by Jamie Knight
The clerk’s an older guy with quite a tan on him but looks more like a track-and-field dad who is just working this day job until he has to go pick up his kids at school. He’s dressed nicely, but he has a down-to-earth quality like someone who’s knowledgeable about fashion but doesn’t necessarily live and breathe it.
He looks Tommy over and says, “That’s going to be quite tough to do. To find something in his size that looks nice, but I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
At this, Tommy looks so embarrassed, like he is about to die or run out of the shop crying. This is where I reach over and hold his hand. As I do, he leans over and whispers painfully, “They don’t have anything in my size! This is exactly why I don’t go shopping at trendy places! They don’t have anything nice for fat asses like me!”
I slap him on the arm, scolding him. “You hush,” I say, “and as for that fat ass of yours, I’m going to kiss it, then spank it if you don’t behave!” I continue, “Let’s just go back there and see what he has before we say those kinds of things, hm?”
Tommy nods but doesn’t look optimistic. Begrudgingly, he lets me lead him after the store clerk, who has all but disappeared behind the racks of suits, dress shirts, and other kinds of jackets. There are compartments in the wall for ties, cufflinks, bowties, and other accessories. We pass all of these, and head toward a part of the store labeled as “big or tall” and come to a stop.
There, the selection isn’t great. There are a few suits, and a few different designs, but not nearly the selection and pizzazz of the ones further up in the store. The ones for men with smaller dimensions. I’ve never felt so angry or ashamed of being so skinny in my life. I’ve never been so aware of how little options there are for people like Tommy.
Poor baby! Now I feel like crying. Maybe it wasn’t a lack of love or trying on his part when it came to his wardrobe! Maybe that was really all that was available for him in his size!
As the store clerk is showing us through the various designs — not a very time-intensive or laborious task — I’m not really paying attention. I’m lost in my own angry thoughts. There shouldn’t be this little to choose from! It’s a goddamn crime! What? Are at-weight people the only ones worthy of looking worth anything?
I guess so. I realize that now, but I can’t believe that’s the reality. I can’t believe men like Tommy are so out of options. You shouldn’t have such dismal choices. You shouldn’t have such limited palettes of color or rolls of fabric to choose from. You should have the whole wide world at your disposal, no matter your size. No matter your proportions, you should be able to dress like a prince or a king, if you want to!
“Is that really all you have?” I ask, still not able to believe that we’re down to a total of four suits to choose from.
“Yes, miss,” answers the store clerk. “I’m sorry. We just don’t often have customers coming in here with such…”
“Fat asses?” says Tommy looking a bit like he did down on the legal aids’ floor. A little bit of red glittering in his eyes.
“Well, uh, no,” says the store clerk. “That’s not what I was going to say at all, sir.”
“You were, just not in those terms,” says Tommy, like he’s decided to put the clerk on trial. “I just made it easier for you.”
“Tommy,” I say gently, “please hold on a minute.”
“I’m going to go wait outside,” he says, and storms away. “I’m not interested in any of this stuff.”
Before I can do or say anything to stop him, to keep him with me, he’s already started out past the racks of clothing, and out the store.
Now it’s just the clerk and me standing awkwardly in front of each other. “I was going to say,” says the clerk, “before your boyfriend there stormed out, that I can get a catalog with more options for bigger-sized people. These are just what I have in stock at the moment, but not all the plus-sized options available.”
I nod. “I see,” is all I can say. Part of my attention is wandering toward Tommy. Wondering just how far he’s gotten away from me. I look outside the windows and see that Tommy is not far. Only out to one of the benches by one of the many fountains, but he doesn’t look happy.
I turn back to the clerk and say, “This is obviously not the selection we were hoping for, but I do like those and those.” I point to the two suits I think will suit Tommy. One has paisley designs inlaid into the fabric lightly, but they add an interesting shine to the suit. I also see one that’s navy, with white along the trim. That’s the second one I point out. “I will be paying for those, but first, I need to go and wrangle my baby inside from his sulking place by the fountain.”
