Chapter 6

The store was quiet. The only things I heard were soft music playing and the occasional shift of hangers on racks. One of the shoppers had her back to me at the end of the hall. Daisy was nowhere to be seen.

I tried the handle for the first dressing room I got to. It was locked. "Sorry, occupied," came a female voice. I nodded without saying anything and tried the next door. That room was occupied too. Thankfully, the third room, the one closest to the main part of the store, wasn't.

I stepped into the dressing room and tried to relax. Nothing had happened. I hadn't even put on the boxer-briefs yet. But I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And the parallel of that image wasn't lost on me. I was about to put on a pair of sexy underwear while the store was filled with nothing but women. I tried to reason with myself by thinking it could be worse. I could be in a store, about to do the same thing, and nothing but men waited outside to see me.

That idea didn't help any, so I decided to focus on what I was doing and where I was.

The dressing room wasn't small exactly. It was certainly bigger than a closet, but smaller than anything I knew. Even the half-baths in my dorm suit were bigger. The floor was carpeted and a small bench was built into the wall. The mirrors unnerved me though. The only part of the inside of the dressing room not covered by a mirror was the back of the door. It had three hooks and the door knob, but that was it.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I got undressed and suddenly longed for the warmth of my clothes. The lighting in the dressing room was warm, but the air was cooler than expected. With one last deep breath – because I felt like I was about to do something very stupid – I slipped off my boxer-briefs. I couldn't help but see myself in the mirrors. Usually, I avoided looking at myself other than when checking my teeth or shaving. I simply never felt any need to look. Now, I didn't have a choice.

I didn't see any redeeming qualities. I was in good shape, but that was from physical labor, walking everywhere I had to, and swimming in my off time. More recently, I had been driven from place to place by the girls, but I had to walk to my classes and my dorm during the morning hours of the week. I wasn't getting as much exercise as I used to, unless you counted sex with the girls. My stomach was flat and my legs and arms toned, but nothing overly muscular.

I noticed that with mirrors in front and behind me I could see the edges along my back and shoulders. I tried twisting and turning to get a better view of my back, to see how bad my scars looked, but it was no use. The mirrors were lined up too perfectly.

I took the cashmere boxer-briefs off their hanger and felt the material again. It was very soft and just as light as my cotton briefs. I slipped them on and smiled at the feel of the material against me. More than that though was the way the design hugged me, like a feathery-soft hand cupped my sack. I studied myself in the mirror. Unlike my briefs, these were apparently designed to offer support and enhance a man's genitals. My package looked a lot bigger than when wearing my regular underwear. I had been looking for a way to talk to Jordan about sex without being explicit, and she offered that as a suggestion when talking about my groin area, though she preferred more graphic descriptions. The thing was, hearing her talk about me in detail like that always got a rise out of me, and now, thinking about those times, I filled out the cashmere briefs more.

I seriously doubted Sammi wanted me filling out her underwear like that, so I sat on the bench and tried to think about anything to help me relax. I knew one thing that would do the trick. I shook my head, irritated with the very idea I even had to think about it. I forced myself to remember going to Lisa Hartwell's house to apologize to her family. I remembered talking briefly to Lisa and her mother. And then I remembered what her father did to me.

Voices startled me from my memories. I was breathing heavily and the fear of those memories faded quickly. I was happy to be in a store's dressing room only wearing a pair of cashmere underwear, rather than facing Mr. Hartwell's wrath again. Unfortunately, panic replaced fear because it sounded like those voices were coming to the dressing room I was in.

It was bad enough that I had to slip out and back to the room where Sammi wanted to take the test shots, but I didn't need chattering women following me in the process. It wasn't a couple of chattering women though.

"What are you doing here?" Sammi asked.

"I came by to talk to you," said a male voice. "I know I haven't been around but that doesn't mean you have to go off the deep end and start this men's line."

Understanding flooded me. Sammi wasn't sure she was in a relationship anymore. That was why she was only partially affected by my Fetish. She had noticed me, was attracted to me, but she retained enough control to keep from reacting too strongly.

"You know I wanted to start this line before you disappeared," she said.

"I didn't disappear," he said, "I've been busy."

"Whatever," she said. "The point is, the store is mine now, which means you have no say in what I do or don't do with it."

"Just because I sold you my half doesn't mean you should do something like that," he said.

"Why Stan?" she asked. "Huh? Why can't I have this line? Can you give me one solid statistic that says a men's line of exotic underwear would hurt this store?"

