The Embarrassment of Riches Chapter One: The Changeling
The people, places and events of this story exist only in my (and now your) imagination; therefore, any resembelences to real people, real places or real events would be really cool.
It all began on a Saturday in September and autumn was easing itself in, bringing overcast days and skies filled with bright light, although the sun itself could not be seen. The white, cloud-filtered light matched the light inside the shopping centre that a young man named Martin had just entered. White lighting filled the open spaces outside the many shops that were all stacked together under one roof and five floors.
Martin was a little naive; not stupid, but rather too trusting and too slow to question things. He had turned seventeen two days ago, was gay and attended an all boys school, Martin was used to the wiles of his peers – less so the motivations of his elders.
Martin was job hunting in an attempt to fill his weekends, earn a little money and to see what the real world looked like. It was the second weekend in September and school had returned from summer for a month already but the holidays felt like forever ago. It wasn't that Martin especially wanted to lose his weekends off; he had a paper round – that was one thing but a proper job would be another. It wasn't that he especially need the money, his mother was a consultant of vascular surgery and his father a senior pharmacist; so he lived in a nice house in a good neighbourhood and they were all too happy to keep him. But Martin wanted to make his own way in the world. As he walked into town, his mind drifted to the conversation he had had with his mother the night before – the one about his `biological parents'.
Biological parents was the phrase he had trained himself to use; he once said "my real parents" and the look of hurt on his mothers face caused a pang of guilt that had lasted longer than her sense of rejection had. Martin knew his biological mother had been young when he was born, only sixteen, so she must have been even younger when he was conceived. Of his father, Martin knew nothing. He had been given up for adoption shortly after being born and Tony and Miriam McGuigan had adopted him soon after.
They had for so long avoided all talk about his biological mother and father but now they, or at least his mother, were realising the time would come when the might have to tell him more. Yet what Miriam knew, she knew would break his heart.
So, Martin McGuigan was a little naive. His naiveté was endearing and suited his appearance – tall (already over six foot and still growing), blonde hair that was shorter at the sides and coiffed up front and green eyes that were big and meek. His trusting temperament contrasted the cynicism he observed in most boys in his classes at school.
The young lad made for the escalators to the upper levels of the shopping centre that was a decent bus journey from home and an even longer walk. But that suited him, it would, Martin hoped, reduce the number of his peers he would need to encounter out of school. He considered this an issue only because he went to a private school (the Earl of Lennox Boys School) filled with rich boys who, in their arrogance, might look down on a `common' job. Martin got to the third floor and stood outside a shop that had not yet been opened by the manager, though the Saturday workers were already inside– accessing the store from one of the service corridors – and setting up.
Graham Cauldwell knew Martin was something special the first time he laid eyes on the seventeen year old. Graham's shop, the Pothos Emporium, dominated the top floor of the shopping centre. The Fifth floor was not the one on which you would find Marks and Spencer's or Top Shop; the fifth floor was almost forgotten by most, reviled by many and frequented by gay men. Like Brighton except it mostly catered folk with and XY chromosome pair rather than the whole LGBT community spectrum. Not that lesbians et al weren't welcome, of course.
The fifth floor was like platform nine and three-quarters, except access to it didn't require running into a wall, because most people couldn't see it for looking at it. Perhaps it was the fact that Cauldwell's shop was well known as a "gay shop" that scared away most Saturday shoppers and, indeed, many other businesses. The only other retailers to share the fifth floor were a dusty drycleaners (called Cleen Eesy), a photography studio (called Foto Shop) and a coffee shop (called Johnson's Coffee Shot).
Anyway, Graham was on his way to open up the shop when he saw Martin for the first time. Martin was at least half a foot taller than Graham's five foot nine inches; with skin tanned enough to remove the default pasty look of the average Scottish complexion yet still milky and smooth. The lad had long legs covered in fair hairs – on this day he was wearing jogging shorts that framed his pretty arse and showed off his athletic legs. His t-shirt was long sleeved but the rounded neckline was open with the three buttons that descended to the top of his sternum unfastened, revealing a trace of wiry hairs that made up his chest hair. His waist was slim; his abdomen, muscled; his chest, well developed; and his shoulders, broad.
The boy was a walking wet dream.