The store clerk gives an awkward, uncomfortable laugh at this, but I go to collect Tommy anyway. He sees me coming, goes to move away, and make my job harder, but I don’t let him. I grab onto him before he gets too far.
“Come back inside,” I tell him.
“Why? So, I can see just how fat I really am and how good I will never look in anything?” His voice whines and stretches, like it’s been scraped against the razor edge of a knife. “How much I can’t afford shit?”
Now it’s my turn to fight with tears — with a scratch and burn in my throat that grows by the second. “No,” I say, almost screaming it. “No, that’s not why I want you to come inside. I want to get your measurements, and I want to get you something nice, even if they don’t have everything that’s in their catalog.” Tommy’s comment about not being able to afford things has just hit me and buried itself into my brain. “Wait. What do you mean ‘can’t afford’ things?”
Tommy clams up. “Nothing.”
I’m definitely sure it’s not nothing, but I’m not going to get into it with him right now. If I did, he’d just close up even more. He’d give me even more of a chilly reception that he already has, and I don’t want that.
“And you’re not buying me those suits,” he says, “I let you buy the pants, but the suits are not happening. I’d rather go naked.”
I grab him by his shirt and whisper, “I’ll strip you down right here and give you a good fucking if you keep that up that attitude, Tommy.”
I’m surprised by my boldness, but Tommy isn’t. He just stares down at me, looking like an incubus — a devil of sex and mischief, more than ready to test my threat.
“You really think you have it in you to boss me around like that, pet?” The way he asks this, it makes me shiver. It makes my knees a little weak, and my pussy hot and tingly. I don’t answer immediately. “Well? Do you?”
I step away from him, getting control of myself — just before I melt into his arms.
“No, sir,” I answer, “but I do need your measurements. You can either give them to me, or I can get them some other way.”
Tommy blushes here, but quickly covers it up with what I assume is an attempt at toughness. He tries to look like he’s the boss of me. “I see,” he says, still sounding angry, but not unreachable. Something I’m grateful for since I know this must be hard for him, this whole situation, even though I never intended for it to make him even more self-conscious. “Well, then, I suppose, since you are determined to give me this makeover, I have no choice. I have to provide you with my measurements.”
Here, I’m expecting him to just rattle off some numbers, and expect me to take them back into the shop with me, but that’s not what I get. I get his hand in mine and a willingness to go back inside.
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.
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.
While my face is as big as it’s always been, it looks sharper and more sculpted than it’s ever looked. My lips and eyes look painted on with the finest brush, shaded, and given depth by a masterful, sensing hand. And the color of the suits, one navy and white, and the other black and a little blue, they make me look more alive and more colorful, not so stressed and doughy. Something I’m not used to seeing in myself, no matter what I wear and no matter what kind of day it’s been.
For the first time in my life, I actually look handsome. I look like the kind of guy I would want to be. I look like a man with someplace to be other than his basement bedroom. I actually look like the lawyer I’ve always wanted to be.
I put a hand up to my face, trying to understand what I am seeing. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” I stamp my feet, out of anxiety, happiness and something I can’t quite describe. “Oh, my God! Is that really me? How can I look like that? I’ve never looked that nice or that sexy ever!”
Melissa laughs, but I can tell she’s starting to cry with joy.
The only one not emotional is the store clerk, and he is beginning to look like he’s regretting ever taking this job, precisely for the fact that it’s put him in a room with two grown adults freaking out over good fashion.
“Yes, honey,” says Melissa, coming over to join me. Indeed, she has tears in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “Yes, you can look that good. You are that handsome and that sexy, babe.”
I sniffle harder at this. “I can’t believe it,” I squeak, staring at myself.
Melissa kisses the back of my neck, wiping away some of her tears. “Believe it, my love. Believe you are this beautiful, this sexy, this worth it.”
While I’m not quite ready to accept that I’m worthy, I am ready to see myself as sexier and more handsome. That’s progress. Before today’s date, I would’ve never seen myself the way I’m beginning to see myself now — through the mirror of Melissa’s eyes.
