A few shorts about our favorite kind of shopping.
Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash
What's a guy to do when Mom drags him along on a shopping trip?
English can be a frustrating language. So many words have multiple meanings. For instance, 'love.' Love between parents and children is one thing; between friends another; between sexual partners yet another; for some object or experience something else again. Plenty of gradations to be found and plenty of room for misunderstanding.
Then there's 'shopping.' For your mythical typical suburban male it could be a trip to the hardware store for something necessary (or something he thinks is necessary). For your equally typical (and equally mythical) suburban wife it usually means a grocery cart and stocking up. For the four year old accompanying his mythical mother it means grabbing everything loose that comes near the cart as it passes down the aisles.
Since we are dealing with the mythical suburban family of four, the teenage daughter would consider shopping the joy of rampaging through the mall with her girlfriends trying on everything that looks like it would be fun to wear. Then there's her teenage brother, say about fifteen years old, who considers shopping a waste of time unless it's at the Game Stop. Hell, he can get whatever he wants on line and not have to be dragged through the stores being bored out of his mind. Shopping for clothes is particularly irksome, after all he has plenty of clothes already, and his parents have some seriously screwed up ideas about what he should be wearing.
Let's take a closer look at our mythical teenage male, or perhaps if we assign him the name 'Jason' he will become more based in reality than in myth. He's a sophomore at your typical large suburban school, rides a bicycle but seriously wishes it was a motorcycle - or better yet a car of his own. His grades are decent, he participates in after school activities (Chess Club and Track) and gets on with both guys and girls.
He has a few close buddies - Gerry, Aaron and Tony - he hangs with. If he and his buddies are at the mall without parents trying to be cool that's certainly acceptable. If he's at the mall just before the new semester starts, following his mother and sister, that is definitely unacceptable. Also inevitable. Such a situation requires a serious effort to appear bored, tolerant or - preferably - invisible.
It didn't take long for Jason to amass his new wardrobe for school - T-shirts, jeans, underwear, socks. Underwear all white, socks all black. No need to sort socks like his sister does with her cutesy prints, one of which is always missing. The loot was out in the car's trunk minutes after arriving at the mall. Not so for the females in his family. Shopping seems to be a verb that denotes continuous and extended effort to locate the perfect whatever it was.
At least some of the stores have seats so he can sit there and pretend to ignore the world. Of course, what's a guy to do when surrounded by manikins in sexy bras and panties? His mother is right there so slavering and drooling is out of the question. Being without a steady girl, Jason is not going to see such sights anywhere but at the mall, but the Code Of The Teenage Male forbids allowing anyone to know he's interested in what teenage females are wearing under their clothes. Hard to be cool and interested at the same time, though.
Conspicuously checking his watch every few minutes doesn't seem to be getting the message across to his mother. Every so often he draws hope from seeing his family at the checkout register, but that hope is dashed as they migrate to the next store. Early on he tried a verbal sally - there's a game store just ahead, he could meet them when they're done.
Fat chance. Mom was not going to risk losing him in the mall this time. Jeez - it only happened twice before, he's older now and knows better.
So does she.
Finally it happened, just like he knew it would, they arrive at Victoria's Secret. If she's so darn secretive, why is she parading around in all that sexy stuff? What's a boy supposed to do thinking about his sister wearing that stuff? Or his mother???
Close his eyes, adopt a pose of the uncaring brother forced to be in this place, and… and…
Nope, that wasn't working.
Breathe. Like that Yoga stuff that Mom is so into. Slowly breathe in through your nose for a count of five. Feel the air move in your body as your stomach rises. Then exhale the air through your mouth for a count of five, feeling your stomach relax inward.
Feel your stomach getting ready to puke.
It's over at last! Jason the packhorse is loaded with bags and bags of swag. Sister the pack pony - she's younger - comes in for her share. Mom smugly remarks that she carried her children for nine months, they can carry the packages for nine minutes.
