Dressmaker

He often had regrets.

"Come on, come on- speed it up! Faster, come on, you can do better!" The needle jumped so fast it was a blur. He shoved the fabric through and the stitches were approximately right. With more time it would be better, but she wanted him to be proficient. That was the word Vivienne used, and said eventually he'd get better, with the added benefit of speed. She told him she was a qualified dressmaker and in time he'd have all the skills. From that he could develop more and start doing men's clothes. Women's clothes are easier she told him.

The first lesson was in making a skirt. It was simple. He was slow and Vivienne was impatient. From skirts he progressed to dresses. Getting the pattern was difficult, he had to draft it. She showed him how. He made a lot of dresses for her, each different in some way. As Vivienne said, some one had to be the model and he had no one else he could take into his confidence.

Slowly his proficiency improved. The stitches were straighter and he was unpicking less. The dresses were becoming more sophisticated too. From frumpy sun dresses he progressed to doing little black dresses that molded to her body tightly. He learned how to put in the darts that accommodated her bust, and taper for her waist before flaring it out for her hips. Vivienne tried them all on and showed him where he'd failed in the craftsmanship and the elements of design. It was frustrating.

Often, he wondered why he'd bought the sewing machine. He'd been shopping and wanted clear, crisp, cheerful colors, not clothes that, even in the stores, looked like they needed a good wash and could inspire a suicide. They were all so drab and uninteresting. Extremely frustrated, he drove home with nothing. On the way he passed a sewing machine shop, did a u turn and an hour later had his own sewing machine. It was fully electronic and portable- it wasn't the cheapest. He also paid for a course of lessons so he could use it.

Unfortunately, there were no courses in making men's clothes, He hoped he could adapt after learning dressmaking. It all seemed so easy. Until he started. He was the only one in his class. Vivienne gave him so much attention he was embarrassed. She had many other students in other classes, but none were beginners like him. He was determined and took a lot of work home.

It took a while for him to be comfortable with the lessons. Her constant attention and the warm press of her breasts on his back, as she showed him things, became familiar and welcome. His last dress was a little one. When she returned to the room wearing it, Vivienne was delighted and pirouetted in front of him.

"Beautiful!" she told him and as she paraded before him she felt the fit and surveyed it for faults. She stopped and with a quick movement pulled her panties down and off.

"It doesn't need panty lines!" she explained and continued to show him how he'd got the dress's architecture right. She bent forward and back and explored how right the fit was. When she squatted they both saw the dress ride up her thighs. She giggled.

"Very sexy. I think it's important I keep my legs together," and in front of him Vivienne spread them. The little red dress rode further up her thighs, For a moment there was a flash of pink and manicured hair. "Very sexy," she said again and laughed, "A girl can easily show what she's got and it's so accidental."

For the rest of the two hours she kept the dress on and her panties off. She teased and was provocative while they went into the elements of jacket and coat design. With a jacket in her lap she showed him glimpses of more than how the jacket was lined.

As ever, the essence of style is tight measurements and she talked of how to add space for the clothes under the jacket. It was difficult concentrating on the prosaics while Vivienne sat in front and her legs opened and closed. It was apparent she shaved her labia and left a carefully managed thatch above. He had a feeling he was being tested. Dressmaking is very much about propriety and managing indiscretions.

Jackets and coats are difficult. They can easily look frumpy. The elegance of a tight cut is limited by practicality. Padding is added sensitively. A woman looks wonderful with her shoulders squared a little but excessive padding looks terrible. No woman wants to look like a soldier. Elegant is the word and the dressmaker's endeavor, he was told. Coats are also expensive to make because the fabric costs a fortune. He was pleased to achieve proficiency and be able to move on.

The contrast of dressmaking with his masculine, working world of shoveling sand and cement into a mixer and carting hods* of cement to the bricky was enormous.

