Nice, Cote D'Azur, South of France, October 23, 1978
Doug Anderson had moved to Europe in the summer of 1978 for work. His head office was in Geneva, but most of his time was spent in the south of France. He kept an apartment in Nice, 5
th
largest city in France, gateway to Italy and a hotbed of crime and corruption.
The Cote D'Azur was the playground of the rich and famous. Rock stars, Hollywood legends and faded European royalty all lived there. From Cannes to Monaco, there was always a party going on; and always a seamy undercurrent of criminality persisted. Smugglers, drug dealers, con men and prostitutes were everywhere.
Nice was its capital and for Doug, a transplanted Canadian from Montreal, it was a great place to be.
Doug was 6'3" tall blue eyed and blonde, with a trim body honed by years of competitive swimming. At the age of 27, he still swam to stay in shape and had a very impressive physique with broad shoulders, slim waist, and very strong legs. He was also the proud owner of a very large, fat 10-inch cock that the super tight jeans of the day did little to hide.
As usual on Mondays, Doug went to visit his Russian ballerina friend Irina Proshkova. The statuesque beauty routinely put Doug through rigorous dance training, followed by an equally rigorous fuck session in her dance studio. She remained a demanding lover. Physically powerful, sex with Irina was a real workout.
Lazing in their sweaty post-coital bliss, Irina asked Doug for a favour.
"I need a date for Friday night."
"You want to go out on a date? Irina, I'm honored, but what kind of date and where?"
"Friends are hosting a charity gala in support of the arts. It's for the Ballet de Nice, the Opera de Nice and the Museum de Beaux Arts. It's an annual event, always held the Friday closest to Halloween."
"Excuse me Irina but Halloween isn't exactly a French holiday. It's not even officially recognized in France."
"I know, but honestly, it's an excuse for a party and because it's Halloween it's fancy dress, what you would call a costume party."
"Where the hell am I going to get a costume?"
"At the Opera House."
"Wait a minute. You work at the ballet, why not get a costume at the ballet?"
"There are not a lot of 6-foot 3-inch ballet dancers in the world, so unless you want to wear a tutu, I suggest you try the Opera House. In any case, they are in the same building. You have an appointment tomorrow at 11:00 with Andre, head of the wardrobe department."
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The following morning, 11:00 sharp Doug presented himself at the stage door of the Opera de Nice. He was met by Andre the wardrobe manager, a man of indeterminate age and sexual origin.
"Ah, there you are, Irina asked me to take care of you, and I must say, the pleasure will be all mine. Judging by your physique, I think a military uniform would be best. Something with authority and presence, something masculine, something very tight." He was leering at Doug's crotch while saying this.
"Come with me."
They worked their way into the basement, to Andre's little office.
"Sit here young man, I'll be right back."
A few minutes later, Andre was back, his arms full of garment bags.
"We have three options. There are not a lot of choice for man of your height so.... Let us begin. You must disrobe, shoes off, only the undergarment remains."
Doug stripped down to his bikini briefs. Andre unpacked the first garment bag containing some sort of naval uniform. Turning around, Andre stopped, mouth wide opened and stared.
"Oh, young man, you should go just as you are. A young Adonis, wrapped only in a loincloth. Breathtaking!"
"Andre, it's October. Too cold for loincloths don't you think?"
"Alas, you may be right. What a shame."
Taking the naval uniform, Andre held it up to Doug's frame, checking the size.
"I think the Pirates of Penzance is a bit small. Let's try the next one."
Andre produced leather pants and shirt, horned Viking helmet and long fur cape.
"Andre, I am not wearing that ratty old fur or that stupid helmet."
"You're right, Wagner was always way over the top, even his costumes. So finally, we have this."
"Voila, the uniform of a Lieutenant of the 5
th
Regiment Light Cavalry of the Grand Army of Napoleon Bonaparte. It is from William Tell, by Rossini."
Andre held up the uniform for Doug's inspection. It looked like it might fit.
"Let's try it on Andre."