Home at last. It takes three trips to bring everything in, including the groceries. The stuff is piled on the dining room table and Mom starts sorting. One pile for sister, one pile for Jason, one pile for the parents. Jason picks up his bags and heads for his bedroom, only to be stopped by his mother's voice.
"Wait a minute, honey. You forgot this one."
She hands Jason a bag boldly emblazoned with the legend VICTORIA'S SECRET.
"That's not mine," he replies.
"Certainly it's yours. Now you have your own lingerie so you can stop swiping your sister's.
Busted!
Photo by Bruno Salvadori: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-wearing-red-dress-standin...
Daaaaaddddd!!!!!
Ah, nothing quite as heartrending as the plaintive wail of a teenage girl confronted with an intolerable family situation.
"But Mom was going to take me…"
"Darlin' heart, you mother is sitting in the Detroit Airport, freezing her delectable tush off, staring out the big windows into the snow. She is not available to take you to the fitting for your prom gown. You will have to suffer through with your poor, benighted father as chauffeur.
"But it's not fair!"
"Indeed it is not fair. It is an intolerable injustice, a cruel plot by the Fates who weave the tapestry of your young life. Woe betide the…"
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
"What? Can't a father express his sympathy for his beautiful but grievously wronged daughter?"
"Why couldn't you be stuck in Detroit and not Mom?"
"Because your mother is the hotshot auditor and your father is the poor, underappreciated horticulturist who is firmly planted along with his plants."
"But Mom is the one who…"
"Now just a minute there! Tell me, what is the purpose of wearing a fancy gown to the prom?"
"Huh?"
"You aren't going in your birthday suit, so just why are you wearing a fancy gown?"
"Because it's… it's… just what you do!"
"And why are you doing it?"
"Jeez, Dad!"
"Let's break it down and apply some logic here."
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!! I hate it when you get all logical!"
"Is that gown being worn to impress you?"
"Impress? I just like it, fer cryin' out loud."
"OK, is it going to impress your parents?"
"Enough that you're paying for it."
"Conceded. Is it going to impress Brian?"
"It darn well better!"
"Ah! We're getting to the core of the situation now. Is Brian a male?"
"If you can't figure that out I have to wonder just how I got here."
"Smartass. Speaking of which - will Brian be impressed by your ass in that gown?"
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
"Now, since Brian is a male and your father is a male, it follows that your father will be able to judge just how impressive your gown will be, given that Brian and I do share some typically male characteristics."
"Brian isn't a pain in the ass, though."
"I'm wounded! Do me a favor though…"
"Yeah?"
"If you end up in the back seat of the car after the prom and you do something that causes a pain in your ass keep it to yourself."
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
Later at Kiara's Fashions
"Hi Brenda! I see you brought Cooper with you today."
"Huh? You know my Dad?"
"Of course I do. Coop and your Mom are some of my best customers."
Cooper and Kiara were rewarded with a confused look. How could a nerd like Brenda's dad be known by name at a place like this?
"Ready to see if the gown fits properly?" Kiara inquired.
"Uh, yeah…"
"Come on back, then."
Cooper settled into a chair, smiling at the look on his daughter's face. Sometimes a father manages to get one up on his daughter.
Some time later the curtains parted and Brenda appeared in her prom gown.
"Whoa! Very nice," was Cooper's reaction.
"I think it suits her very nicely," Kiara said.
"I hate to mention this," spoke the grinning father, "but I think you're going to need a different bra with that gown."
Brenda instantly turned as bright a red as her gown.
"What? You think your father doesn't know from bras?"
Kiara seemed to be having a difficult time suppressing her laughter.
Recovering herself, Brenda just wailed "Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
"Child… No, wait a minute! You ain't a kid any more if we gotta be talking sexy bras for you. Black, of course and something cut with a goodly plunge. Maybe some lace to peek out around the edges. Brian will certainly appreciate that."
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
"You could go with a color that would compliment the gown, I suppose. Color was always a nice bonus when I talked your mother out of her dress."
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
"Cooper, you are evil!" Kiara whooped, abandoning any pretense of neutrality.
"If you're such… such… a freakin' darn expert on bras, why don't you wear one?" Brenda stammered.
