Good Pet

At this moment, I’m feeling a strange mix of anger, excitement, frustration, and desire. I really don’t know why, other than to say it’s because of how demanding she is with me, even while she knows I outrank her.

“Fine,” I say, pushing the slacks into her hands. “I’ll let you buy those pants for me, but only because you want to.” These words come off as snappish — not as sexy as I hoped, but I make up for that by slipping my hand across the back of her pants as I walk by. The blush that flares on her cheek a second later lets me know she got the message loud and clear: two can play at that game, and I’m not done with you. Not yet. Not ever.

Chapter Forty-One

Melissa

From the first store we visit, where I’ve just bought Tommy the sexiest, most casual slacks I think I’ve ever seen in my life and am now having fantasies about when he “models” them for me later, we head into some more shops. These ones are more along the professional, business wear spectrum. Shops I’m familiar with myself, as I’ve used them to build my own wardrobe over the years.

But I’ve never gone there to try to shop for someone with Tommy’s measurements. Something that proves to be difficult, if not impossible, the minute we walk in, and the clerk gets to look at us. Especially when I explain to him that we’re here for Tommy, not for me.

The clerk’s an older guy with quite a tan on him but looks more like a track-and-field dad who is just working this day job until he has to go pick up his kids at school. He’s dressed nicely, but he has a down-to-earth quality like someone who’s knowledgeable about fashion but doesn’t necessarily live and breathe it.

He looks Tommy over and says, “That’s going to be quite tough to do. To find something in his size that looks nice, but I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

At this, Tommy looks so embarrassed, like he is about to die or run out of the shop crying. This is where I reach over and hold his hand. As I do, he leans over and whispers painfully, “They don’t have anything in my size! This is exactly why I don’t go shopping at trendy places! They don’t have anything nice for fat asses like me!”

I slap him on the arm, scolding him. “You hush,” I say, “and as for that fat ass of yours, I’m going to kiss it, then spank it if you don’t behave!” I continue, “Let’s just go back there and see what he has before we say those kinds of things, hm?”

Tommy nods but doesn’t look optimistic. Begrudgingly, he lets me lead him after the store clerk, who has all but disappeared behind the racks of suits, dress shirts, and other kinds of jackets. There are compartments in the wall for ties, cufflinks, bowties, and other accessories. We pass all of these, and head toward a part of the store labeled as “big or tall” and come to a stop.

There, the selection isn’t great. There are a few suits, and a few different designs, but not nearly the selection and pizzazz of the ones further up in the store. The ones for men with smaller dimensions. I’ve never felt so angry or ashamed of being so skinny in my life. I’ve never been so aware of how little options there are for people like Tommy.

Poor baby! Now I feel like crying. Maybe it wasn’t a lack of love or trying on his part when it came to his wardrobe! Maybe that was really all that was available for him in his size!

As the store clerk is showing us through the various designs — not a very time-intensive or laborious task — I’m not really paying attention. I’m lost in my own angry thoughts. There shouldn’t be this little to choose from! It’s a goddamn crime! What? Are at-weight people the only ones worthy of looking worth anything?

I guess so. I realize that now, but I can’t believe that’s the reality. I can’t believe men like Tommy are so out of options. You shouldn’t have such dismal choices. You shouldn’t have such limited palettes of color or rolls of fabric to choose from. You should have the whole wide world at your disposal, no matter your size. No matter your proportions, you should be able to dress like a prince or a king, if you want to!

“Is that really all you have?” I ask, still not able to believe that we’re down to a total of four suits to choose from.

“Yes, miss,” answers the store clerk. “I’m sorry. We just don’t often have customers coming in here with such…”

“Fat asses?” says Tommy looking a bit like he did down on the legal aids’ floor. A little bit of red glittering in his eyes.