Read “Taylor’s Tailor, Chapter 1” for an intro. And, for a totally different look at Taylor’s exploits, read the “Deirdre’s Downfall” chapters. Just click on my name and go to the link. Feedback and votes are much appreciated.
After months of sexual abstinence following my divorce, buying a house in a new locale, and settling in, it appears that my self-imposed solitary life is changing for the better. My 40-year-old libido has been awakened by – of all people – my tailor, Judy, a gorgeous, petite, foreign-born Chinese woman who owns a dry cleaning shop. She’s a divorcee and mother of two grown daughters who, apparently, has forsaken men since splitting up with her husband. Not entirely by accident, a couple of nights ago we enjoyed one another in a passionate love-making session that ended my monk-like existence, leaving me pleasantly drained. And, with my ego strengthened from that experience, just yesterday I met the stunning, married, Italian-American manager of my new dentist’s office – Deirdre, or Dee Dee, as I call her – who responded very positively to my earnest flirting. I hadn’t openly pursued a woman in years! But this Dee Dee is so hot! I’ll be seeing
her
for my next dental appointment next Friday. But that’s another story.
Let me explain my enthusiasm. I met Judy, the 40-ish tailor who looks more like 20, over a week ago when I took a suit into her dry cleaning shop for altering. I’d lost 30 pounds during my drawn-out divorce and have 20 suits that need refitting. That could mean many weeks of sexual bonuses! Apologies for my arrogance. I sound like a hormone-driven college kid. But, for a guy who was about to check into a monastery, I’m sure it’s easy to understand my upbeat mood!
Judy confessed that she hadn’t had a man in a long time. She stated that one of her daughters, Amber – a 20-year-old college student whom I met on another day – had encouraged her for years to develop a romantic social life. Amber is another dreamy item. Fairly tall, about 5’7”, with a physique like the actress Kelly Wu, plus facial dimples, the young woman has a presence and voice that could make strong men weep. A beautiful Asian girl with dimples and a chin cleft! If only I were 150 years younger…or even just 15 years younger.
I should mention that I’m overeducated for what I do for a living: owning a home design business. I’ve traveled quite a bit, and – out of grad school – did a stint with an intelligence agency in Asia before settling into a career. In that shadowy line of work I was not the most compliant of field operatives. I fell in love with Noianh – a Thai woman resembling a goddess – and soon understood that “intelligence” doesn’t mix well with romance. The relationship ended tragically with her death. I’ll probably never know if I in any way caused it. What my tenure in Asia did develop, though, was a respect for and fascination with its people. Inscrutable as Asians may seem to the European mind, their native intelligence and pragmatic sophistication dwarf the human attributes that Anglos deem admirable.
Judy showed such sophistication immediately. She obviously had enjoyed our carnal coupling in her shop and, with charming candor, had offered to tailor one of my ill-fitting suits and deliver it to my home two days later on the weekend. Such remarkable service was not to be taken lightly. Conscious that I might offend her if I refused the generous offer, I naturally agreed. Of course, we both knew that we’d merely sampled one another on Thursday night. I, for one, was looking forward to further indulging my hunger for her luscious flesh on Saturday, a day when her daughter Amber filled in for her at the dry cleaning establishment.
One of my ongoing upgrading projects at the new house is landscaping the back yard. So, on Saturday I was up early, pulling out very old rosebushes and such that I wanted to replace with new, more natural greenery. At about eleven I heard the doorbell ring and, answering the door, welcomed Judy into my new abode. Of course, she’d brought the altered suit, but also had to make a second trip to her car for a lunch she’d made: a ginger shrimp dish and vegetables. She’d taken no chances, since I was Caucasian, and also had brought her favorite tea, rice which she’d later cook for us, and chopsticks. I think she was pleasantly surprised that I had chopsticks of my own, as well as a variety of bottled Asian sauces and more than one type of rice.
I conducted her on a tour of the house after she made tea, and she was impressed with its neatness, though my spartan, Mission-style and leather furniture is not necessarily consonant with typical Chinese taste. “You real neat guy, Tay-luh!” she said approvingly.
Judy wore simple clothing, which flattered her diminutive form. Her five-foot tall, 32B-22-34 frame was poured into black cotton pants and a short-sleeved, green, violet, and cream blouse with a high Chinese collar. The blouse had a keyhole opening that showed the tops of her buttery breasts. Apparently she was pleased with my reaction to the way she looked, since she’d smiled knowingly as she saw my eyes linger on the slopes of her creamy globes when arriving. She wasn’t wearing her attractive glasses, though when I looked closely at her black, slanted eyes, I noticed contact lenses. As usual, her jewelry was a bit overdone for my taste – with large diamond studs piercing her ears and fingers banded with several rings – possibly illustrating her desire to display the fruits of her business success, unburdened by a husband. On her feet were characteristic Asian flip-flops, yet one of her smooth, shapely ankles was encircled by a large-linked, gold anklet with a Chinese character hanging from it. Her finger and toenails were done in a violet polish.