The ambience of the lessons was awkwardly comforting. It was never a bloody needle or the fucking thread and there was always a "duck on the pond"*. At his dressmaker's lessons he couldn't fart roof lifters or belch the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star". It required constant vigilance. His fingers had become a lot more nimble. His work mates saw him using hand cream along with gloves and were polite but concerned.

His interest in dressmaking increased. The lessons and challenges of them were consuming. He had the constant thought of her long black hair tickling the back of his neck while her breasts moved across his back. She often showed him techniques. He shivered with the recollection. Her encouraging voice and generous smile were always with him. Her lithe body demonstrating the proficiency of his skill was enduring. She always told him, "It's not ours- it's yours. You made it." Thoughts of her generosity, honesty and dignity rolled around in his head continually. She often laughed and was frequently tough. She was beautiful. He loved the culture. It was a long way out of his league as a brick layer's laborer.

Making trousers was challenging. He'd never thought so many things had to be considered. As with dresses the drop of the fabric had to be considered. Areas of reinforcement were important to provide sufficient wear from the item. He was interested in pockets and ensured the fabric for them was strong. As Vivienne demonstrated, their placement was important. She stood in front of him in her panties as he measured. He made many pairs of trousers and pants. For every pair he used the cloth tape measure and she showed him the manners of using the end with the long metal piece to measure her inner leg. She ensured he became familiar with the process.

The panties she wore became increasingly brief and transparent. He never deviated from the tasks and methodology of dressmaking. She showed him the elements of cut, how elegance was important along with the freedom to be able to move while wearing it. Too often, she explained, trousers made it uncomfortable to do many things. One certainly wouldn't squat. He learned how to make a sturdy belt too that was appropriate for the pants. Vivienne was pleased with his progress and proficiency. After a few months she felt sufficiently secure in moving to the next challenge.

When the bra making lessons started, Vivienne wanted to know how he would make one. He told her he'd get a pattern. She said, as a dressmaker, he should be able to draft his own. He sat as her fingers undid buttons and he watched as her shirt fell from her shoulders. She looked back at him and challenged him to look at the bra she was wearing.

"This is a very good bra," she told him, and then went through the reasons as to why. Vivienne showed him how the cups were smooth and rounded without puckering, of how they hid her nipples and enhanced the shape of her breasts. For some time she talked about the cut, the engineering and so many things. She removed her bra and they looked at the inner surface of the cups. She showed him how to find pressure points by looking for the indents on her breasts.

They worked on bras for a long time. They're difficult to make. Initially, Vivienne insisted he show her how he'd make one. He was embarrassed and shy. She laughed and helped when he put her breasts, one at a time, in a full bucket of water so the displaced water was caught in a bowl. From that they measured the volume and substituted the water with modeling clay to shape it appropriately. They stretched fabric over, pinned it into place and with a marking pen worked out where the seams were to be.

She said it was the most comprehensive plan she'd seen and the finished bra was the best any student had made. He was very flattered with the praise. Vivienne also said she'd never had so much fun making a bra. When she tried it on she said it was almost perfect. Later, she removed it and they both carefully checked her breasts for pressure points.

Then she showed him the correct way. He didn't like it as much and understood his method more. Vivienne thought it funny and said perhaps he should continue with it. They made many bras and her generosity in being his model was greatly appreciated. She once said, with a wry smile, her breasts had never been handled so much. He was embarrassed by the observation.

The course was coming to an end and he wanted some way to show her his appreciation. He decided to make a complete outfit for her. It was challenging to decide what to make.

He never imagined they'd make panties. Some times, in coordinating clothes, underwear needs to be integrated. Specific underwear is difficult to find. Vivienne started talking about the gusset. She lifted her dress to show him and went through the elements of the design. He was surprised when she slid them off to show him the construction and how to measure. It was very clinical and professional, particularly when they examined her skin for pressure points. Embarrassingly, his hands shook when he took her measurements. She shivered and spread her legs when he placed the cold tape measure on her bare skin.

He made many pairs of panties. Initially they were conservative but with each their brevity increased as they experimented with the cut. He made G strings too and they were surprisingly difficult. Vivienne tried them all on and with each they went through the elements of cut, fit and design.

