"The Dandy & the Cub" 2
- Southern Suitor
- Feb 4, 2022
- 6 min read
Updated: May 25
Age Difference | Romance | Forced Dress
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This started off as a story I posted to a suit & tie fetish forum years ago, and I’ve reworked it into a longer slow-burn romance. A construction worker learns about a whole new side of himself through a crush on a well-dressed architect.
Continuing from the previous chapter, Gabe takes up Robert’s invitation. Arriving at Robert’s office, the young construction worker expects a striptease and a hard pounding—only to find something different awaiting him. His sense of his fetish continues to develop.
Gabe could barely concentrate. Did that all just happen? Did Robert just play footsie with Gabe in front of a whole coffee shop? And did Robert just leave his buttery soft Belgian loafers on Gabe’s feet? He would have to return these shoes, after all, as asked.
Still lightheaded from it all—the flirting in public, the complement from this immaculately dressed hot-as-fuck—fuuuuuccckkk—what if Robert wanted to drop trou and plow Gabe atop a boardroom table? Gabe’s cock raged against his jeans, thinking hard about every last inch of that man’s hairy, powerful body beneath that beautiful suit, and how close he was to finally getting to see it. Fuck. He couldn’t hold it together. He toyed with his calculus assignment, didn’t finish, then packed up his laptop, trying to keep Robert’s loafers on.
A nervous chill, despite the afternoon heat. Excitement. Robert’s loafers stretched out quickly on Gabe’s feet, his sheer hosiery allowing his soles to settle into the buttery soft insteps, which parted from his heels as he paced the sidewalk. Even feeling the impressions of Robert’s toes in the soft leather—fuck, why didn’t Gabe ever think he was into this sort of thing?
It was a walk of a few blocks. Gabe thought about it, this whole situation. Why was the elegant architect suddenly interested in Gabe? He called him “handsome.” And he said it like he meant it, like it wasn’t a word he said about just anybody. Robert must have seen Gabe on the construction site, on the subway. It was months ago, but did Robert remember him? Was it because of the jacket, the sheers, the loafers? It had to be. Those were the only difference, thought Gabe.
He checked the address. “Renewal Architecture.” This was the place.
Oversized photographs lined the lobby walls, projects the firm had created. How many construction workers spent their hours on these grand municipal buildings, or schools, or hotels?
“May I help you?” asked someone at the front desk. “We’re about to close.”
“Oh, uhh—” Gabe held up Robert’s card, fingers trembling. “I wanted to talk to, uh, Mr. Bruce?”
The attendant gave Gabe the directions, as well as a puzzled look. Why would this young man dressed like a business casual college student want to see Mr. Bruce? Oh, yes. Architecture. Right this way. Gabe followed down a few halls, up a flight of stairs, and finally found Robert’s door.
Gabe knocked. Robert’s velvety voice answered: “Come in, and close the door behind you, please.”
It was not as big of an office as Gabe imagined. He was hoping for some roomy corner office, but this one was as chic as he could wish for. One wall gleamed with photographs of skyscrapers. On the others stood bookshelves, and a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows filtered by blinds. Robert reclined in his chair, turning a tumbler in his hand, with his legs crossed on the desk, both of Gabe’s loafers flexing on his toes, the arches of his sheer socked feet peeking above the cordovan. The blinds were pulled shut. Draped over the chair on the other side of the desk was a garment bag.
“Architecture?” asked Gabe with a playful smirk.
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Bruce, getting up from his chair, sliding his feet back into Gabe’s loafers, and unstoppering a bottle. “Scotch?”
“Uhh, yes.” Gabe remembered what Robert said a few hours ago, about how he liked being called sir. “Yes. Sir.”
Robert’s mustache twisted with his usual smirk as he poured Gabe a glass. “To newfound interests.”
Gabe clinked his glass against Robert’s. “Newfound interests?”
“Indeed. Cheers.”
Gabe swished the fiery spirit on his palette. He fought back a grimace. This was not like the screwdrivers and vodka cranberries his friends would buy him at the gay bar. But something about this moment made Gabe relax. Like he was suddenly part of an exclusive little club consisting just of Robert, and himself. A strange bonding, over a strange thing that no one else in that café understood. Letting his soles sink into Robert’s loafers, Gabe rocked from his toes to his heels, loving the way the warm, sweaty leather felt after enclosing his feet all afternoon.
Robert returned to his seat, reclining and crossing his legs on the desk, letting one of Gabe’s loafers dangle right off. “Enjoying those shoes of mine, young man?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” Robert pointed to his desk chair, where a garment bag hung. “I have . . . other items for you to enjoy, if you’re so inclined.”
Gabe stepped over to Robert’s desk, picking up the garment bag. “This?”
“Yes.” Pinching his tie again, Robert ran his hand along the silk blade, his chest swelling, stretching the lavender stripes of his dress shirt with a sigh. “I stopped by my house on the way back to the office, and picked out something for you to try on.”
Gabe looked around. There wasn’t a closet or anything here. It was just Robert’s office, his bookshelves, and his desk with a chair on either side. “Here?”
The architect chuckled. “Yes. I wanted to see how it all fits.”
Gabe’s heart pounded. Plenty of horny strangers had forced his clothing off before in the smoky corners of clubs. But this felt different, this clean office, with an executive relaxing at his desk to enjoy a one-on-one show. Maybe this was a dom/sub thing? Robert would stay perfectly done up in that gorgeous suit of his, and watch Gabe flaunt his junk? But then there was the getting dressed part. That part weirded Gabe out . . . but also excited him. He was about to try on something from someone else’s closet. Forbidden. Unattainable. Gabe looked down at the garment bag. He undid the zipper. Lustrous pinstripes peeked out, charcoal gray, with a pink striped shirt. Contrasting collar. French cuffs already fixed with silver knot cufflinks. Pink braces. A thick, lustrous pink tie in grenadine. As Gabe pulled out the hanger, his fingers rested on the cool silk of a pink paisley lining. All business on the outside, and all dandyish beauty within.
“I can see from the look on your face that you’re surprised,” said Robert, reclining in his chair and crossing his feet on the desk.
“This . . . it’s beautiful,” said Gabe, stroking the lapel, relishing its velvety texture. Was this really for him? He remembered how he felt in that menswear shop months ago, intimidated, fascinated by the finery he could never afford.
“I had a feeling you’d like it. It’s an outfit I outgrew years ago. My hairline receded at the same rate that my waistline advanced.” He massaged his belly beneath his beautiful lavender French cuff shirt. “I was curious to see whether it would fit you.”
Gabe pinched another button of his shirt, then let it open. He did not have the bank account to wear a garment like this. Hell, he didn’t even have the body: hands calloused from the gym and the construction site. Did Robert really think he could pull off something like this? Gabe’s eyes roamed over the folds of lustrous fabric lying before him, the pinstripes like tiny threads of pearls. “Why did you want me to try this on?’
“An experiment,” replied Robert, thumbing the dimple of his tie knot.
Setting down his glass, Gabe pulled the trousers out of the hanger. Robert was being coy, so two could play at that game. Gabe lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not just to see if it fits, is it.”
Again, Robert brushing the edge of his tie blade, purring. “I’ll let you decide my motives.”
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