"Statistics aren't everything, Sammi," he said.

"Maybe not," she said, sounding purely stubborn, "but I'm going to start this line."

"Sammi, wait," he said. "You don't need the line. You're doing fantastic without it."

"How do you know?" she asked, sounding suspicious. "I haven't heard from or seen you in six months."

"It doesn't matter how..." He started.

"Yes, Stan. It does."

"Look, Sammi," he said smoothly, "the important part is I'm back. You don't need the men's line because I've got something else that'll keep the ladies coming back for more."

"Really?" she asked. "What?"

"A friend of mine has a new line of products," he said. "He's offered me exclusive sales."

"This isn't your store, Stan," she said.

"If you let me buy back my half," he said, "I'll be able to sell here too."

"You have other stores," she said and I knew a good question was coming. "Why do you need my place?"

"Like I said, the line is very exclusive, and it's hot. It'll sell like no one's business and we will simply rake in the money." He sounded like he might have an orgasm just talking about it.

"What kind of line is it?" she asked.

"I'll have to show you," he said. "Words wouldn't do it justice."

"I can't," she said. "Not tonight."

"Why not?" he asked. "You've got the other girls here to cover for you. You only need to send your assistant home."

"She's not my assistant," Sammi said. "She's a new sales girl and she's pulled in more clientele than you can imagine." They must have been talking about Jordan.

"Really?" he said. "Maybe I should get to know her." I didn't like the tone in his voice. Some instinct in me said to beat his ass now and worry about the consequences later.

Sammi didn't seem worried though. "She brought a friend. We're about to start shooting." I frowned. I thought it was only a test shoot. Well, yeah, and she didn't have to tell him that.

"A friend?" Stan asked. "Shooting what?"

For a second everything was quiet. Then there was a soft knock on the dressing door. "Seth, are you ready?"

I swallowed down the mix of emotions roiling through me and opened the door a crack. Sammi was standing close to the door, blocking my view of the store, as well as Stan's possible view of me. Softly I asked, "Are you sure you want him seeing me dressed like this?"

Sammi's eyes roamed over me through the opening. "It'll be fine, Seth. C'mon out."

I nodded and stepped out. It turned out Sammi and Stan had drawn a small crowd of spectators. The problem was I was now a part of the show – and in only the red cashmere boxer-briefs. Jordan said that when I blushed, my whole body flushed with it. I wondered if I was as red as the underwear.

Stan stood there staring at me. He had a light sprinkle of gray in his dark hair. His suit looked expensive and he was heavier than I thought, more round. Unlike the women at the end of the hall, who all either smiled or showed some appreciation for my attire, Stan's expression was just the opposite, disgusted.

"What's wrong Stan?" Sammi asked. She stood next to me and watched Stan intently.

Stan blustered for a few seconds and then said, "I thought we agreed you didn't need the men's line."

I frowned at that. Sammi never said anything like that.

"No," Sammi said. "You said I didn't need it, but I never agreed."

"Then you're shooting him ... like that?" Stan asked.

She looked me over, right there in front of Stan. "Well, yes Stan. That is how it works." She looked at him again. "Or don't you remember? You were the store photographer before you left. And though Seth isn't a professional model, I believe his natural presence will make a big impact in the pictures."

Stan looked at my face for all of a second, and then he looked down at the underwear again. I knew what he was looking at, and I was happy that I had calmed my earlier thoughts enough to no longer be filling out the cashmere boxer-briefs as I had been.

"You can't be serious," Stan said. "What've you got in there, kid, your socks?"

I frowned, looked down at myself, didn't see anything wrong, and looked at Sammi for confirmation.

Sammi smiled at me, and it was friendly and comforting. She reassured me with that simple gesture in all the ways I needed at the moment. Unfortunately, her words made my eyes widen. "We can find out if you want."

Stan blushed just as strongly as I did, which I thought was odd, and then he said, "No one's that ... that ... big."

Sammi looked down at me. "I don't know Stan. He looks like he would make me a happy woman."

There had been several times when my girls had told me how good I felt when we made love. I found their comments extremely erotic, and Sammi's comments had the same effect.

Stan looked me over again and I didn't care for his expression. "What the hell are you doing?"

I didn't know if he was talking to me or Sammi. Personally, I didn't want to answer the question, especially with the audience nearby. Thankfully, Sammi mostly blocked their view of me.