"Got one in my size, Kiara?"
"42D, right?"
"You got it." Kiara went back through the curtain.
"What the hell?" cried Brenda.
"I guess it's about time you found out. I'm a crossdresser, Brenda. I like to wear women's clothes, but I only do it in private. I make an ugly woman."
"But… What about Mom?"
"We often buy matching lingerie. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom, kid. I'll let you and Brian figure out who wears the bra if it gets that far. Maybe you both will."
"Daaaaaddddd!!!!!"
It's tempting to blame it all on my mother; haul out some psychobabble about how I was raised and childhood trauma and such. Tempting, sure, but anyone who has stayed awake through biology class knows that it's really all due to my father. Four sisters, one lone male - me. It's a biological fact that the male determines a child's sex at conception, but you try growing up as the last child with four sisters.
About the time I came along Dad got religion - I mean big-time fundamental, off-the-wall, praise-the-lord-and-pass-the-bigotry, patriarchal religion.
Mom didn't.
Not only did Mom not get religion, she had the nerve to get her Masters Degree in Biology (she has a doctorate now) while she was pregnant with me. Dad worked in the trades - a pretty good plumber from what I understand - and apparently it galled him that Mom wasn't content to stay at home and keep popping out more babies for him. He packed it off to Costa Rica when I was four to follow Reverend Shoutsalot and his crew to found a New Babylon or some such, so I don't really have more than a few vague memories of him.
Mom stopped going to church, and I haven't darkened the door of a church, cathedral, temple or mosque other than to attend a couple of weddings. Never met God, don't have a personal relationship with Jesus, keep Kosher or follow Allah as the one and only god. Likewise Hindu, Buddhist, Confucian or any of the multitude of religious icons in this world. Just take it that I'm a heathen and you've got the picture.
With that out of the way, we go back to the psychobabble. Naturally I was raised as a living doll by my sisters, and I loved every minute of it. I swear until I went to kindergarten I just didn't realize that boys and girls were all that different. (I'm told that really bugged Dad.) I attended the usual tea parties and played Homemaker with my sisters and even had a couple of mani-pedis on special occasions. Of course we carefully removed the nail polish Sunday night before school - by then I knew the difference between boys and girls and that difference could be painful.
Now about this point in these stories the guy goes on about what a failure he was as a man, how nothing ever felt right. Just pick your favorite cliché and insert it here. Sorry folks, but that isn't me. I never hated being a man, but I have always had a strong feminist sensibility. Just- call me a Sensitive New Age Guy. I played sports (little league, I ended up the pitcher for a while), acted in high school plays. Men's parts - sorry if that isn't what you were hoping for. One side effect of being on stage was that I sat at a mixed table at lunch, none of this segregation by sex that is so often the case.
I took both Home-Ec and Shop. Mom tells me that at one time keyboarding (typing) was pretty much a girls-only class because girls needed it to be secretaries. With computers anyone who can't touch type is at a real disadvantage nowadays. In other words, I wasn't stereotypically a man or a woman. I keep my hair long, my body strong and my attitude liberal.
So, after telling you all this you might expect I would gravitate toward an academic or maybe traditionally feminine job, but you'd be wrong. I'm a Building Inspector by trade - ironic, eh? I actually take after my absent father because I like the work. He is more than welcome to keep the religious crap, though.
So after all that we can finally get to the story I want to tell. It starts in the spring of 2020 with a visit to my mother, something that happens every couple of weeks. As usual, I had to dig out a place to sit among the books, magazines and printouts that cover every surface. Since we kids have left she's given up even trying to keep up with the reading material. We are all voracious readers, so it doesn't bother us to do a bit of excavation to have a visit. It usually means we get to take home a pile of interesting things to read ourselves.
The visit was great and I left with half a dozen books. On the way out, Mom asked me to take a pile of magazines and catalogs to drop in the recycle bin outside, so I added several inches to the pile. Naturally, I ran into Mrs Hawthorn next door and had to spend a little time gossiping. I dropped the pile in my back seat and proceeded to catch up on what happened in the neighborhood, then drove home completely forgetting about the recycling. Thus the piles in my apartment increased in proportion the the decrease at Mom's place.