Andre handed him the shirt, a simple white cotton tunic with a ruffled collar. Next, he held the breeches so Doug could step into them. The pants were dove grey and very tight. They fit like a second skin.
"The waist is good. Now show me the front."
Doug turned, presenting his tightly wrapped crotch for Andre's inspection.
"Do you hang right or left?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, in your natural pose does your penis stay to the right or the left?"
"To the left I guess."
Andre unceremoniously reached into Doug's pants, took his entire package, balls and all, and shifted it to the left.
"There, that is better."
"Better, what do you mean better. This is obscene."
Doug's sexual organs were rudely displayed by the skin-tight uniform. You could almost see the ridge of his cock head, and his balls were clearly defined.
"You don't understand, cavalry officers had to keep the family jewels to one side. You could not have things flopping around during battle, they might get crushed in the saddle."
"Yes, but what about just walking around. This doesn't leave much to the imagination."
"Exactly. A soldier in Napoleon's army wants to show his pride, his manhood. And I must say you should be very proud."
He slipped the coat onto Doug, spun him around and fastened the double row of buttons. Smoothing down the shoulders, he stepped back.
"The jacket fits well. Here, look." He walked him over to the full-length mirror.
Doug had to admit, he did look good. The coat was dove grey with wide buff lapels, and lots of gold braids intertwined with the epaulets. Andre handed him the helmet, brass with a woolen crest.
"We'll skip the sword and pistols; they might scare the ladies. Here, try the boots."
Doug had trouble with the boots, they were a bit small. Thankfully, they zipped up the back, a nod to modernity and the fact that whoever wore this outfit would be facing the audience most of the time.
"Eh voila, a proud soldier in the service of the emperor Napoleon. The ladies will be very happy."
Andre floated around him, adjusting, squeezing and tugging the uniform in places to check the fit. Doug was surprised there were no manual adjustments required in the crotch. God knows what would happen if he got an erection.
Doug put the helmet on. There was no way it would fit. It was much too small. At least it would give Doug something to cover his crotch if he ever got an erection. Andre handed him a black velvet mask to complete the outfit.
Looking at himself in the mirror Doug announced "Andre, it's excellent. I promise to return it in one piece. Thank you very much."
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Friday at 4 Doug emerged from the elevator into the lobby to be greeted by the formidable Madame, the owner of the hotel. She came out from behind her desk.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here. The pride of the French army, a true representation of French manhood, a valiant warrior ready for battle"
She stood and admired Doug in all his martial splendour.
"You look magnificent monsieur Dooglas. It is a wonderful uniform."
Coming closer, she adjusted the shoulders, tugged on the dovetails of the coat, pulled the boots up and finally grabbed his crotch, squeezed and gave it a strong pull to the left."
"There, now you will be more comfortable."
She stood back admiring him, giving him a lustful look, ogling his crotch.
"Yes, magnificent indeed! I take it you're going to a fancy dress ball."
Yes, a fundraiser. I am a guest of Irina Proshkova, a ballerina at the Ballet de Nice."
"My, you do get around Dooglas, Irina Proshkova indeed. A great beauty and a wonderful dancer."
They were interrupted by a honking horn. Out by the curb Irina stood by her sky-blue Fiat Dino, a Fiat with a six-cylinder Ferrari engine! Doug was jealous and wanted to drive but he doubted he could even sit in the car given the tightness of his pants.
Irina was wearing a pink tutu with sheer pink nylons. Her legs and butt were on display for all to see, her breasts barely constrained by the pink skin-tight silk top. Doug felt a stirring in his loins and knew he would never be able to fold himself into the seat of the sportscar with an erection.
"Ah, my gallant escort for the evening. Dooglas, you look magnificent."
Doug introduced her to Madame and the two ladies stood there admiring him in his uniform, ogling his left leaning package, the strong legs and calves in the overly tight boots.
She opened the door and Doug shoehorned himself into the seat, having to hold his package aside so as not to crush his testicles.