematic and I seem to do much better with designs for my loved ones. A few years ago, at the height of my fascination with director Tim Burton, I took sweats -- one set black and one set white, added some fabric paint to the black, added black electrical tape to the white, face-painted my kids and viola! My daughter went as Jack Skellington and my son wandered the neighborhood as Beetlejuice, but with significantly better behavior. To my daughter's dismay, few people recognized Jack while everyone went nuts over Beetlejuice, even earning my son a Best Costume award in his age group at the annual school party.

We've done our fair share of ghosts, grim reapers, Star Trek officers, black cats, devils (my daughter breaking sex roles there), even a video game once (my son as Jurassic Park for Sega). Once in a great while we even come up with an oddity -- like the year my son mixed masks and went as Amish alien. You'd be surprised how well a beard and a black, flat-brimmed hat goes with a long oval face and bug eyes.

This year, my son's pushing the envelope: he wants to cross-dress and go as a lady. I'm still mulling over permission on that idea, not because of the cross-dressing, but because I'm concerned that he might be setting himself up for ridicule among his middle school peers. He gets an "A" for gutsiness in my book, and I am leaning towards letting him realize his idea. But I am insisting on a campy, over-the-top portrayal. A clownish cross-dresser might be a safer proposition than a demure Chanel beauty.

So I thought about how Master views me. He doesn't like slave terminology, although our practices probably reach into that sphere. Dominant/submissive? Too -- I dunno -- understated? Then I remember how Master loves my habit of leaning into him when kneeling during play parties, how he enjoys caring for me, how he loves to pet me.

How he calls me his pet.

That's it. I'm his pet, pure and simple. That could explain my dog-like eager, unquestioning loyalty. And why I pant every now and then (although clover clamps and the violet wand usually have something to do with it). Not to mention my occasional begging. I'm only glad I'm not rewarded with Snausages.

We've no dog costumes laying about but a general "pet" category is doable. I know there's a pair of cute kitty ears somewhere around here. Maybe I can even convert the tail to a butt plug in time to wander the neighborhood!

Wouldn't you know it, though. No sooner do I recount how the parental side of Halloween has kept me from the kinky side than an email from Master arrives, telling me to clear the calendar -- we're going partying!

I wonder what tricks and treats are in store for me...

Hey, Xena! Here I come!

Copyright © 1998, Debra Hyde. All Rights Reserved.

About the Author

Debra Hyde is a mostly submissive switch who lives in New England with her husband, two children, three cats, and a dog. She says she is "well-owned and well-loved" by a very special Master, and shares a unique triangle with him and her somewhat submissive husband.

"When England Calls," one of Debra's short stories, graces the pages of the recently published Mammoth Book of Historical Erotica. She is currently working on a number of others, as well as the Great American Leather Novel. Her BDSM work has been previously published on the Internet by Leather Online and Section 12, but Leather and Hyde was her first regular column, originally hosted by About.com's BDSM site and relocated here with her kind permission.

Debra also maintains a personal Weblog called Pursed Lips and can be reached at 75222.2150@compuserve.com... but no junk mail or "Wannas," please.