He pushed open the door, kicked off his shoes, tossed his briefcase aside, and walked straight into the bedroom, locking the door behind him. Exhausted, he began his daily secret ritual.
He removed his suit jacket and shirt, revealing smooth skin. First came the pale pink lace bra—he fastened the back hooks, and soft curves immediately formed at his chest. Next was the ivory satin corset; he pulled the pearl buttons tight from bottom to top, his waist quickly cinching in, creating deep hollows at the sides.
He sat on the bed and slowly rolled the white lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings up from his toes to the tops of his thighs. The lace edges pressed gently into the skin, leaving faint marks, and his legs shimmered with a soft pearly sheen under the light.
At the vanity, he applied a thin layer of foundation to even his complexion, dusted cherry-blossom pink blush on his cheekbones, blended rose-pink eyeshadow from light to deep across his lids, drew a fine upturned line at the outer corners, making his amber-gold eyes glow like melted honey. Finally, he coated his lips with cherry-pink lipstick and dabbed gloss in the center, leaving them plump and dewy like dew-kissed rose petals.
He put on the pink long curly wig, parted the rose-gold waves, and tied each side into a high ponytail with pearl-embellished satin ribbons. The ends fell softly over his shoulders. He swept the bangs behind his ears and pinned two layered pink-and-white rose hair accessories on either side, their petals sparkling with tiny crystal dewdrops.
Last came the dress—a tender pink layered cake skirt. Delicate tulle and satin overlapped, the outermost sheer pink gauze scattered with tiny shimmering sequins and hand-stitched rose embroidery. Satin ribbons crisscrossed the bodice and tied into a large bow at the back waist. The skirt flared dramatically like blooming petals. He stepped into it, zipped up the hidden side zipper, and adjusted the bow until it sat full and perfect. He slipped his feet into pearl-gray Mary Janes with small bow accents; the slim heels clicked softly on the floor.
He sat on the edge of the bed, picked up a small bouquet of pink roses, held it against his chest, and gently inhaled their fragrance. A soft smile curved his lips. The full skirt fanned out across the white sheets, stray rose petals scattered on the lace of his stockings, glowing dreamily in the lamplight.
His twin ponytails swayed lightly, golden eyes sparkled with quiet joy. He sat there hugging the flowers, letting the day's fatigue melt away in pink.
Tonight, he was once again the beautiful girl no one else knew, blooming alone in his room.