We all know what happened next - quarantine, panic, lockdown, confusion and a big mess we're still sorting out. Survival mode. As low man on the totem pole I was the one who got the pink slip when construction dried up. Between unemployment, the government stimulus and my savings (I had a very nice portfolio, what else did I have to spend it on?) I was able to be rather comfortable if I watched my outflow carefully.
I soon ran out of new books to read. Fortunately for my sanity there is lots of stuff online to read, so I expended my horizons considerably. Between books I turned to the magazines and catalogs from Mom. That's where I fell in love.
OK, make it a crush.
The family runs to large women, so I have grown up surrounded by Lane Bryant and Women Within catalogs, stuff that caters to the big, beautiful woman. I've spent more than a few hours in plus size women's shops over the years as well. As someone who will read cereal boxes and the entire medical sheet included with a prescription, I paged through the catalogs for large women since they were there. That was my downfall. She was my downfall. I really liked one of the models.
You have to realize that I hadn't seen anybody but the food delivery guy in three weeks when I first laid eyes on her. Not having a current girlfriend, I suppose I was overly susceptible to the feminine charms of the lady. I really liked her smile and I have always had a secret wish to have my hair in cornrows. And I liked her dress, there was something about that particular picture that moved me.
That's when I lost my mind - I ordered the dress.
The catalog had one of those convenient size charts right in the middle so I knew what to order. Of course I went to the website and ordered online, I was not going to fool around with order forms and snail mail. Maybe I should have, it might have given me time to realize just how stupid ordering a dress for myself was. In only seconds I was embarked on a whole new pathway in life, but I had yet to realize it.
A week or so later there was a package in the mail room for me. I picked it up (masked and contact free) and brought it up to the apartment. I opened it and immediately felt pretty stupid for buying myself a dress. I mean, really! So I put it on a hanger (Mom would never treat her clothes in less than perfect fashion.) and hung it in the closet, a reminder of what happens when you get over-enthusiastic.
That lasted until the next morning. I was standing there in my pajamas wondering if it was worth getting dressed to spend another day sheltering in place. There was the dress, still hanging there. I shut the closet door but it didn't do a bit of good; the dress was still there. I showered and shaved and deodorized and the dress was still there. I opened the closet door and sure enough: the dress was still there.
What the hell? I put on the dress.
I looked in the mirror.
My favorite model did not look back at me. I looked funny in a dress. So much for that, back into the closet and on with the day.
About an hour later it struck me that most women wear a bra under their dresses. Maybe if I…
What the heck was I thinking. No!
Two hours later I was consulting the size chart again. I went on line and found a bra I liked and ordered it. 42A came closest since I don't have any breasts. Go figure…
A week or so later there was another package in the mail room. This time I didn't hesitate, I stripped, opened the package and put on the bra. Not a problem, I may not have a current girlfriend, but I haven't been celibate and I have four older sisters. Bras hold no mysteries to me, unless you want to count just why I would have bought one for myself.
The dress looked the same on me. Naturally, I realized that it was not the lack of a bra that made the difference, it was the lack of boobs. I felt like a boob. Singular. As in not thinking things through.
This time I didn't take the dress off, no one was going to see me and I wanted to get some use out of my new clothes. I sat down at the computer and ordered the same bra in a 42D. If you look at my true love in the picture you might guess she is well above a D cup. If it works for her…
That done, over to Amazon for breast forms. Of course I knew about breast forms - I have sisters. Impatient sisters while they were growing up, so they got a little help. I needed a lot of help but the answer was the same. Wow, two exclusively feminine orders in one day! Addiction here we come.
Two days later the forms were here, after all I do have Prime, but no bra. My sisters were no longer impatient but their brother certainly was. Just for the fun of it I typed 'bra' in the Amazon search bar and was ready to kick myself in the fundament. They had more bras than my large lady's store and they would be here faster. The things you learn…
It occurred to me while looking at all those bras that women wear panties with their bras. Back to the size chart, but this time to Amazon first. They would be delivered tomorrow.
