My Halloween costume this year was a werewolf, and I have to say, it was pretty fucking awesome. I had this fantastic wolf mask, complete with a terrifying face and plenty of fur, plus a pair of furry wolf gloves. It was perfect for Halloween night. I scared the hell out of quite a few trick-or-treaters, got some great reactions, and generally had a wonderful time being the neighborhood monster.

But the Friday before Halloween, Annie had a slightly different plan for my costume.

She’d invited a few friends over, three of her girlfriends and one of their husbands, Chuck. I knew this particular group well enough to understand that when Annie invited them over, there was a pretty good chance I’d end up doing something embarrassing. They’re all the kinky, fun-loving type, and none of them has ever been particularly shy about laughing at my expense. Still, I figured I’d get to show off my werewolf costume, scare somebody, and maybe enjoy a few drinks.

I should know better by now.

Annie told me to get into costume, but she’d made a few modifications. I still had my awesome mask and furry wolf gloves. Unfortunately, underneath those I was wearing one of Annie’s pairs of panties and my dog collar. And that was pretty much the entire outfit once she finished with me.

Apparently, I wasn’t going to be the terrifying werewolf I’d envisioned. I was going to be the Sissy Werewolf, performing a strip show for Annie and her friends.

When I first came into the room, everyone cheered. I did my best scary werewolf entrance, complete with growling, raised claws, and a little stalking around the furniture. That lasted about thirty seconds before Annie announced that her wolf had a special performance prepared for everyone. She put on some music, pointed toward the middle of the room, and told me to start dancing.

Now, I am not a stripper. I have never claimed to be a stripper. And wearing a giant furry wolf head does absolutely nothing to improve my dancing abilities. I probably looked like somebody had hired a mascot from a low-budget Halloween attraction and forgotten to tell him what the job involved.

The women loved it.

They started clapping, whistling, and calling out encouragement that quickly turned into outright heckling. One wanted me to shake my furry ass. Another yelled that she’d never seen a werewolf with such delicate moves. Annie was laughing her ass off, occasionally directing me to turn around or come closer so everyone could appreciate the ridiculous spectacle she’d created.

Then came the stripping part.

I had to remove the extra clothing I’d worn into the room, slowly revealing my collar and the panties Annie had selected. The reaction was immediate. The women howled louder than I had when I entered. Someone announced that the big bad wolf had apparently been shopping in the lingerie department, and Chuck wanted to know if my Little Red Riding Hood was afraid to come out.

I was fucking mortified.

Of course, the mask was a lifesaver. I’m reasonably certain my face was bright red underneath it, but nobody could see that. Annie, who knows me better than anyone, probably didn’t need to see my face to know exactly how embarrassed I was. She could tell from my body language, the awkward dancing, and the fact that I kept trying to hide behind those ridiculous furry gloves.

At one point, Annie ordered me to parade around the room so everyone could get a better look at her creation. I had to stop in front of each guest, give a little growl, and pose. By then the women had started making up names for me. The Panty Wolf. Little Red’s Disappointment. The Werewolf of Victoria’s Secret. Every new suggestion got another round of laughter.

And then Chuck, the bastard, decided to tip me.

He pulled out a dollar bill, waved it around like he was sitting in the front row of some questionable strip club, and announced that he wanted to reward the evening’s entertainment. Annie told me to go collect my tip, so I shuffled over in my furry gloves and wolf mask while everyone cheered.

Chuck tucked the dollar into the waistband of my panties.

One fucking dollar.

I looked over at Annie, hoping she’d at least object to how cheaply her husband was being valued. Instead, she laughed and told me I’d better improve my dancing if I expected to earn any more.

Thanks, honey.

By the time Annie finally declared the performance finished, I was sweaty inside that mask, my dignity had taken a serious beating, and Chuck’s dollar was still sticking out of my waistband. I gave one final pathetic werewolf howl, which naturally earned another round of laughter, and took an exaggerated bow.

The funniest part is that I actually had a great time. Sure, I was embarrassed as hell, but it was a room full of people I knew and trusted, and Annie was having an absolute blast. There’s something strangely liberating about accepting that you’re the evening’s entertainment and just committing to being as ridiculous as possible.

And I have to give Annie credit. She took a genuinely impressive Halloween costume and turned it into something nobody at that party is likely to forget.

On Halloween night, I put the costume back on and went outside to scare trick-or-treaters. The mask was terrifying, the gloves looked fantastic, and the neighborhood kids had no idea that just a few nights earlier, the monster standing in front of them had been dancing around his own living room in women’s panties.

I think that’s probably for the best.

Oh, and Annie kept Chuck’s dollar. She said it was her commission for managing the talent.

Apparently, even as a werewolf, I can’t make a fucking buck.