Tarzan (Disney) Tarzan/Jane Victorian undergarments
It didn't take long at all before she threw them all away: corsets and hoop skirts simply weren't practical for jungle dwellers. Tarzan showed her how to cure the hides of the animals that he killed. They used sharp rocks as scissors and to scrape the skins, beating them thin and clean and wearable. The resulting garments covered much less, but they fit like a second skin, and after they were done, he started teaching her how to fly in the jungle, the way her feet should slide, the careful arrangement of arm and hip and dance.
They took her corsets to pieces to repair and shore up and she didn't know what else, but she didn't mind. The hoop from her skirt made a nice toy for the apes, as long as they were gentle, and the soft gauze that remained went into bedclothes and pillows. It was waste not, want not in the trees.
She didn't mind anything at all. She'd traded formality for familiarity and the heaviness of a skirt for the heaviness of Tarzan's hand on her thigh. This was something utterly new, but she was determined to love it, to experience it, to be right here in the moment. She kept her diaries for a few more months, who was she recording for? Herself, she supposed, and the best thing to do was to go out and experience it all.
*
The first night, she let him strip those wet clothes from her, laid aside the yellow dress, and learned what it was to be a woman underneath. She thought her heart would burst before he unfastened the ties over it. His hand on her breast, hesitant, made her jerk in shock and anticipation. She bit her hand, quite without realizing, and he stopped.
"Jane?"
He pressed his knuckle to her cheek, like he'd done when they first met, and she smiled, leaning forward, kissing his cheek.
"Here," she whispered, her mouth on his shoulder, her hands on his, "unlace here. I don't know that I can do it myself."
His answering sigh was primal as his hands slid over her skin, and she thought she would never forget how free she felt there, naked, in his eyes.
"Why do you hide yourself so much?" he whispered as he tangled a hand in her head.
He meant "you" as "human beings," in the way he used to speak, she knew, and it was a question she couldn't answer, not without explaining morality and decency and a thousand other concepts that were very far from her mind at the moment.
Somehow, it did seem very silly of them, didn't it?
"I'm not hiding now," she answered, kissing his jaw, and that was all they said, the rest of the night.