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This and all other chapters of this story are the copyright of the author. (c) 2021. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real events or real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
"You went and got fitted for your suit, right Cam?" my sister asked, testily.
"Uh... I'm gonna do it this weekend," I answered sheepishly.
The truth was, I'd forgotten about it. Her wedding was still months away, so I didn't understand why it was necessary to get fitted so far in advance.
"Cam, you promised!" she whined. "Today was the deadline."
"But..." I started.
"This isn't an off-the-rack tux you're getting fitted for," she said, cutting me off. "It's a CUSTOM made suit -- from ITALY!"
"Okay, okay, okay," I relented. I could hear the panic in her voice. "I'll go there now. I was just heading to the river trail for a run, so I'm in the car already."
"Promise me!" she demanded.
"I promise, Tessie," I said, intoning her childhood nickname that I whipped out when I wanted to sound cute and sincere.
"Don't Tessie me," she said pouting. "Just go get measured for your fucking suit. And text me when you're done."
"Okay, I will," I said. "Love you."
"Love you, too," she said tenderly, before adding, "Even though you drive me fucking crazy!"
Today had been the first day in weeks that I'd actually gotten out of work on time -- a little early actually. It was a beautiful, warm, late spring day. So I rushed home, threw on my running gear and jumped into the car to head to the park. It would be my first day actually running outdoors in months. With my crazy work schedule and the last couple months of wetter-than-average weather, I'd been forced to make do with late night runs on the treadmill in my condo's fitness center.
I was almost all the way to the park when Theresa (aka "Tessie") called. So I drove the remaining short distance there and pulled into a parking space near the trailhead.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my email to find the name of the store where I was supposed to go for the suit. I keyed in the name on my map app and it popped up a box with the store's location, which was on a tony stretch of shops on the east side of town. The app estimated a 35-minute drive to the store. Triangulating that with the store's weekday hours, I came to the realization that I would be arriving there about 15 minutes after their closing time. Fuck!
I dialed the number, hoping they'd be willing to hang out for a few minutes.
"Avanti Suits & Tailoring. This is Christian. How may I help you," a deep voice answered.
"Hi, I need to get fitted for a suit," I said.
"Of course, sir. I'd be happy to help you," Christian responded. "Would you like to make an appointment for tomorrow? We're open from 10:00 am to 6:00 pm."
"Uh, the thing is... I was supposed to do the fitting by today," I stammered. "It's for my sister's wedding."
"Oh, I see," he said. "Let me check if there's any wiggle room on that deadline and then we can book you an appointment accordingly. What's the name?"
"Garfield. Theresa Garfield. That's my sister. I'm Cam Garfield," I said.
"Let me pull that up, Mr. Garfield," Christian said.
"It may be under her fiance's name, Roger Maythorne," I added.
"Oh, this is for the Maythorne wedding?" Christian said with a heightened sense of urgency. "I'd be happy to accommodate you. Can you make it in to the store now?"
"That's great. Thank you!" I said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I'm about 30 or 40 minutes away. Are you sure that's not going to be too late for you?"
"Not at all, sir," Christian responded. "Since the suits you gentlemen will be wearing are custom-made in Italy, there is some urgency in getting the order placed."
"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was so complicated. And please call me Cam. I'll head out right now and be there as fast as I can," I said.
"Take your time, sir... Cam," Christian said, correcting himself. "The front door will be locked when you get here. Please just press the buzzer when you arrive. See you shortly."
"Will do. Thanks so much!" I said. I hung up the phone, hit "go" on my maps app, backed out of my parking space and proceeded on my way to Avanti.
Traffic was worse than anticipated, with an accident on the interstate causing a half-mile standstill as drivers rubber-necked to check it out. Though the traffic gods weren't on my side, the parking gods were. As I approached the store, I found a metered parking spot across the street.
I fished a couple quarters out of the center console, got out of the car and fed the meter. Since it was already 6:30, I only had to pay for 30 minutes and then it would be free.
I made my way to the crosswalk to cross the street. Most of the people on the street were either still in their work attire or decked out for dinner. So I felt a little out of place in my athletic shorts, tank top and running shoes. "Who gives a fuck!" I thought to myself.