I showed her what I’d been doing earlier in the backyard, and apologized for my soiled jeans, tee shirt, and smelly body. “You okay, Tay-luh,” she said, passing her nose close to my chest. “Smell like man!” she said, giggling softly. “You wan’ try on tai-luh suit now?” she asked.
“Maybe I should shower first?” I asked.
She said, “No!” vigorously shaking her head, as I took the suit into my bedroom to slip it on. I was mildly surprised that she followed me.
As I sat on a chair to pull off my boots, Judy glided to my king-sized bed and placed a knee on it, settling comfortably down to lean sideways on one bracing hand. She looked at me and asked, “Okay I watch?”
“Uhh, yeah.” I said, musing privately that this was the first woman I’d had in my bedroom since moving in. I also knew that the old rules had changed between Whites and Asians. Here was an extremely attractive, foreign-born woman who – even in my lifetime – typically would have been in a White man’s room solely to service his appetites. As in a Joseph Conrad novel, she might hope for a few dollars, pounds or francs for her aging parents and multitude of siblings, as the White man filled her body, feeling an ambivalent combination of guilt and payment for racist, colonial sins visited upon her almond-eyed people.
Regardless, Judy could probably buy and sell me at this point. She might even suffer from some deep, socio-psychological perversion, but nevertheless she was here because she
wanted
to be, not because she
had
to be. I hadn’t in any way – at least to my perception – urged her into my inner sanctum, my bedroom. As I peeled off my tee to replace it with a long-sleeved shirt with a collar, her eyes pored over my chest and shoulders, my torso being one of my better features. “You look good, Tay-luh,” she breathed quietly. I dropped my jeans and my flaccid prick stuck through the fly of my boxers, inviting her glance. I tucked it in quickly, and slipped on the newly- tailored trousers, buttoning and zipping them quickly. “You wait. Get pins for nex’ suit,” she said, and went to the living room, returning with her purse, from which she extracted a box of pins and tailor’s chalk. The suit that I’d put on, the one she’d altered the previous day, fit perfectly.
“Now, othuh suit,” she said, opening my closet and cooing, “Very nice!” as she stroked the material of several of my garments. She stripped me of the one I’d tried on – carefully hanging it up – and selected a wool, charcoal pinstriped number…another of my favorites that needed tailoring. I walked clear of the bed and she murmured, “I do wi’out mirror,” as she knelt and her small, expert hands smoothed the material against my butt, which she marked and pinned. In front, she pointedly rubbed my crotch gently to drape the material as she wished, and whispered, “You dress to right today,” her eyes flashing up at me as she exhaled and caressed the rising dick in my right pant leg. Handing me a pair of loafers that I’d slid under the bed, she said, “Put on shoes. Check length.” That finished, we did the coat.
Judy rose to smooth the coat across my back, mark and pin the gaps. She then moved to the front, checked the drape and – pushing me to look in the dresser mirror – asked, “Look okay?”
I nodded, and she looked up at me with soft eyes, “Okay…I finish.”
Jeezus, I was almost finished, too! My cock was throbbing as this little doll reached one small hand around the back of my neck and pulled my head down to her face. Even though she was on tiptoe, I was uncomfortable, yet we found a way. I cupped my hands under her ass and easily lifted her up, placing her, kneeling, on my high bed. Her long tongue probed me all the way to the back of my mouth, spreading her sweet, gingery taste on my gums, and she moaned languorously as our hands sought still unfamiliar places on one another’s bodies. I caressed her breasts and started to unbutton her blouse and she pulled back, saying, “No, I watch you!” I disrobed and her eyes missed nothing, taking first the pinned coat, then the pants, from me and draping them over the back of a chair. I doffed my shirt and stood before her only in my boxers, stretched and tented in one leg by my erection, with the red glans sticking out below. She reached out, lifting her head to point her chin toward my shorts, and wiggled her fingers, beckoning me to give them to her. I dropped them and handed them to her, and she held them to her nose, breathing in the sweaty, male odors I’d expelled during the morning’s garden labors. She then pointed for me to sit on a small loveseat not far from the bed.
She began to undress…so slowly as to cause pains in my subconscious as well as my groin. Her long lashes hid her eyes as she looked down at what her hands were doing: peeling the top of her pants over her hips, first one, then the other. When on the floor, she slowly lifted first one foot, then the other, out of each pant leg and – with a toss of her foot – sailed the pants gently to land on a chair. A pair of lacy, black bikini panties now covered her lovely treasure. In slow motion she looked at my erect cock, which I grasped and slowly wanked from base to tip. She unbuttoned her blouse with feathery touches, releasing each closure in slow motion as her curved, buttery thighs formed a delightful diversion by rubbing softly against each other, stimulating in me a faster stroking of my prick. Doffing her blouse, she tossed it on her pants and turned her back to me, reaching around to unclasp her matching black bra, which she shrugged off, letting it hang from one finger to the floor. In the soft bedroom light she looked over her shoulder at me, now engaged in slow masturbation, and tossed the bra onto the chair. She then eased her panties off – gradually, one leg at a time – to pool on the floor, just as she’d done with her pants.