Martin was standing outside H&M, waiting for it to open. He was plugged in to a pair of ear phones and a backpack sat at his feet. Graham gazed at the lads trainer clad feet, sockless ankles and wandered his way up the boy's lean and thin frame. Hiding inside the boy's shorts was a respectable bulge and beneath his top, Martin was obviously slender and conventionally attractive. He was a pretty boy whose lips were thin and kissable and, as a smile played across his mouth, Graham could imagine a cock slipping between them quite easily. Martin's big sad eyes didn't notice he was being observed so obtrusively. But someone noticed.
"You see anything you like?" asked a voice behind Graham.
Graham turned and saw David, the store manager of the very shop Martin was waiting outside of.
"Who is he?" Graham asked, evading the question and all its implications.
"Martin McGuigan. I hear he's been in just about every shop in the building looking for a job," David said. He smiled sardonically, "Maybe he's just not reached you yet?"
"Maybe."
"To be honest I interviewed him last week," David continued. "Nice boy, but I'm fully staffed. Unfortunately."
Unfortunately formed a sentence all on its own.
"Then why is he standing outside your shop?" asked Graham.
"Have you looked at him?" replied David; "Shit, I'd interview him every day if I thought he was stupid enough to keep coming back."
David laughed at this own joke and Graham laughed with him. He could see what the other man meant and he was imaging more than just interviewing the lad.
"Maybe you could recommend I interview him?" suggested Graham, "I might actually have an opening he could fill."
"I bet."
"How old is he?" Graham asked, worried what the answer would be.
"Seventeen, I think" David and blushed just a little at having been so overtly flattering about Martin. David was pushing thirty and pushing it to find the young lad so pleasing.
Graham was thinking something similar but had far fewer qualms about admitting that he thought Martin was shit-hot. Graham himself was twenty-seven, ten years Martin's junior which was a little younger than Graham was usually willing to admit being attracted to. Not necessarily younger than he would actually `do' but younger than he'd admit to.
"He goes to that private school. The Earl of Lennox Boys School – just started sixth year," David added – he was currently a font of information and was enjoying being its purveyor. Once Graham had talked to Martin, David knew his information would be obsolete.
Graham caught David's eye and they both thought the same thing – rich boys in school uniform. Graham tumbled the image over in his head and found an idea forming; he had nothing against rich boys it was just that he had always wanted the be one and wasn't. Graham wondered why a wealthy boy would be looking for a job; perhaps because it would look good on a CV? Graham was sure he could think of ways for Martin to earn a good reference.
Graham's eyes were drawn back to the tall lad with long thin legs. The young guy reminded Graham of E.J., the tall blonde deputy manager of the gym he frequented and whom he had shared a brief tryst; it leant an empirical base to his fantasy. Graham pictured Martin's beautiful blonde legs; he imagined them spread, the boy's hole opened up – ankles above his head.
"See you later. Let me know if anything interesting happens?" David said and made his way towards Martin.
Briefly Graham continued to watch the young man, but Martin's gaze was up now and drawn to his boss. Graham didn't want it drawn to him while he stood gawking. As he made his way up the escalator, Graham wondered if David really knew what he was setting Martin up for...
If anything interesting happens? Graham smiled at that. It was true he had `used' his employees before. Sold merchandise off the premise of attractive lads that worked in the store, but that was just good business. Gay men like attractive men, might as well use it as a marketing tool.
At twenty-seven, Graham had set up the Porthos Emporium more than five years ago. Pothos was from the Greek meaning yearning. Graham was yearning to see more of Martin. Pothos was part of a collective of winged gods (Erotes) associated with love and sex. Graham had thought it was a clever name.
When he started the business, the backlash from homophobic bigots had been... surprisingly, minimal; and in the years since, it had been non-existent. Graham kept in the black financially thanks to regular customers, the ever increasing number of young men who were `out' and, even more pleasingly, young men who were gay-friendly.
Graham liked gay-friendly – the friendlier the better. Straight boys who weren't put off by two guys kissing, who were willing to try out tight tops and short shorts, or even better try out some guy-kissing themselves.