At long last everything was here. I read the instructions on the forms and felt pretty weird shaving my chest. Not that I'm all that hairy, but if it hurts to rip off a bandaid I sure wouldn't want to remove something the size of those forms with my hair glued to them.
Finally, shaved, dried and glued I settled into my very own bra. The dress felt better already with breasts to shape it and, wearing my dress I looked in the mirror.
Much improved, but my black Oxfords really were just wrong! Back to the size charts, ordered some pumps with a two inch heel. High enough for a novice. Thinking ahead, I also got a six-pack of pantyhose and more panties. Oh yeah - an apron for washing dishes. Since the forms were glued on and should be good for a week or so, I'd need a couple of more bras…
Shopping can be fun. Shopping can be addictive! Did I say something about being careful about spending? I had all the time in the world so I comparison shopped and found the sales and special offers. Maybe I'd have to include a few pounds of bologna with the next grocery order and live on yogurt for a while to balance things out.
The next morning I realized that I had been a tad overzealous with a D cup. Those things flopped all over the place when I was trying to sleep. So I discovered sleep bras, and while I was at it a couple of nightgowns. You know how it goes - those catalogs are irresistible, especially when they're on a computer screen. I did feel a small sense of betrayal when I ordered a dress that my favorite model wasn't wearing, but not enough to avoid clicking the 'Complete Purchase' button.
I was a kid with a shiny new toy. Suddenly being kept in my apartment wasn't quite so bad when I could wear a dress and feel my breasts bouncing. Then I discovered the Big Closet and I had a whole new genre of literature to keep me enthralled. I was no longer a weird guy alone in my apartment, I was a weird guy who had a shared interest with lots others scattered around the globe.
Learning how to follow after my actual sisters kept me amused until we were able to go out again. I was almost sad when I got the notice that I was going to be back on the job next week. Tonight I'm going to see Mom and the girls for the first time in months. I've promised them a surprise.
It was a quiet Wednesday evening at the Mall. Not a lot of people about, but the stores were open. At one end of the mall, the big "Anchor" store was brightly lit but sparsely populated. Walking along the glitzy corridor toward the Anchor Store came a man. He looked like a big wheel, Banker, CEO, Lawyer; some kind of power broker in a three piece suit that most certainly wasn't off the rack. In his hand was one of the fancy bags from that Anchor Store, but his demeanor was almost furtive.
Not often you see someone dressed like that looking nervous. Looking carefully around he rode up the escalator and turned right. Approaching the counter beneath the overhead sign reading "Women's Wear," he diffidently placed the bag on the counter.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the lady behind the counter, happy to have something to do besides wait around.
"Uh… I… uh… bought this the other day and… uh… it didn't fit."
"No problem, sir. I'll be happy to exchange it as long as the tags are still on it and it is in saleable condition."
"Uh… I'm sure… sure that it is in uh… good condition."
Millie, for that was the name on her name tag, removed the dress and inspected it.
"I don't see any problems. Can I ask if you know your lady's size?"
"Well… I… I mean… I'm not sure… I bought it on impulse, you see…"
The poor man seemed to shrink a few sizes inside his three piece suit.
Now Millie had been at the lady's wear counter for several years and this was not the first time such a situation had occurred.
"I don't want to embarrass you, but there is no one near us to overhear. Would you be wanting to buy a dress for yourself? That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
"Oh gosh… I didn't… I mean…"
"I take it the answer is 'yes'."
With a sigh he answered "Yes." almost inaudibly.
"I think that's rather sweet. That's a very good suit you're wearing, but I couldn't imagine having to wear all those layers all day long, let alone wearing the same thing day after day. It's far more pleasant to be able to have lots of colors and styles to choose from; you're lucky to be a man who can appreciate such things. Was that your first dress?"
"Uh… yes."