Avanti was indeed closed for the evening. The store was dark and a "Sorry, we're closed" sign hung in the window behind the metal security grate that blocked the entire storefront. I pressed the button on an intercom panel to the right of the door.
"Hello," came Christian's voice through the intercom.
"Hi, it's Cam Garfield here," I said.
"Of course. I'll be right out to let you in," he said.
In less than 30 seconds, the metal grate began to rise like a garage door. I could see a shadowy figure emerge from an illuminated doorway in the back of the store and make its way through the store to the front door. The grate stopped about five feet off the pavement as Christian unlocked the front door and opened it in.
"Good evening. I'm sorry, that's as far as the gate goes right now," he said, gesturing me in.
"No worries," I said, ducking under it and stepping in to the dark store. "I'm sorry I'm so late. The traffic was pretty bad."
"Not a problem, sir," he said, his bright smile visible in the darkness. "I hope you don't mind if we head straight to the back of the store. If I turn the lights on, invariably I'll have customers pressing the buzzer thinking we're open late."
"Oh, of course," I said, as he relocked the door. "I'm sorry this is a such a hassle. You're probably ready to get out of here and start your weekend."
"It's no problem at all. We've worked very closely with the Maythorne family over the years, so I'm more than happy to help ensure that the groom's party are properly dressed," Christian said as we headed deeper into the store.
We made our way to the back of the store through a gauntlet of shadowy mannequins. I had to admit, it was just a little creepy -- like the opening scene of a horror movie. I hoped that Christian wasn't about to turn me into a skin suit! I chuckled to myself at the ridiculous thought as we emerged into the light of the back room.
"Here we are, sir," Christian said, gesturing me into a tastefully decorated lounge area and sliding a heavy curtain across the doorway to the hall we'd just come down. Two leather Chesterfield couches we're angled around a center pedestal about a a foot high and faced a huge tri-panel mirror that covered most of the far wall.
"Please Christian, call me Cam," I reminded him.
"Sorry, force of habit," he smiled. "And please just call me Chris."
Christian... Chris looked to be around 30 and was probably 5'8". He had neatly trimmed dark blond hair and a slightly darker beard. He was wearing a 3-piece suit in a navy and gray houndstooth pattern that was traditional and modern all at the same time. The suit was well-tailored, probably a perk of the job. And it highlighted his compact physique, giving him the look of a Scandinavian wrestler dressed for a gala event.
"Okay, Chris," I smiled back. Feeling self-conscious about my running gear again, I added, "Sorry for the casual attire."
Chris laughed. "Not a problem, Cam. In fact, you'll probably be glad you're dressed that way soon. The A/C turns off automatically 45 minutes after closing and it gets pretty stuffy in here."
"Oh wow," I said. "Nothing like sweating in a 3-piece suit."
He shrugged and smiled. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, no, I'm fine thanks," I said. "I don't mean to keep you here any longer than necessary."
"We'll be as quick and thorough as we can," he said, grabbing a tape measure off small rolling table that he'd pulled over near the platform. "The suits that your sister and Mr. Maythorne have selected are very closely tailored to the body. So it's important that we get accurate measurements."
He grabbed an iPad off the table and tapped and swiped for a few seconds. "This is the suit that the groomsmen will be wearing for the wedding," he said, turning the screen to me.
The pale gray suit was indeed form-fitting. It looked like the Italian model had been vacuum-sealed in it. The pants left little to the imagination in the crotch area and ended well above the top of the shoe, revealing the model's sockless ankle. When I was a kid, I'd have been mocked for wearing "high waters", but this look was very hip right now. Roger and his other groomsmen (including me) were all relatively tall and slim, so I figured we'd all be able to carry the look off. But I guessed this wouldn't be a suit I'd be wearing for years and years to come.
"They look kinda restricting," I said, imagining myself trying to do the Macarena or the electric slide in a tight suit at the reception.
"On the contrary. The cut and the fabric provide a lot of freedom of movement," Chris explained. "Now if I could have you face towards the mirror and stand up straight."
I turned toward the mirror and took in the view of myself. I was in pretty good shape -- just over 6' tall and 170 lbs. I ran and worked out regularly, so I was trim and defined. Since my work schedule forced me to work out at night all the time, my skin was much paler than I'd have liked. But it offset my dark hair nicely, and my work friends took to calling me Clark Kent whenever I was suited up for a meeting. Not the worst nickname, by any stretch.