Ned's who had troubled his business in the beginning with vandalism and slurs ("poofters," "jobby jabbers" and so on) had long since been put out of business themselves thanks to solidarity from the LGBT community, the police and the other realtors. Sure, most shoppers still gave "gay shop" a wide berth, but that was ok as long as Graham could balance the books, which he could.
Graham found himself guilty day dreaming for much of the morning. He kept thinking about the tall, innocent-looking blonde and the things he could imagine doing to him; or at least watch someone else doing to him. Graham had, in truth, assumed that Martin was straight – but he had no idea really. Graham chastised himself for attempting to judge a book by its cover: he ought to know better.
Graham often felt that it took belonging to a marginalised group to understand how other marginalised groups felt. The assumptions people make and the aspersions they cast could be hurtful. For this reason, Graham was very careful what he thought, assumed or said about people. Can you really expect to be respected as a gay man if you hold racist views or don't care about equal rights for women or permit someone to be insulted for their religious beliefs?
Graham felt the same way, stronger even, about gay people slagging off other gay people. Fems, queens, lady boys. Worse than that: faggot, bitch, cock whore. These were the destructive terms that were not ok to use just because they're gay too. You want to be liked, accepted, respected and to not be insulted – stop insulting each other.
Graham shook his head, his daydream had wandered from sex to climbing upon his high horse.
Daydream over, Graham brought his attention back to the shop, smiling when he saw Martin enter. He watched Martin pick his way innocently through the shop. No more books or covers. It wasn't important either way for what Graham had in mind; which, Graham supposed, made his momentary high horse a little hypocritical given what he had in mind. Never the less, Graham noticed that he wasn't the only one with his eyes on the beautiful boy in their midst. Many were checking him out. Graham was an attractive enough man but no-one had ever lusted over him the way so many were lusting over Martin.
If Martin knew the shop was a veritable gay boutique, he didn't show it. Maybe it didn't bother him because he browsed, picked up a couple of things and browsed some more. Eventually, Graham spotted Martin heading for the fitting room to try some things on and hurriedly made his plans.
Graham wondered what David had said to Martin during his `interview' –but he would ask later.
"I'm sorry Martin but I can't really justify the budget of hiring another member of staff," David had said. He paused and then added, "You should go to the top floor during your break. You'll find some cool stuff up there, nice fit to show off the work you've been doing to keep fit."
Martin had beamed at the compliment and beamed even more when the man who had not hired him suggested a job might be available. If he made a good impression.
Martin was impressed by what the Pothos Emporium had on sale – skinny fitting stuff to show off his pecks and slim waist. As Martin reached the fitting room with his purchases, Graham approached.
"Hello, did you find some things you like? Something you'd like to try on?" Graham asked.
"Yea, I did," replied Martin. The lad's voice was deep but soft and it lacked the roughness of many Glasgow youths. "Is it ok to try these on?" he asked.
"It sure is; I'll assist you to make some choices if you're stuck." Graham offered, "I'm Graham, this is my shop, which makes helping you find a style that suits you part of my job."
Martin nodded – he had noticed the staff all wore light maroon shirts with dark red ties and nametags on the upper left of their chests.
"Martin," he replied by way of introduction, "I thought I could try on the shorts and this shirt," he held up the item – a short sleeved red shirt.
"By all means, although I'm not certain that size will fit. You're chest is pretty muscular, and you're legs are maybe too long for that length of shorts... but let's see what happens," Graham replied.
"Depends on how much I want to show off," Martin replied salaciously.
Was he flirting? No, probably not Graham decided – he just knew he was hot stuff. Arrogance and naiveté? Some combination, though it was perhaps not arrogance if he was actually correct.
The fitting rooms were located at the very back of the shop, a vestibule held a rack for items that had been tried but not purchased – all waiting to be returned by one of the shop assistants. A large mirror faced entrants to the vestibule, the returns rack was to the left and to the right it opened out into a space big enough for four curtained cubicles where people could try before they buy. The vestibule also had a few comfy chairs for people accompanying those trying something on. The chairs for those waiting faced the bank of cubicles.
Graham showed the way and spotted three empty cubicles, one of his shop assistants was hovering around not doing much.
"Sandy," Graham called.
A twenty year old ginger lad turned and spotted his boss, then took in the sight of Martin. His eyes bulged, but his voice was controlled enough: "Boss, I was just about to..."