"Now see, you're already developing a sense of style, that dress would suit your body quite well with a little effort. If you have the time I could measure you and we can find out the proper sizes…"
"You can do that?"
"Of course, that's why I'm here. Since we're pretty slow right now you won't have to worry about anyone else seeing you." Picking up a tape measure she continued "Come back in the fitting rooms and we can get you all set."
It must be said that Millie was a naturally helpful person, but she was on commission. Selling a complete new wardrobe would be a nice way to cap off a slow day.
You're a size 14, which is large or maybe XL. That would be a 40 inch bra band and maybe size seven for panties. You do have one advantage over us women in that you can pick your cup size and not be stuck with what nature provides. I think a D cup might be right in proportion to your body."
"That big?"
"I know, I bet you've had locker room conversations about some of the women you know and a D cup will inspire some of the guys to flights of fancy. On a woman your size a D cup would be just about right. And don't worry, we women speculate all the time about a guy's size but we don't have the advantage of actually seeing what we're speculating about."
"Oh…"
"I bet you think I talk too much, don't you?"
"Please… I… Oh heck! You really aren't disgusted at me for wanting a dress?"
"Honey, the world is a big place and there's room for all of us to do what makes us feel good as long as you aren't hurting someone else. Believe me, some of my men customers look better than I do. I just try not to be jealous."
"Gosh!"
"You aren't much into swearing, are you?"
"Not really. My parents gave us… well, I'll say it - hell - for swearing."
"Do tell! I bet they wouldn't be too happy about you in a dress?"
"Oh my, no!"
"Well, my job is to make sure you look good in a dress. One that suits you and makes you look pretty."
"I'd like that."
Good, then let's have a look. Are you thinking office wear, party time, casual, slopping around the house?"
So many decisions!
The poor man. The urge to wear women's clothes had been with him for some time, but childhood training and the expectations placed on a 'rising young executive' had conspired to keep that dream buried. When it finally came out, finding Millie was a godsend, she was able to take that dream and show him the steps needed to turn it into reality.
Not that this was an easy or rapid job, but that first evening our nervous newbie crossdresser went home well equipped with the basics. Not only had Millie racked up quite a nice commission, she had provided referrals to the store's hair salon, cosmetics counter, shoe department and outerwear department. Not that Eugene, for he had confided his name early on in the process of being outfitted, was going to need a coat any time soon, but if things went well he - or rather she - was going to want to leave the house sometime.
He also left with a referral for something better than balled up socks to fill his new bras. Not that this was the usual service for a big anchor store in the mall, but talking with some of her crossdressing customers had given Millie some useful information to pass along.
The following week Eugene stopped, looking a fair bit more confident. He had stopped to show Millie his new shoes - blue pumps with a two inch heel that would go with the dress. Before he left he had added two more dresses, a blouse and several bras and panties to his wardrobe.
That set the pattern, every week or two an increasingly confident Eugene -now called Genie when nobody was close by - came in to add something to her wardrobe and just gossip a little. Millie knew from the in-store gossip that Genie had gotten cosmetics advice and now had a wig from the salon. Sadly for Genie, a rising young executive in a fine old firm was expected to fit the conservative image. Millie was torn - Genie would look pretty good if she could grow out her hair, but then she wouldn't be able to keep augmenting her wardrobe if she got fired. What's a girl to do?
So it went for several months until one evening just before closing a woman came in wearing a very high end skirted suit. Her hair was beautifully done, her generous figure well displayed by the fine tailoring. She approached the counter and said "Good evening, Millie. Lovely to see you again."
Millie looked at the woman uncomprehendingly for a moment, then the light dawned.
"Genie?"
"I knew I couldn't fool you."
"I just knew you could do it. You're perfect!"
"As is my favorite salesperson. Would you care to join me for coffee when the store closes?"
There are a lot of good things about public transportation: It's affordable, environmentally responsible, good for people watching, cheaper than owning a car. There a couple of bad things about public transportation: It's slow and you often have to spend a lot of time in the cold or rain walking to the bus stop or waiting for the bus. Maybe the responsible rider is lucky and has a subway stop in front of his doorway, but not so the hero of this story.