I didn't look like Clark Kent now, though. My hair was windblown from the ride over. My tank dipped low in the front revealing a nice outcropping of chest hair and my shorts showed off my fuzzy, albeit fit, legs.
At 27, I was conventionally attractive -- enough so that several of my sister's friends had made it known that they'd be willing to have sex with me. But their fantasies were quickly dashed when my Theresa told them, "Cam likes dick."
"Would you mind if I took off my jacket?" Chris' voice snapped me out of my daze.
"Oh sure, go for it," I told him. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks. It's starting to get a little warm in here," he smiled.
Chris pulled the jacket off and draped it over a chair near the curtain. He had on a crisp white shirt that was as tailored as the suit. It clung to his shoulders and arms as he rolled the sleeves up.
He picked up the tape measure and started his routine. He looped it around my neck and then jotted the measurement down in a small notebook on the table. He repeated the drill, measuring the length of each arm, the circumference of my upper arms and then my wrists. He pulled the tape around my shoulders and chest, peered down at the number and jotted it down.
"Could I have you raise your arms please," Chris said, stepping back slightly.
"Sure," I said, raising my arms out straight.
Chris wrapped the tape measure around my chest just and pulled the ends together. As he did so, the fabric of my tank kept bunching up. "Would you mind taking off your shirt, Cam? I'll get much more accurate chest and waist measurements without it," he asked matter-of-factly.
"Oh yeah, no problem," I said, pulling the tank up from the hem and over my shoulders and head. I tossed it onto one of the couches.
Chris took a breath, ever-so-slightly deeper than he had before. "That's better," he said as he pulled the tape measure up under my arm pits and brought it together on my bare chest.
"Sorry, my pits are probably a little sweaty," I said, giving Chris a lopsided smile.
"Hazards of the job," he laughed, and then slipped the tape a bit lower until it was resting on my nipples. The back of his hand brushed against my chest hair and skin as he held the tape firmly together. Then he lowered it just below my navel to measure my waist. He added the three measurements to his notebook.
"Could you remove your shoes and step up on the dais now, please," he asked.
I kicked off my shoes without untying them, using my tried and true method that used to drive my high school track coach crazy. Then I the stepped up onto the platform and looked down at Chris, whose face was now about even with my stomach. Poor guy. I could see the sweat beads forming on his forehead.
"Could I get you to take these off now, Cam?" he asked, looking down at my black running shorts, which extended to mid-thigh. "Again, we'll get much more accurate measurements if you're just in your underwear."
"Uh, slight problem..." I said, stammering. "These shorts kinda have built-in underwear. So, if I take the shorts off, the underwear comes with them."
"Oh, I see," he said with a slightly befuddled look. He ran the back of his wrist against his forehead to wipe away the sweat. He reached forward to examine the fabric of my shorts. "The problem is they have quite a bit of excess fabric. I'm concerned the bulk will throw off the measurements."
"Uh... I mean.. I guess I could take them off," I said, thinking through what was about to happen. "That's gonna mean that I'll be naked. Is that cool?"
"Oh, it's not a problem. You are not the first commando customer we've had before," Chris said, smiling and wiping sweat off his brow again.
"Okay, I can do that," I said, bolstering my courage. I certainly wasn't shy about being naked in places like the locker room or spa. But this was a little more intimate than my normal occasions for casual nudity. "Could I take you up on that drink now? Just some water."
"Of course. Just a minute," Chris scurried through the curtain and down the dimly lit hallway.
I looked at myself shirtless in the mirror, trying to make sense of what I was about to do.
Chris returned a moment later carrying a tray with a glass and two bottles of water. "I wasn't sure if you preferred bubbles or flat," he said, gesturing at the bottles.
"Flat please," I replied.
He set the tray down on a side table, poured the water into the glass and handed it to me.
"Thanks," I said and quickly chugged the water. The last bit trickled down my chin and onto my chest, catching in the hair.
"More?" Chris said.
"Not right now, thanks," I said and handed him the glass. "Okay, here goes nothing." I reached down and untied the drawstring on my shorts and then quickly slipped them off as Chris set the glass on the table and turned to look at me in the mirror. I thought I saw his eyes briefly widen. I tossed my shorts over on the couch with my shirt.