Graham cut him off, "To take items clogging up the returns rack back where they belong? I'm glad to hear it, I'll watch things here."
"Aye, boss," Sandy said and as he ducked past them muttered, "I fucking bet you will."
Graham gave Sandy's bum a pat he passed to grab the half dozen items and leaving the fitting area.
"Here you go," Graham prompted Martin, "Why don't you try your things on and I can help you decide if you're unsure."
"Thanks," Martin said shyly.
Martin closed the curtain and Graham could see him shuffling behind it. The other cubicle remained occupied too but Graham paid no attention to the man behind the curtain.
Martin pulled off his t-shirt and checked himself out in the mirror. His skin smooth and white under the LED lights, a small brown mole marked his right collar bone. Pinkish-brown nipples were the only other colour on his chest.
Martin could hear hushed tones outside so stopped wasting time.
Martin pushed his shorts down too and they hit the floor with a soft sound. He liked the feeling of standing before the mirror wearing only his black briefs with a very narrow waistband and his trainers. He was starting to get a little hard so pulled on the shorts he'd chosen in the shop and slipped on the shirt too.
The shorts slipped over his trainers without him having to take them off but he had trouble buttoning up the shirt. The sales guy had been right – it was a little on the neat side for his build and the shorts, though a regular length for most guys and intended to finish just above the knee, were above his mid-thigh.
Martin was about to take them off and don his own things again when he heard Graham's voice.
"Well, how do they look?"
"They're a little on the neat side, unfortunately."
"Let's see, maybe it's not that bad?"
"It's pretty bad."
Martin checked himself out. He looked great, of course but he wasn't sure he could go out looking like that.
"C'mon, let's see you."
Martin came out looking like that.
Graham's breath was arrested by the sight of Martin in items that were a couple of sizes too small – the curse of being so tall and hunky.
"Well, that's not so bad." Graham said.
"Are you kidding? I look like I've dressed up in my little brother's gym clothes," Martin retorted. If he had a little brother, which he didn't.
"Come forward, there's a better mirror over here," Graham led the way back to the large mirror in the vestibule of the fitting rooms.
The mirror was bigger and better; it also faced the entrance to the fitting room that opened back out to the main shop. Martin didn't really notice he was posing for anyone passing or entering the fitting room, nor that half the shop could see his bum packed into the shorts he'd chosen.
A figure passed behind Martin and Graham, who stood politely to the side while Martin moved around in the shirt and shorts.
"I don't think so," Martin said. He could see the buttons of the shirt straining across his broad pecs and the crotch of the shorts nearly cutting off circulation to his gonads.
"Hmm, perhaps not. Another size maybe?" Graham offered.
"Maybe," Martin replied non-comittally but by now was feeling a little embarrassed and was getting keen to get out. He could come back another time.
Martin turned back towards the cubicles and opened the curtain again, it was then that he realised his own clothes were gone.
"Fuck. What am I going to do?" Martin said, "My wallet was in there. And I liked that t-shirt," he moaned.
Hmmm was the noise that Graham made before speaking, suppressing a smile so he remained looking absolutely serious and professional.
"Take those things off and I'll see what I can get you. We'll check lost property and if we have no luck there you can submit a claims form to me personally," Graham assured him.
"Take these off?" Martin replied.
Graham looked at the seventeen year old and blinked innocently.
"Of course," Graham admonished him. "You can't expect me to give them to you."
"My things were stolen from your shop," Martin countered.
Graham pointed to a sign in the fitting room:
`All personal items are left at the owner's risk.'
"You can't expect me to give these things away. You need to take them off now and then I'll help you. I think that's fair, I'll not send you out with nothing but I also can't send you out with expensive clothes you haven't bought, can I? That's no way to run a business." Graham sounded as plausible as possible given the absurdity of his argument.
"But..."
"No more buts, Martin. Take those off," Graham warned the boy in a stern tone – he enjoyed reprimanding the lad. "You have nothing to worry about anyway. You're a handsome man; you'd wear less to a beach."
Martin scoffed at that, though he had once gone to a nudist beach... his dick twitched. Maybe he ought not to think about nudist beaches at a time like this. Martin, grudgingly, unbuttoned the shirt and handed it over. Graham put it on a coat hanger and hung it on the returns rail.
