MADE UP LOVE
by Matthew Sanborn Smith
Trey had a thing for girls in makeup. Lots and lots of makeup. It was Auntie that did it to him when he was a child, her big, soft hugs and thick cosmetics. He thought about her often and his fantasies only grew more and more extreme until, as an adult, he sometimes had homoerotic fantasies involving clowns.
He made an excuse for his nephew's birthday party for this very reason. It wouldn't do to have a zipper-bursting erection at a children's party. But he was unable to function for the entire day, thinking about what he might be missing and how easy it would be to stop over and catch a glimpse. Trey knew he had a problem. Don't misunderstand, he liked girl clowns too, but boy clowns were so much more prevalent.
He'd troll the streets late at night looking for a McDonald's that was closed so he could stare through the windows at the graphics of Ronald with those thick, sexy lips. But the clothes! The clothes were too much. They just looked ridiculous.
Inconveniently, Trey fell in love. Marta was wonderful. She was everything he wanted. Almost. She did lay on the lipstick with a trowel but the rest of her make-up was frustratingly normal. Eventually they married and for six agonizing months Trey held his desires in check. His misery led him to a plan that made his gut hurt with shame. But his gut wasn't in control. He ordered his supplies and experimented with his wife as she slept.
Trey practiced with anaesthesia until he was sure she'd be out cold for at least an hour. Once he was confident she wouldn't wake up, he painted her in whiteface, with a fat, red mouth, wide eyes and thick black lashes. He could hardly control himself. An hour later, he lit candles, woke her and made love to his sleepy, confused wife. It was the most passionate sex either of them had ever experienced. After she nodded off, he drugged her once more and removed the make-up. Everything had gone perfectly and after months of moodiness, Marta was thrilled to have a happy husband again.
Once a week, usually on a Friday night, He performed his ritual. There were a couple of close calls. He loved her closely, to keep her hands away from her face, which she complained felt strange. He had to rush to blow out the candles when she went to the bathroom and he followed her in to make sure she wouldn't turn on the light. Mad sex was the his only answer to her questions. The following week he woke her sooner so she was too tired to cause problems.
There came a Friday night when he was exhausted because of gut-pain insomnia the previous night but he wouldn't give up his obsession. After they made love, a particularly draining love, he collapsed into a hard sleep.
He shot up in terror when screams from the bathroom awoke him Saturday morning. Trey slumped forward with his head between his knees. Everything. Everything, was lost.