His last lesson was much anticipated. He didn't want a last lesson. The dressmaking classes had been a lot of fun and he'd learned so much. He took the outfit he'd made for her at home. It was the most adventurous dress he'd made.

They'd completed the course, there was nothing more Vivienne could teach him. She gave him his certificate and a very good reference. He gave her a polite kiss of thanks and his gift. Vivienne slowly read the card which thanked her for the excellent education he had received. She carefully unwrapped her gift. When she opened the box Vivienne was delighted. The little yellow dress was carefully wrapped. She held it up to see the gold mesh inserts and the daring cut. She looked at the matching jacket. There was a tear in her eye.

Carefully she looked at the workmanship. He knew the color was adventurous. Few women could wear it, but with her olive skin she could. She looked at the top of the dress and the bra incorporated into it so inconspicuously. Obviously her cleavage would be very exposed. The gold mesh inserts demanded an all over tan and no panties. The hem was so high it would be a challenge. Vivienne weighed it in her hands. He watched her eyes dart over it, anxious that she approve. The silence was deafening. Slowly she raised her hands over her head.

"Dress me," she whispered. She stood in front of him and raised her arms further to indicate he should start. He cautiously undid a button on her shirt. One by one he undid the buttons. With each she undid one of his. Slowly they unbuttoned each other and with her arms raised he pulled the shirt over her head. She took off his, stood and waited for him to take off her bra.

He was close as he put his arms around her and with shaking hands fumbled at the hooks. Close enough that she undid his belt and jeans. It was surprising he was so slow removing her bra, he was almost as fast making one. As she felt the support being replaced by his cradling hands she stooped to push down his jeans and underwear.

It was gratifying her guess was confirmed, he was generously endowed and she wrapped her hands around to feel the throb. Vivienne quickly pushed him back against the work bench next to the overlocker and he sat on it. With her hand on his chest she pushed him back and examined him. As he pulled off her belt she fell to her knees and took off his pants. He struggled to get her skirt off.

His cock throbbed as she examined it, felt its warmth and hardness against her cheek. She gave it a stroke and another. Her skirt was tight. He had it unbuttoned but with her bending over it was locked in place. Vivienne looked at his testicles, large and rounded in their wicker of wrinkles. He was hairy with a tidy nest that seemed to ensure the comfort of the inhabitants. She watched as his penis dipped with his pulse. He tried to reach for her breasts but she backed away and gave his cock a few strokes. He tried to warn her with guttural grunts that had no words.

She was beautiful, her breasts, sculpted with their large nipples, heaved with every breath. His cock felt so hot as it twitched. She stroked him again and suddenly he knew. He tried to stop it and squeezed his legs together tight. He tried to take her hand away. The one cradling his balls gave them a squeeze. He reached for that hand and she gave his cock another stroke. He didn't have enough hands. Another stroke and he came as his penis danced its bobs to the rhythm of his heart. The first shot laced her hair, the second went over her breasts and after, she sucked him out with her mouth. She giggled as she watched the beginning diminution and felt the rush of what she'd done.

He was surprised, shocked and disappointed. He'd hoped for more than that and interpreted her actions as charitable. The humiliation of it.

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Two and a half months later he received an invitation to a Valentine's Day fashion parade. He was uncertain whether to go. He wondered whether he was invited genuinely or whether it was out of obligation. At the last moment his curiosity had to be satisfied and he went. Because he was uncertain of his welcome he was dressed for work, he didn't bother to ask for more of the day off.

He was late. The people on the door wouldn't let him in and questioned how he obtained the pass. He was embarrassed he wasn't better dressed. It surprised him so many were dressed extremely well and he wondered whether it was for Valentine's Day or the fashion parade. It took a long time to get past the door. He stood at the back of the hall and watched. There were many women around him, dressed to impress with large proportions of their breasts exposed, and a few men, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

On the stage was a woman who was describing the dress of an awkwardly strutting model on the cat walk. The outfit was conservatively good, but not one he'd have made. It wasn't tight enough and lacked adventure. The description was carefully complimentary. More models in more dresses, they walked on to the stage, up the catwalk, gripped a chair and stood a moment, then walked back. He politely clapped his hands as, one by one, they made their way off stage. He thought the chair was very similar to the one he'd used at his tutorials. The audience was generous with its applause. The show was winding up.