Martin felt self conscious under the store owners gaze but was damned if he was going to be made to feel insecure. He unfastened the shorts and pushed them down; their trip, even falling the length of his long legs, was a short one. They fell and he picked them up. Martin held them in front of his briefs as he moved towards Graham, who had not moved from the rail.
Graham had deliberately stayed put – forcing Martin to come to him. Martin did not really think anything of it but Graham's manipulation had been deliberate – he brought the lad, clad only in briefs, into the view of the shop. Martin's peripheral vision caught himself in the mirror and looked right, checking out his profile: tall blonde lad in trainers and black briefs, nice bulge. The shop was reflected too. It was then that he looked left – into the store that was looking back at him. Several young men and lads had noticed him, unsurprising really – Martin would have noticed a nearly-naked boy too.
Martin blushed but had no more time to think. Graham had hung the shorts on a hanger too, lifted the shirt and turned back towards his store.
"Follow me, please," Graham said – then walked into the store for Martin to follow.
From the moment Graham had seen Martin he had imagined seeing more of him and from the moment he had seen more of him he had imagined other people seeing more of him. Now he was imagining just how much more he might get to see; little by little though for he did not want to scare the boy off. There was already something exciting about the underwear-clad boy walking through the main shop, trailing behind Graham in just his briefs. It was an underwear fetishists dream, really.
Martin was usually oblivious to the point of stupidity when it came to his body and his attractiveness but even he was aware of people noticing him. Graham was smiling and thinking about what he had learned about Martin from his friend this morning; Martin was seventeen, clearly naive, and a rich boy. This last fact had been percolating in Graham's brain too; there was a certain appeal to the embarrassment of riches.
As Graham led the brief-clad lad through his shop he was contemplating exposing and embarrassing Martin even more. The embarrassment of riches is an idiom that means more of something good than one actually needs. Graham could not imagine ever having enough of Martin but... then he wondered if there would come a moment when the embarrassment of riches simply became embarrassing.
Martin trailed Graham self-consciously. He was hardly a stranger to showing off his physique but that was in the changing room at school or the gym or on a beach in Malaga, not a clothing store in a shopping centre.
Martin hoped to get this over with quickly, but Graham had led him on a meandering route to the middle of the store and eventually realised the shop owner intended to re-hang the items Martin had tried on before rectifying his exposure.
Martin looked around and knew he was attracting a lot of attention. His dick gave an appreciative throb at the flattery if so many eyes – a dozen or two men throughout the store. Martin's alabaster skin and golden blonde hair were like a neon sign, especially since so much of his skin was on show. From his long legs and arms to his toned torso, Martin was on display.
With the items hung, Graham started towards the front of the shop where the cash desk was located – currently being manned by a dark haired lad called Eric. Despite blushing with embarrassment, Martin looked back where he'd come and frowned. There was a door near the back of the shop that led into the back store room and presumably offices and other similar facilities, could he not have waited in there rather than traipsing around half-naked in the middle of the store?
At the cash desk, at the very front of the store where he was most visible, Graham instructed him to wait. Martin's nipples were hard in the air conditioned space and he felt another cock-throb as he looked out the main window behind the cash desk.
Looking out into the shopping centre atrium – the landing that was bustling with people coming to and from the Emporium or the adjacent shops and bustling with people coming up or descending the escalator to the floors below.
Behind and to the right of the cash desk was a section of black canvas that extended several feet. Martin knew this was where the window display was located. It was a little relief that at least people looking in the display window could not see him like this, though plenty of people looking in the adjacent window had spotted him. They gazed disbelievingly from the atrium, too stunned to move. It was from behind the canvas that a boy emerged and crossed with a few long steps to the cash desk. The boy passed Graham as he walked behind the desk to face Martin again.
"I've redressed the mannequins like you asked, boss," the lad said to Grahams back.
"Thanks, Nathan," Graham replied, thought the lad's name tag read `Nate, "Are the sales signs up too?" Graham asked, turning to his employee.
Nate was probably eighteen, give or take a year. He had short brown hair and freckles, a small build and stood at only five foot six or so.
"Yea, of course," Nate replied.
