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Chapter Forty-Two
Tommy
On our way back into the suit shop, I’m feeling embarrassed but oddly happy. Sure, I’m still angry that I don’t have as many options for clothing as more normally-sized people; I’m still more than a little cranky at that store clerk for trying to pretend that he wasn’t going to call me “fat” but Melissa — the fact that she would come out of the store, give me a little piece of her mind, threatening to give me a good fucking for my attitude and get my measurements — that has me feeling warm and happy. And horny, despite the circumstances.
Despite the way I have been acting and feeling about my lack of money, I’m grateful for Melissa. For her stubborn insistence that I’m handsome and worthy of time and attention. Without that, I’d just be going to the same dumpy thrift stores for my secondhand suits.
As Melissa and I start the process of letting the store clerk measure me — first around my shoulders and neck — I feel my cock stiffening and hardening, at just the thought of some of her recent threats of pleasure.
By the way Melissa’s fidgeting off in the corner, she must be feeling similarly. It’s worse for me, though, as I’m about to have another man down in that region, trying to measure me. While he’s trying to measure my waist, he might just end up measuring my shaft.
So, I spend the next couple of minutes trying to sober myself up and trying to think of something other than Melissa or what it would really be like if she decided to go through with punishing me for my snotty, pissy behavior. But by trying not to think about it, and I’m thinking about it more. To the point where I can see and feel how it would be to have her riding me while sitting on the bench, I was just on in front of the fountain, in front of all the passersby.
She would tell me what a bad, ungrateful little boy I’m being on the date she has with me, and how much I need to be taught a lesson — taught how to behave. Under this, I feel my dick go straighter and stiffer. More blood and heat starts to course through it, and that’s just when the store clerk is about to bring his tape measure to my waist.
“My waist is a forty-two,” I say quickly. “My leg length is about a thirty-four.”
Surprised, the store clerk snaps away his measuring tape and jots down those notes. “I’ll be damned,” he says. “The suits your girlfriend over there picked out for you pretty much fit you. Only a little bit of alteration is needed.” He backs away from the little stage I’ve been standing on in front of the mirror. My one and only shopping bag sits nearby, a small trophy. “If you’d like, I can let you try them on before your girlfriend pays for them.”
Pays for them? My head snaps in Melissa’s direction. She just waves at me sweetly and gives me a smile to match.
No! She already paid for a piece of clothing I didn’t want her to bother with! And now she’s paying for more?
As if Melissa can read my panicked thoughts, she answers, “You stormed out of here, so I said I would pay for the suits if they fit you, honey.” She gives me another smile. This one is just as coy as it is mischievous. “Go ahead. Try them on. I’m anxious to see how sexy and business-minded you look, Tommy.”
With that, I’m defeated. I agree to try the suits on. Not that I have much choice in the matter now anyway, but despite the aura of angst I’m giving out right now, I’m actually excited to see the results. Now that I’m not feeling as self-conscious, I’m actually looking forward to seeing how some of those suits my look on me.
And, as I find out a few minutes later, it’s worth the wait.
The man in the mirror staring back at me is someone I definitely don’t recognize. He’s handsome, magnetic, and intelligent-looking — in an intuitive, skilled way like I’ve learned and experienced a lot. I look like I have access to some secret of the universe. That’s how the suits make me feel. Like I’ve not just the boss, but that I’m in control. I’m a force to be reckoned with.
The suits fit me snugly, but unlike my frumpy, bargain-bin one, this one actually draws less attention to my thicker places, and instead, I look like I’ve been sculpted this way. I look like I’ve been made by the hand of an artist to be bigger, taller, broader shouldered, not just sloppily put together with extra clay — like my dad used to say.
