The "New Suit" - a mature woman's advice to a young, hung man on how to keep his large tool hidden.
My name is Erik, and you may have read my other stories - "German Lake Adventure" and "Annual Checkup with Dr. Cody". I would appreciate any comments regarding these adventures and the one that follows below.
This event dates to a time when I was given advise by an older woman on ways to "conceal" my larger than average manhood when the situation requires it - I was about thirty-two at the time.
For the benefit of those of you who have not read my other escapades, I am five foot eleven, and weigh about 170lb. I have a toned average build and I try to keep in shape with cardio and weightlifting. I come from a northern European country, have blond curly hair, and blue eyes. No chest hair to speak off, but my arms and legs are blondish hairy. I take care of my teeth and have nice facial features - I would consider myself above average attractive.
I have an exceptionally large, circumcised penis with testicles that produce and extraordinary amount of semen. I credit the size of my penis with the fact that even though it's very meaty, I can still achieve a rock-hard erection when properly stimulated. A former girlfriend once placed a cock ring around the base of my penis and under my scrotum, and with her thumb pushed hard down on the base of my cock with a measuring tape, it towered 11.25 inches with a girth of almost 9 inches around the trunk of the shaft. Also, my ejaculations can be intense as I have an oversized bulbocavernosus muscle - if I may be a little clinical. I had to do some homework on the matter as I once shocked another girlfriend with the amount of semen I would "drench" her with during intercourse.
I was on a ten-day business trip to Tennessee for a few upcoming business meetings and networking events at one of my company's sister companies in the outskirts of Memphis, Tennessee.
Business suit-styles had changed, and I had not been wearing a suit back home over the past few years as work and meetings back home were business casual - I needed a new suit! I had specifically waited to make a bunch of purchases until I would again travel to the US, to take advantage of the weakened dollar compared with my local currency.
It was a Thursday just after lunch, and I had been recommended to a local men's store in a smaller strip mall just outside town. The store was not crowded, and there were only two associates in attendance - an older man, and a woman in her mid-sixties, I am guessing. Since I was buying a man's suit, I instinctively approached the older gentleman first. He, however, was occupied with what looked like a customer looking for a bunch of golf outfits.
"Tabitha? Could you help this young man" - he calls out to his female associate who was in the process of folding and laying back some clothes on the racks and shelves.
"Certainly!" - she exclaimed, as she put things down and approached me.
"Hello darlin'! What can I do for you today?" - she addressed me with a twangy southern accent and somewhat manufactured smile on her face.
"How about a new suit - a business suit?" - I utter, with a smile on my own.
"Of course, let's see what we have available" - she said as she sized me up for size, running her eyes over my person from top to bottom.
After rummaging through a few racks, she grabs a standard blue suit - nothing special, but something that looked perfect for my needs.
"There! Why don't we try this one first." - she says, with a confident voice in her abilities to find a suit that would fit, while at the same time directing me towards the changing / outfitting room area.
There were three dressing rooms at this store - two smaller changing booths and one larger room, designed with ample space for a tailor to take clothing alteration measurements. She directed me to the larger room, which was about ten by fifteen feet in size, as she no doubt would need to make some alterations. There were two body sized mirrors hanging on the walls - one on the front facing a small platform and one immediately to the left. The small platform was about eight inches off the ground and used for the customer to stand on when being measured for alterations. There was a swivel stool in the corner and a clothes rack on the opposite side of the wall.
"My name is Tabitha, but most folks around here call me Tabs - and I ain't got no idea why old man George insists on calling me Tabitha" - she says with somewhat of a humorously irritating tone in her voice.
"Hi, I'm Erik" - I respond in kind.
"Nice to meet you, Erik. Let me know when you've put the suit on, and I will measure for any alterations that are needed" - she says and leaves, closing the door behind her.
Yes, her nametag said Tabitha - just as the older gentleman had called out to her. A larger than average size woman - about five foot eight and roughly 180 pounds, I was estimating.
Knowing that I was going to shop for a business suit, I was wearing a white crew neck undershirt, a light blue fitted business shirt, and jeans. I proceeded to remove my jeans and jumped into the suit pants and jacket she had given me. The hems on the pants were not folded up and were extending well beyond the ankles of my feet. The jacket arms were also hanging an inch or so down over the end of my wrists.
I waited a minute or so and lightly called her name through the door opening of the changing room;
"Tabs! I am all set!"
After our brief introduction, I felt comfortable enough to call her by her nickname as the southerners are known for their quick move to casual friendships with complete strangers - "southern hospitality" they call it.
"Be right there darlin" - she responds.
A few moments later, she enters the room with her tailor's tape and chalk in hand
"OK, let's see - please turn around and let me look at you" - she commands while using her pointer finger in a swirling motion - eyeing me out for any immediate noticeable changes before taking any actual measurements.
She steps up a few times, makes a few quick chalk lines on both arms sizes and as I turn around, another few chalk lines on the back of the suit jacket - each time taking a few steps back to get a better overview.
"How's the feel around the waist - it looks a little loose?" - she asks, seeking affirmation of the chalk marks to bring in the waist in just a little.
I confirm noddingly.
"Good, I think we got the jacket just OK. Please take it off I will measure out the pants."
As I hand her the jacket, she tosses it lightly on the bench to the right - it lands perfectly with both sides hanging symmetrically on each side as if she had done it hundreds of times.
"Sorry, my knees aren't what they were used to" - she says as she pulls up the swivel stool and positions herself it in front of me preparing to go over any necessary pant alterations.
Tabs was a typical southern American woman. Her hair was colored blond, and I could see faint gray roots from the top as she bent down. She was wearing a bright red woman's suit with a matching vest - it appeared to be a little undersized for her as she was bulging out in various spots on her body. A two-tiered, waterfall ruffled silk blouse was tight on her upper body. Her square glasses were stylish but oversized for her face - perhaps to hide her ageing eye lines. The glasses were attached to a chain around her neck - a little old fashion, but still stylishly acceptable for a woman her age. There was a large bosom hidden under the blouse, but it was hard to make out exactly how big, as her breasts were nicely tucked away by what looked like a heavily wired bra. She was wearing sheer silky thick pantyhose with red medium high-heeled shoes to match her suit color. Her nails, albeit short, looked fake and were elaborately painted in colors that matched the rest of her outfit.
"Would you mind stepping up on the stool honey?" - she asks.
After placing herself comfortably on the swivel chair, she scoots slightly forward and begins by placing the tape measure to the outside of my right hip and pulls it down all the way to the bottom pant leg. She repeats the procedure on the left side and makes white chalk marks at the bottom hem for the proper outside length.
"How is the tightness around the inner thigh area" - she says, as she lightly places her hands on my right and left thighs - her thumb ever so slightly pushed in on both sides to check for fit.
"It seems fine" - I respond.
"OK, let me check the length - measure twice, sew once as they say!" - she utters as she looks up at me with a smile.
With the tailor's tape in her left hand and her thumb firmly on the top end of the strip, she pushes it firmly on the inseam of my left groin - and proceeds to stretch it down all the way to the bottom of the pant leg - again making chalk marks in a few spots at the bottom of the hem. As with the outside, she double checks her measurement by releasing the grip of her tape measure - only to again regrip and reposition the end of the tape in my groin area.
Oh Crap!