Nate was trying hard not to look at Martin as Graham turned back to the undressed beauty in their midst. He pulled out a couple of forms and scribbled some notes.
"Here you go," Graham said as he turned the forms towards Martin. "Sign here and you can claim back your loss. I apologise for the inconvenience."
"Inconvenience?" Responded Martin, "I can't leave like this, can I?"
Martin stepped back to emphasise his point, putting his arms out so his exposure was emphasised even more. The lad's briefs bulged by several inches even though their contents were flaccid.
"You're right. I should have shown you to lost property first, how silly of me," Graham replied. "By way of apology, I'll have my staff check right now. Check lost property for a pair of grey shorts and a black long-sleeve t-shirt." Graham directed his last comment to Nate.
"Can't I go with him instead of standing out here like this?" Martin asked.
"I can't allow you in the staff area, it's off limits," Graham said reasonably. "It's a matter of security, I'm sure you understand."
Martin struggled either to understood or agree. But he also did not argue. Martin naturally assumed people, especially elders, knew better than him. Martin didn't even realise how naive his world view was but Graham had directed his statement as a leading question and with such authority that to disagree would have made him look foolish.
Martin stood aside as boys and men passed to pay for their purchases, checking him out and passing comment in generally hushed tones. Graham watched the spectacle with interest and smiled, joked and nodded with his customers. Martin could feel his skin burn with shame at the man staring at him. Not that he had anything to be ashamed off, just that it was a little embarrassing to be seen in just his underwear.
A good five minutes passed before Nate emerged with several items in his hands.
"I don't think I've found what you lost, sir," said Nate. Whether he was addressing Martin or his boss was unclear. "But I found your wallet and keys."
While Graham took the items and looked them over, Martin checked the wallet – nothing missing, which Martin thought was a little strange. Graham assessed that Nate had done a good job picking items from lost property: there was only one top and one pair of shorts that had any hope of fitting Martin.
"Well, these might be a little neat on you but a better fit than what you tried on twenty minutes ago," Graham told Martin.
Twenty minutes – had he really been standing around in his pants for that long? Twenty minutes?!
"Try these on," Graham said, handing over a t-shirt and shorts.
Martin pulled on the shorts first: they were denim and came nearly to his knees but the waist was a size too small. It fit well enough; functionality (not being almost naked) took precedence over comfort. The t-shirt was very short sleeved and tight. Martin admonished himself for thinking it "made him look gay", but since he was gay that didn't especially bother him anyway.
Graham thought it was a good look for Martin, showing off all of the lad's pulchritude without indecently exposing him. Indecent? Was there such a thing for such a good looking lad? Graham started to think about seeing more of this young man.
"You know," Graham started to say, "I could use a man like you."
Graham called Martin a man, despite him only being seventeen and really only on the cusp of adulthood. Certainly old enough to have sex legally, to get married, to buy cigarettes, to be denied alcohol under the challenge 25 rule. Graham hoped to flatter Martin and appeal to his vanity.
"How do you mean?" asked Martin.
"I mean someone to join my staff, a model perhaps for when I have something new to show off..." Graham started.
Martin scoffed at that. "I don't think so," Martin cut him off without meaning t be rude,
"Have you got lots of job offers on the table, Martin?" Graham asked.
Martin tilted his head as he thought about this and thought about the way Graham seemed to pose questions he already knew the answer to or that the answer was self evident.
"I'd love to interview you," Graham said. "You might have been a little self-conscious today but you're a good looking man. You must have seen people looking."
"I guess..." Martin said uncertainly.
"Well then, if you change your mind, come back and see me." Graham smiled.
He tipped his hand towards the exit to the shop. Martin smiled and nodded appreciatively. The rest of the day for Martin was fairly uneventful. It would be wouldn't it? Uneventful was, in fact an understatement – he already knew David what's-his-name was not going to give him a job. Martin had been surprised to get a second interview – he had always sensed David what's-his-name would not give him a job.
Martin was right too; David called and said he had been unsuccessful, try again, good luck in the future, etcetera etcetera.
Martin was on his way out the shopping centre when he passed a group of boys who were in several of his classes at school: Connor; the twins Sean and Matthew; and Kazuo. Martin sighed with relief that they had not been on the fifth floor earlier.
Now that would have been richly embarrassing.
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