I stay in the suit I’m in a little bit longer, savoring the experience. After that, I get dressed in my casual clothes and head toward the register. But not before Melissa grabs a few pairs of matching fancy leather shoes to go with the new suits. Of course, I protest to Melissa adding more to the total, but that just makes her grab more: socks, ties, cufflinks. She starts grabbing all of it without a second thought, now that she knows my size, the style that looks best on me.
That only succeeds in making me more anxious and more unsure of my worth. Especially since the cost has long since skyrocketed above my ability to cover the payment — at least until I get paid next, which, as I look at my bank through an app on my phone, hasn’t happened yet. Odd, considering I got paid last Saturday right on the dot.
Melissa is unconcerned with that, however. She just whips out her fancy piece of plastic and presents it to the store clerk, who is now our cashier. She doesn’t even bother to wait for the clothes to be bagged. She just swipes her card and approves the total.
This is where I start to really sweat bullets. “Melissa, please let me pay you back,” I say helplessly, as the total quickly reaches over two grand.
“You are paying me back,” she says with a thin smile, “for that salty attitude.” She flicks her eyes in my direction. “Seeing you moved so much by these clothes, it’s a pleasure to pay for them.”
“Melissa, please…”
“On second thought,” she says, “I’ve got a few more things I’d like to add.” Before I can beg her not to add any more to what she’s already spending on me, she comes back with two more copies of each suit, plus one extra color — a gray one. One that I didn’t try on, but was sort of looking at earlier. “Add these to the total.” She puts the suits on the counter.
I draw in a shaking breath. “No. Melissa, I can’t let you spend that kind of money on me.” I’m not quite sure what’s happening to me, but I’m beginning to feel dizzy and out of my head and body. It gets worse when I see that now the total is well over two grand and climbing towards three and a half.
Melissa doesn’t seem to know how bad it’s getting for me. Either that, or she doesn’t care. Either way, she allows the payment to go through, and everything to be bagged up. And I’m left clutching my only shopping bag to me like a paper bag I’m supposed to use to keep fainting.
It seems like forever, but finally, we step out of th
e shop with Melissa carrying all of the bags. Despite the fresh air and open space, all I can hear is ringing in my ears. All I can see and feel around me is a thick numbness. In it, I begin to see flashes of things I remember from my childhood, but don’t quite understand — cruel faces, and clothes I really loved.
As these images move in, and through me, I begin to feel my lungs squeezing. My heartbeat is thumping out of control in my veins to the point where I think I can feel it in my feet, and my wrists.
Something wet moves across my face, and before I’m able to really think about what I’m doing, I’ve moved away from Melissa at a run. As I’m running, all I can think of is how unworthy I am. How small and worthless my life and my body is. How it doesn’t deserve any kindness or special treatment or any fancy clothes.
I hear the laughing of children in my head that I remember, and yet don’t. This reaches a fevered pitch as I duck through the metal door, I find myself in front of. It’s only when I stumble inside that I realize it’s a bathroom. Somehow or another, I’ve managed to flee to a bathroom, out of all the places I could’ve ended up.
As I stumble into a stall and lock the door, the voices in my head from memory grow louder, clearer. Tommy doesn’t deserve to look that good. He’s too fat and too tall for anything he likes. I flop down on the toilet, hearing and feeling myself hyperventilating, though it feels like someone else. Again, I’m so out of it, I’m not even sure how I’ve managed to end up on any solid ground other than the floor. But I have, and I use that stability to let emotions I don’t understand rage through me.
Physical pain in my stomach and heart actually overwhelms me here, and I start babbling about things, I didn’t even know I was still hurt over: about how I was treated at school as a kid; about how I always wanted to be, but never had the courage to be myself; that I hated the “fat camp” I was sent to; and that I hate my dad for everything he’s ever made me hate about myself. After all that, I end up yelling about how I’m not worthy of anyone. I’m not worthy enough of love, or the generosity Melissa’s showering on me after I’ve done absolutely nothing, and never will be able to. I’m too weak and too frail, despite my two hundred and eighty pounds of weight.