Our hero lives in a soulless apartment complex that was plopped in a formerly residential neighborhood by buying up the small homes and tearing them down, then pouring tons of concrete over tons of steel, then slapping a couple of inches of Styrofoam insulation over the resulting blockhouse. Finish it off by spreading some kind of tinted concrete slurry over the foam to look like stucco and you have a cellblock modern apartment. With rents so damn high what can you do?
By walking four long blocks our hero is able to reach the dying trendy neighborhood that used to be loaded with small shops, restaurants, boutiques, bars, boot shops and such. Naturally, once the neighborhood got a good reputation the greedy types started plopping a plethora of soulless apartments in it. This raised the taxes and rents so high no one can afford to live there any longer unless they are some high muckity-muck at a tech firm or merchant bank or some such megacorporation.
You can take it our hero is not in the best of moods as he wends his way to the bus stop. Granted you might consider him a low muckity-muck at a tech firm, but he really likes the neighborhood and doesn't want to move.
The weather is threatening, but it still hasn't made its mind up as to rain. For a wonder, there is a seat under the shelter still open, so he quickly claims it. As it does every morning, the shop window by the bus stop made him smile.
His morning smile comes from the sign built into the window that still reads 'Menswear Since 1860.' Out-of-control gentrification and the trend to more casual clothing had done them in. After a few months of being vacant, a ladies wear shop had taken it over. This morning the window has four manikins adorned with only bra and panty sets.
1860, eh? He could just imagine what a passer-by in 1860 would think of the current display in that window. For that matter, he didn't think bras had even been invented in 1860.
Actually, there was a bittersweet edge to his window shopping. Seven months ago he had passed the portals of that establishment and tentatively inquired about a bra and panty set for his girlfriend. The lady inside had been very kind, and was pleased he even knew the girlfriend's size - 34C bra and six panties. (He did actually check the tags while she was in the shower.) Pretty yellow roses with bright green stems, adorned with just a hint of lace on the bra straps and the waist of the panties. Helping her put them on and adjust the straps was fun. Helping her take them off was even more fun.
The bra and panties looked far better on his girlfriend than on the manikin, but two weeks ago they had split and she took her present with her. The only evidence of her presence was a pair of plain, white panties that had gotten tangled in the sheets at some point and forgotten. Still, looking at the window was more interesting than checking his e-mail on the phone until the bus got there.
Seven PM. Getting dark already, the sky is still sullen, as were a couple of his customers. There is a aphorism in the IT business - actually any business that deals directly with customers - that no matter how well you idiot-proof something they keep building better idiots. Like the customer that didn't have an 'ENTER' key on his keyboard, just one that was labeled 'ENT'. At least these days the virtual demise of the CD had eliminated the notorious 'Cup Holder Malfunction'.
The bus groaned to a stop, the doors opened and our hero exited. Two steps later there was a flash and boom and the skies opened up. Without thought our hero jumped to the shelter of the doorway of the defunct menswear shop and stared balefully at the curtain of water trying mightily to imitate Niagara Falls. He spent maybe thirty seconds staring at the deluge when once again Zeus or Jupiter or one of those ancient Thunder Gods got frisky and the streetscape lit up and he was shaken by a deep, resonant boom! less than a second later. That was close!
What the hell? He opened the door and entered before he was soaked to the skin.
"Lovely weather we're having, aren't we?" asked the pretty lady in the shop.
"You don't carry swimsuits, do you?" he asked with a grin.
"Now I just happen to have some lovely bikinis in stock. You could wear one home and not worry about getting your clothes soaked."
"Yeah, like that's going to happen."
"Perhaps a raincoat and a Pooh-bear umbrella? Pair it with a nice pair of knee boots and you'll be very fashionable."
"You must be desperate to make a sale. You did notice I'm not a lady and this is a ladies wear shop."
"Details. A couple of falsies and the right bra and you'd be dynamite."
"Jeez! Did that lightning knock me into another dimension or something?"