Then there was an announcement of some thing special to come, for Valentine's Day. The winner of the award for the best creations at the college for the year. The lady who was doing the announcements started talking of a student she had accepted more than two years ago. For the first time he could see the college principal. She said she had expected two lessons would be the limit, that he'd be discouraged and quit. There was a gasp when his gender was identified. She talked of how determined he was and how he'd been so quick to learn. He wasn't sure if it was him she was talking about. It must have been some one else as he'd never seen her.

There was a gasp from the crowd. Entering the stage from the right a model walked. She was in a little red dress. He recognized it as his. It was exciting to see. He'd never seen the woman before, but she was confident as she made her way towards him. When she got to the chair the description of the dress finished and description of the underwear began. The model stripped off the dress, to the gasp of the audience, and with it in her hand she strutted around in his red underwear. He could see the fabric was sufficiently sheer there was little left to the imagination.

There was a further gasp. He recognized the little yellow dress and jacket. Vivienne was on the stage wearing it. She looked confident and with a jaunty walk proceeded along the cat walk. She undid the buttons on the jacket half way along and a little further removed it to be held in her hand. Through the gold mesh panels he could see the sides of her breasts. The dress gave the impression it was cradling her breasts with the contradiction they could fall out at any moment. As she walked on the elevated catwalk, the dress barely protected her modesty. Her heels struck the catwalk and her breasts rippled. She was beautiful.

When Vivienne got to the chair she sat in it with her legs elegantly crossed and began to talk about him. She told of how, when he arrived for his first lesson, with the brand new, never used, sewing machine, he knew nothing. She had thought he'd last for two lessons. He said he only wanted to make a pair of pants with big pockets.

There was laughter from the audience. She told them of how he persevered and announced the little yellow dress was the winner of the year's medal of excellence. She called it "The Chrysalis" and declared it as being highly appropriate for Valentine's Day. Through the mesh every one could see there were no panties. The model who was wearing his red underwear returned. There was silence for a moment as everyone heard the high heels approach.

"David. I need to see you." Vivienne made her plea as the woman in red held out her hand. With the help Vivienne climbed to stand on the chair. As she held her arms out to the sides the model in red took the tabs from the hem of the little yellow dress in her hand, turned and with the loud click of her high heels she strutted back along the cat walk to the stage and out behind the curtains.

There were murmurs in the crowd as the audience watched the thread trail behind the loud heels of the model and the mesh panels unravelled. There was no looking back for reassurance as Vivienne's hips were revealed. There was silence in the hall with only the metronome of heels, as the mesh unravelled to show her waist. It continued to her ribs, one by one they came into view and suddenly, with a gasp from the crowd, the panels had unravelled and the remainder of the dress fell to the floor. Apart from her heels and elastic topped stockings Vivienne was naked. The silence was deafening. Then the clapping and cheering began while a few people exited the room in a huff.

The model returned trailing the thread. When she was in front of Vivienne she held out her hand to return the thread. Vivienne took it and looked down to discover she was naked. She put her hand over her mouth and with eyes as big as saucers she theatrically conveyed her shock. The girl in red helped Vivienne down from the chair. They briefly tried to cover Vivienne with the thread but together demonstrated it was hopeless.

The audience laughed with the antics. The model in red then put her finger over her mouth as though to think and after a few moments suddenly stripped off her bra and panties. Both then strutted, smiling, back to the stage and made their exit. As the crowd clapped, shouted and whistled, David left. He wished he had dressed properly. While he drove home he speculated about what the event meant. He arrived home to find three voicemail messages waiting for him.