I have to admit, I inherited some good DNA in the dick department. My cock was about 6" soft and drooped from my mass of dark pubic hair against a heavy set of balls. I guess I'm what's known as a "shower"; my cock is pretty impressive when soft. I get lots of envious -- and sometimes hungry -- looks when I'm in the locker room at the gym or spa. It's a healthy 7.5" when hard, but it's not the dramatic growth I've seen from some guys I've been with who are more "growers".
Chris grabbed his tape measure and reached around my waist to bring it together on my hip bone. The slack end rested gently against my shaft.
I took a deep breath in. Looking into the mirror, I could see that Chris was sweating profusely. His forehead was damp and dark patches had formed in the pits of his shirt.
"You should make yourself comfortable," I said, breaking the awkward silence as Chris pulled the tape measure down around my butt.
"Pardon?" Chris said, looking up.
"You're sweating up a storm in a vest and shirt and I'm standing here butt naked," I said, laughing. "You should make yourself comfortable."
Chris smiled and looked at us in the mirror. "It is pretty warm in here. I guess I could take this off," he stood and unbuttoned his vest and pulled it off. His shirt was damp and plastered to his torso revealing a tank undershirt beneath.
"You can ditch the shirt, too, if you want," I added. "What is it, like 80 degrees in here?"
Chris turned to look at the thermostat on the wall. "85 degrees, to be precise," he said. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Not at all. I'm feeling a little under-dressed at the moment, anyway," I said, laughing.
He smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt. Pulling it off, he tossed it on the chair with the upper half of his suit. His arms were nicely muscled and I could see a few wisps of dark blond hair peeking out from the pits. The tank was low-cut in the front and revealed just a light dusting of blond chest hair. Since it was damp and fairly sheer, I could see his nipples through the fabric. They were surprisingly dark for someone as fair as him.
"That feel better?" I asked.
"Yes. Much better, thanks," he said, smiling.
He stood to one side and measured me from hip bone to ankle.
"Would you mind spreading your legs just a bit?" he asked.
"I thought you'd never ask," I said, straight faced.
Chris looked up at me wide eyed and then laughed when I gave him a big smile and a wink. He wrapped the tape measure around my thigh and jotted down the numbers.
"Now for your inseam," he said, nodding down towards my crotch.
"Let me get these out of your way," I said, grinning sheepishly as I lifted my cock and ball sac up.
"Perfect, thanks," he said and pressed one end of the tape measure gently against my taint and pulled the other end down to my ankle. "That's all for the measurements."
"Should I get dressed now?" I asked.
"I'd need to have you try on a couple sample items to make sure they fit," he said, setting his tape measure down and writing down the last measurement. "So you might as well remain... undressed for now."
"Okay," I said.
"But you can have a seat, if you'd like," he added, gesturing towards the couch. "I'll just be a couple minutes pulling the samples."
I sat down on the couch nearest the side table. I refilled my water glass and downed the rest of my water. The leather was warm against my bare skin and I could feel dampness collecting where they met. I looked in the mirror and chuckled at the sight of myself sitting naked on the couch. This is NOT how I imagined my day ending.
A few minutes later, Chris returned to the room with a jacket, pants and shirt. He hung the shirt and jacket on a hook on the wall and pulled the pants off the hanger.
"Can I have you try these on?" he asked, handing the pants to me.
"Sure," I said, standing from the couch. I pulled the pants on, carefully tucked my cock inside and zipped and buttoned them up. They fit pretty well overall, but were a little loose in the waist and way too long.
Chris fussed at the waistband a bit, pinning the excess fabric back in the front on either side. He slipped a couple fingers inside the pants to make sure he didn't poke me with the safety pins. In doing so, his fingers raked against my pubic hair.
"A bit of a delicate question for you," he said, looking at me in the mirror.
"Okay," I replied, wondering what was going to come next.
"Do you generally keep yourself to the left, like this, or to the right?" he asked.
I smiled. "Oh you mean whether I wear my dick on the left or right?"
Yes, he grinned. "We have just a little extra fabric added on the preferred side for comfort."
