Chapter 78

Tuesday-Wednesday, July 10-11

We arrived at our destination a little before noon and were hustled inside through a delivery entrance in the back of the building. They started us off with boxed lunches that would at least get us through the afternoon.

Marie met with a store representative while the models, the hair and makeup lady and Marie’s assistant were escorted to some kind of backstage area that contained racks of clothes in garment bags. Several racks. As in more racks than I had time to count before I was thrown into a makeup chair.

The opposite side of the curtain was what I was told was a private showroom. It looked like any other meeting room to me, just without the conference table.

“You need a trim,” the makeup lady said before she started working on me. “We’ll have to do that before you go home this week.”

I was under the impression that the last thing I should do was go to my regular barber shop for one of their 1956 haircuts.

After I was moved out of the way and one of the other models took a seat, Marie explained what was going on. The clothing store, which did both wholesale and retail, was bidding on a contract to provide uniforms for the biggest private boys boarding school in the state. And not just this state, but in any bordering state. This was the school that produced guys who should be dating the Staci Pattersons of the world if her dad hadn’t been so insistent on giving her a normal upbringing.

All those racks were full of samples. The three of us models were going to be walking mannequins so the school administrators could see the outfits in action. What was so funny was I was the only guy here who could have attended the school. The other two models — Craig and Mark, as I later learned — were both past 21.

Once we were all painted up, Marie’s assistant started handing out bags with our names on them and directing us behind changing screens. The store had all our measurements and the outfits were supposed to be as close to a perfect fit as they could without actually being tailored.

What followed was several hours of dressing in school clothes for a school that would never grant me admission, not that it mattered to me. I liked where I was just fine. We had girls on our campus.

We wore fall uniforms, winter uniforms, spring uniforms, formal, dress, casual, weekend, PE and all kinds of combinations. I don’t know how many times I heard a disembodied voice saying something like “Gary is wearing a worsted tweed jacket with...”

While all that was going on, we would stroll among the school administrators, letting them feel the fabric — all natural fibers, no polyester for these boys — and see how it reacted when we would bend and stretch. I just thought Kacie and her friends treated me like a Ken doll.

Sometime after 6 o’clock, the school folks had seen enough and told the store people they would meet in the morning to discuss things further. Us models were sent to shower and dress in our own clothes while the makeup lady loaded all her gear back in the minibus.

We were returned to the parking garage where our vehicles appeared undisturbed. A look outside showed puddles of water, but there was no indication if they had been created by rain or runoff from lawn sprinklers. I loaded my duffle in the trunk of the Z4 — it damn near filled up the whole space — and turned to see Marie with an armload of folders.

“You’re coming with me,” she said with a cheery smile. “I’ll get you fed and housed, then we’ll get you started on tomorrow’s assignment.”

She put her folders in the trunk, pretty much filling the remaining space, and waited as I unlocked the passenger door and handed her to her seat. Marie directed me to an area full of restaurants just off the freeway and selected a home cooking place. I found that acceptable. It was hard to go wrong with meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

After dinner, Marie had me drive to a rather upscale area and turn down a street that was packed with cookie-cutter townhouses down both sides.

“Right here,” she said as we approached a place where the garage door was opening. “The agency owns several of these townhouses to provide short-term housing for models, photographers and other people coming from out of town. Julia also leases some of them out as model homes for magazine shoots.”

The garage was completely empty — no shelves, cabinets or tools of any kind — making parking a snap. The garage door closed behind us and Marie waited for me to help her out of the car, then to open the trunk.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, then let Marie load me up with her folders. That allowed her two free hands with which to unlock the door into the house. We moved through a laundry room and kitchen to a dining area, where she told me to put her folders down on the table.

Having laundry facilities, I went back to get the workout clothes out of the trunk. I held my breath as I tore the trash bag open, left the shoes in the garage to air out and quickly stuffed the clothes in the washer. There wasn’t any detergent in the cabinet, but I started a deep-wash cycle on hot and hoped for the best.

Taking me by the hand, Marie led me to a staircase just off the entry hall and up to a landing that gave way to three bedrooms and a bath. The stairs continued up.

“That goes to the master suite,” Marie said. “You can go on up, but we’ll have everything we need on the second floor.”

“Works for me,” I said, looking into the rooms.

They were pretty much identical in terms a size and furnishings. All had queen beds.

“I really don’t have a preference,” I said. “Where are you staying?”

“Right next to you,” she said, pulling me down for a kiss. “You’re my bonus. I’m off the leash for the rest of the week.”

A quick look indicated the bed to my right was a couple of steps closer than the other two. Decision made, I stooped and picked Marie up over my shoulder, causing her to shriek with laughter as I stepped into the room and dumped her on the bed.

The little waif was dressed professionally in a cream silk blouse and red pleated skirt, unlike the attire I was used to seeing her in. I was beginning to like silk blouses this week.

I landed beside her and resumed kissing. We immediately began unbuttoning the other’s top. Since her blouse only had three buttons, I won. Marie continued unbuttoning my shirt as I kissed down her throat and between her breasts to encounter my first issue of the evening — she was wearing a front-closure bra. I’d never dealt with one before. In fact, looking back on it, the vast majority of my encounters this summer hadn’t involved bras at all, even with girls/women who’d begun the evening wearing one.

I fiddled with the contraption as Marie giggled. I finally, pretty much by accident, got the clip to fold, then figured out how the pieces slid apart. With practice, I thought it would be easier to manipulate than the hook-and-eye setup of back-closing bras, but I think sports bras and camisoles were more my speed.

Once I got things undone, I was rewarded with Marie’s perky A-cups and pierced nipples. She was just as responsive as I remembered. While I was busy mouthing a boob, my hand went in search of her skirt fastening. I found a button and zipper on her right hip.

“Hold on,” she said, sitting up to remove her blouse and bra and put her glasses on the nightstand, then standing to slide the skirt over her slim hips.

Clad only in bikini panties, she helped me out of my shirt and undid my belt and slacks, leaving me in my boxers and socks. All our other garments were strewn across the floor.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the day I met you,” she said, dropping to her knees and tugging my boxers to the floor.

My dick bounced into the open as it cleared the waistband, drawing a happy squeal from the little brunette. With no hesitation, she had my knob in her mouth and was working her way down the shaft. For someone in a relationship with another woman, Marie showed surprising skill.