"Honey, anyone who spends as much time window shopping in my window while you're waiting for the bus just might have a personal interest in my stock and trade. After all, the sign out there does say 'Menswear' even if it's out of date. I have quite a few men who buy for themselves, you know."
"You do?"
"Not a whole lot, but certainly some. I had no idea when I rented the place that that 'Menswear' sign would attract crossdressers like a magnet."
"I wonder if they have crossdresses at the North Pole."
"I suppose they wouldn't have to worry about the neighbors seeing them in their frillies."
"Frillies?"
"Now tell me, did you buy a plain, white bra for your girlfriend last time you were here?"
"You actually remember me?"
"Of course. I wondered how long it would take you to actually come inside and not just stare at my windows."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Hey - if you can stare into the windows then I can stare out of them. There can be some pretty boring stretches waiting for a customer."
"Oh heck! I do like seeing what you have in the window. It's not like I get to see such things every day."
"What happened to Miss 34C, or shouldn't I ask."
"She kinda just faded away. I spend too much time at work, she liked the bar scene more than I did; what can I say?
"I suppose I should say I'm sorry for asking."
"No problem, we still talk, the spark just faded."
"So if I'm going to keep you as a customer I'll have to convince you that a nice pair of frilly panties is just what you've been longing for."
"Uh, I usually long for those panties to be filled with a girl, not with me."
"Such a shame, I think you would look pretty good crossdressed. You have the face and the hair; heck you even keep your nails trimmed."
"Blame my mother - she was pretty strong on personal hygiene. Keep the hair washed, keep the nails trimmed, brush your teeth, clean underwear in case you end up in the hospital."
"An admirable woman. A lot of men don't give a hoot about keeping their long hair looking decent. I bet you even use conditioner."
"Of course."
"So what would happen if I sold you a pair of pretty panties and you ended up in the hospital?"
"Easy, they'd take a scissors to them and cut them off, they don't mess around in the ER. I have a friend who's a nurse in there and she tells me you wouldn't believe what some people are wearing when the arrive. Good thing HIPAA makes them keep it to themselves."
"Actually, I knew that. One of my crossdressing customers found out the hard way one night. At least they let him unhook his bra before he got carted into surgery for a broken leg."
"Just how did we get to talking about this kind of thing?"
"You asked about a swimsuit. I only sell ladies wear and I told you you would look good in a bikini."
"So you did. Would I look good in that multicolored set in the window?"
"Try it on and I'll let you know. Do you know your size?"
"Only my collar size."
"Come on back and I'll give you a bra fitting."
"Don't take this wrong, but I think you need some chicken cutlets."
"Don't you need to go to a butcher shop or maybe a restaurant for such things?"
"Trade jargon. Not every woman is satisfied with their natural endowment."
"Don't tell me you get breast enlargement e-mails like I get penis enlargement e-mails."
"Unlike the fantasy they're trying to sell you guys, we women just slide a little silicone blob into our bra cup and instant enlargement. They feel kind of like a chicken breast, so the name stuck."
"I hope they haven't been breaded and deep fried."
"You are one strange puppy."
"I'm standing here in only a bra and panties and you haven't figured that out yet?"
"You still have your socks on."
"I stand corrected. Also a bit chilly."
"Just stand there a minute while I get your poultry."
"That's cold!"
"Give them a minute, they'll soon feel quite natural. You can put your T-shirt back on now."
"Uh…"
"How else are you going to see what the new you looks like? You're only an A cup. Of course, you could get some embroidered jeans if you want to feel a bit more girly."
"High-pressure salesman, are you?"
"An artiste! I knew you'd look good as a woman. Besides, a girl's gotta make a living somehow. Too bad I don't carry shoes, you'd look fabulous in high heels and a short skirt."
"Good grief! I only came in to get out of the rain."
"And look how your life has changed. Where's your sense of adventure? Tell you what - you spring for the lingerie and I'll spring for dinner. I've been dying to try the Ethiopian place that just opened up and what better way than to share it with my new girlfriend?"
"Deal. But I'm not going to order chicken!"