"It would appear, Stan, that Seth likes my appreciation of him," Sammi said. Her voice had a soft tone to it. It was another sign that she was affected by my Fetish. It had to be because I didn't see any reason for a woman, any rational, clear-thinking woman to act like she was.

"Dammit, that's disgusting," he said, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from my groin. "Go put on some clothes."

I heard a few of the women at the end of the hall pout at that comment. Sammi didn't seem affected though. "He can't do that yet, Stan. We have a photo shoot to do."

His head snapped up. "You can't."

I frowned. Sammi asked, "Why not?"

He shook his head. "That would be..."

"What Stan?" she asked. It seemed Sammi already knew the answer, and she wanted him to say it.

He shook his head again. "You just can't."

"I can't what?" she asked, pressing her point. "See him in some of the more exotic pieces?" She stepped around me, which cleared the point of view of our audience. "But I want to Stan. I need to."

I looked at Sammi, sure my Fetish was taking hold, but the expression on her face wasn't lust. For the most part, she looked calm, but I could just make out an underlying layer of anger. She stepped closer to Stan, lowering her voice. "He's going to wear them all for me, Stan, and some of those pieces don't cover very much at all. In fact, I'm looking forward to seeing him wear the bow."

Stan shivered. It wasn't a simple shake of the head or shoulders, but his whole body. You know the kind. When you hear or see something that thoroughly disturbs you – like accidentally seeing your grandmother in the shower.

Stan Focused on Sammi. "You can't do that."

She nodded. "I'm going to Stan, and I think he's going to enjoy it as much as I am."

Stan looked at me again, but not at my package. He looked at my face. "What kind of pervert are you?"

"Excuse me?" I barked. My rage burned through me as explosive as my words, which surprised me and my surprise kept me from doing anything at the moment.

"You heard me," Stan said.

I glanced at Sammi. She was focused on Stan, and I finally understood. Understanding led to rational thought, and rational thought led to total calmness. My anger was still there, burning just below the surface, but I kept my face in check. This wasn't about me, even though Stan was trying to make it about me.

"I know what you did Stan," Sammi said in a low, dangerous tone. My anger recognized hers. "I found out not long after you left."

Stan looked at her. "Found out what? I didn't do anything." Defensive much?

"The girls told me Stan," she said. "I was tempted to send them to the police, but I know how you think. There wouldn't be any witnesses, just your word against theirs."

He narrowed his eyes and stood a little straighter. "Go to the police about what?"

Sammi shook her head. "I can't believe I never figured it out. We couldn't keep any of the models after you shot them. Well, except for Tammy."

"Tammy enjoyed modeling for me," he said.

She shook her head again. "Tammy enjoyed you." She walked over and stood next to me again. "I told you how uncomfortable it made me, making love to you in your bedroom with the curtains wide open. You should have paid attention."

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I have pictures of you and Tammy, together, in your bed, naked, and fucking like God-damned rabbits!" Her voice rose with each new detail. "What I don't get ... what just totally confounds me is why? Huh? Was it because I wouldn't let you fuck my ass? Well, Tammy sure let you!"

She stalked back and forth across the short hall, the energy of her anger needing more of an outlet than just yelling. "And her breasts! Fuck, What's she got in em, rocks? All that bouncing around she did on your little prick and they never moved."

Sammi cupped her own breasts, lifted them and let go. I only had partial view because of the angle and her blouse, but I could tell she bounced very nicely.

Stan watched her too and then looked at me. "Keep your eyes in your head, boy."

Sammi got up in his face, which was impressive seeing as how he was at least a foot taller than her. "He's allowed to look! You're the one who can't keep his dick in his pants!"

And to think, I accused Jordan of trying to set me up to seduce Sammi. To me, the last thing Sammi wanted was sex. I needed to take off my Fetish at the first chance.

Stan stood there aloof, as if Sammi's accusations and proof held no merit. In a calm, reasonable voice, Stan said, "And you can't tell me that you aren't tempted to do the same thing."

Sammi's hair flew as she whipped her head around. Her blue eyes roved over me. There was nothing suggestive or hidden about what she was doing. This wasn't a look of evaluation. She wasn't being analytical of how the underwear looked on me. She was looking at me, and I got the distinct impression that she was more than tempted.

She looked at Stan again. "You know the difference between us Stan? I wouldn't have even considered it while we were together." She didn't yell, and she didn't have to. The store was absolutely quiet. Even the soft music was gone.