"Got it," I said. "Yeah, I usually keep him on the left." I reached down and adjusted my dick in the pants.
"And with the fit of these particular pants, we recommend foregoing underwear," he said, still looking at my crotch. "The suit maker will add a small panel of thin absorbent fabric on that side as well. To trap any drips."
I laughed. "In case I don't shake it off enough at the urinal?"
"Yes, and...." Chris stammered.
"In case I'm a leaker?!?" I laughed again.
Chris laughed with me. "That is correct."
"Wow, they think of everything," I said. "I'm surprised they don't have a built-in cock ring, too."
"If you wanted one," Chris said, raising his hands. "I'm sure they'd do it for you."
We both laughed.
"I can probably do without that," I said, smiling.
"Yes, it doesn't seem like you need one," he added. Then he realized what he said and began to turn beet red. "Oh, I am so sorry."
"C'mon Chris, don't worry about it," I said, giving him a playful punch in the bicep.
He smiled, his color returning to a slightly more normal shade of pink. He proceeded to cuff the pants to a satisfactory length and pinned them up with straight pins.
"Now let's get you into the shirt," Chris said as he pulled a crisp white shirt off the hanger.
I slipped the shirt on and buttoned it up. "Do you want me to tuck it in?"
"Yes, please," he replied.
I unbuttoned and unzipped the pants and spread open the fly. Chris blushed again a little as my bush and the top of my cock came into view, but he made no effort to avert his eyes. I tucked the shirt in over my butt and down in front on either side of my cock. I rezipped and rebuttoned the pants.
Chris stood behind me and pinned the shirt in a few places until it hugged my chest and stomach. Then he pressed lightly on my butt until he could see the outline of the shirts hem through the pants. He pulled his measuring tape out and measured the distance from the pant's waist to the hem of the shirt. Then he did the same in the front just to the left of my crotch.
"The trick is get the hem as short as possible to minimize show-through, but long enough so that it doesn't pull out easily," he said, pressing the tape measure firmly near my cock.
I looked down at him and to my horror realized that a tiny damp spot had started to appear near the head of my cock.
"Sorry. I guess that absorbent panel will come in handy," I said, now turning red myself.
"It seems so," Chris replied, trying to hide his grin.
"How much longer do we have to go?" I asked, worried that the spot would continue to grow.
"I still need to fit the jacket," he said. "So it's probably another 20 or 30 minutes."
"These pants are pretty warm," I said, sweat trickling down my back and between my butt cheeks.
"Why don't you go ahead and slip those off now," he said. "I can fit you for the jacket without them. Just be careful of the pins."
"Okay," I said, unfastening the pants and sliding them off. After handing them to Chris, he turned and carefully draped them over a hanger and hung them on the wall. I could see that his undershirt was completely soaked.
I quickly ran a finger over the head of my cock, wiped away a bead of precum that had collected there and then dabbed it on the hem of the shirt.
Chris grabbed the jacket and turned to hand it to me. "Now if you could just slip this on over the shirt."
"Should I put my shorts back on first?" I asked, gesturing towards my pile on the couch.
"You don't have to," Chris replied. "However you're most comfortable."
"Okay. Actually the fresh air feels pretty good down there," I said, laughing and pulling the jacket on.
"I can imagine," Chris smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow again.
"You are more than welcome to make yourself comfortable, too, Chris," I said. "It's starting to look like you entered a wet t-shirt contest."
He laughed and blushed, looking down at his soaked and nearly transparent shirt. "Thanks, but I really couldn't."
"Why not? The store's closed and I'm practically naked," I said, gesturing down to my bare lower half. "And it's freaking hot in here!"
"It's tempting," he said, smiling.
"C'mon," I urged. I was genuinely thinking of his comfort, but also not opposed to the idea of seeing more of him.
"Well... okay," he said, setting his pins and measuring tape aside. He proceeded to peal his wet undershirt off his stomach and chest before pulling it off over his head.
"Pants, too," I said, sweating in the shirt and jacket.
He looked at me, smiled and happily relented. "Just please don't ever mention this to the manager," he said, as he slipped off his shoes and then unfastened his pants.
"My lips are sealed," I said.
He turned and slid his pants down over his butt and stepped out of them. He was wearing a white thong with just a thin waistband, so I got to appreciate the full roundness of his bare white ass cheeks.
When he turned, I took in a deep breath. The pouch of his underwear rode low in front and was made of white mesh fabric. Wisps of dark blond hair were visible above the pouch, which was translucent enough to reveal the delineation between his shaft and balls. He filled the pouch out very nicely.
"You look great," I said, without thinking.
"Thanks," he said, blushing again. "Now let's get that jacket fitted on you so you can get out of it again."
For the next 15 minutes, he circumnavigated the platform, tucking and pinning the jacket until it conformed to my body. I watched his nearly naked form in the mirrors in front of us as he went about his work. At one point, as he pinned the hem of the jacket near the front, the back of his fingers brushed against my shaft.
"I'm sorry, Cam," he said quickly.
"No worries. It's all good," I replied, taking a deep breath and willing the blood flow away from my cock. But the view and the brief contact was starting to have an effect on me. My cock was beginning to firm up and push against the fabric of the shirt.
Chris scurried behind me and busied himself pinning the hem so it hit at the fullest part of my ass.
After a couple minutes, he stepped out and stood beside me, "There, I think that looks good," he said, taking in the view of the adjusted jacket in the mirror.
I looked at the jacket from collar to hem. It did look good. And then my eyes trailed down Chris' pale torso to his underwear. His cock had become fully erect and the pink head was now poking out of the waistband.
"Yes, it does," I said, smiling with eyes wide open at the sight. My own cock began to chub up even more.
Chris' gaze panned down to his crotch. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" he said, reaching down to tuck his cock back into the pouch. It was now sticking straight out and pulled the waistband fully away from his waist. I could see almost the full length of his shaft, with just the head shrouded in the white mesh pouch.
My cock engorged even more, pushing against the hem of the jacket until it burst forth between the front panels.
"Don't worry about it," I laughed. "It looks like we're kinda in the same boat!"
Chris looked at my cock and suppressed a smile. "It seems that way, doesn't it."
"Can you help me out of this jacket before my cock ends up like a voodoo doll?" I asked, unbuttoning the jacket.
"Of course," Chris laughed. He stepped behind me and slipped the jacket off my shoulders and then hung it up. "Would you like me to help you out of the shirt, too?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling.
I stepped down from the platform and he began unbuttoning the shirt. His fingers tickled against the damp hair of my chest and stomach. He reached the last button right above my hard cock and unfastened it, his fingers pressed against my dark pubic hair. Then he spread the shirt open across my chest and helped me slip out each arm until I was fully naked once again. He turned to hang up the shirt and I looked at myself in the mirror: Hot, dripping in sweat, and my full 7.5" erection sticking out in front of me.
Chris turned back towards me. "We're almost done, Cam," he said, looking at me from head to toe. "If you'd like to have a seat, you can fill out this form with your contact information." He pulled a small clipboard from a drawer in the side table and handed it to me with a pen. I took it from him and sat down on the couch next to my clothes. My drooping balls hit the warm leather and my erection poked up between my thighs. I began to fill in my name, cell number and email address. "Do I need to leave a deposit or anything?" I asked. "No, the Maythornes have asked that we bill the suits to their account," he smiled.
"Wow, that's cool," I said.
"I'll submit the order tonight and then when the suit and shirt come back in a few months, we'll contact you to do a final fitting," Chris said, looking down at me. His erection was still tenting the pouch of his underwear obscenely.
"I promise not to make you do an after-hours fitting," I laughed, filling in the last bits of information. "And I'll dress more appropriately next time."
Chris laughed, as well. "I really hope you don't. This has been one of the most enjoyable fittings I've done in a long time."
I handed him the clipboard, leaned back and spread my arms out on the back of the couch. Playfully fingering the sweat trapped in the hair on my chest, I propped my legs open, freeing my erection to flop back onto my pubic hair and stomach. "Chris, do you mind if I hang out here while you submit the order?"
"Not at all," he replied with a smile. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
"But do you think you could take off your underwear first?"
He set the clipboard down, rested his hands on his bare hips and stepped towards me. "I don't think so, Mr. Garfield," he said seriously.
I looked up at him surprised.
After a moment of awkward silence, he added, "But... you're more than welcome to take them off for me."