"The Dandy & the Cub 3:" Silver Linings.
- Southern Suitor
- Feb 4, 2022
- 33 min read
Age Difference | Romance | Bondage, Dominance, & Submission
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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. This is in a post-pandemic setting.
Over the next week, Gabe and Robert begin texting and video chatting, until Robert invites Gabe on a dinner date, lending Gabe some of his suits. After dinner, they end up at Robert's townhouse, where Gabe takes a little tour of Robert's closet, and learns some new ways to use ties, as well as the satin linings of Robert's jackets. Themes: Power dynamics, turning the tables, sheer sock and loafer play, tie play, bondage, gloves, cumming on suits.
It wasn’t even late that night, when Gabe got back home. He was in his linen jacket, jeans, button-down shirt, sheers, and loafers again. His own loafers, this time. Robert said he would get that suit drycleaned. And boy did it need it. And so did Robert’s. Ropes of seed all over the fine linings of each. “It happens more often than you might think. My drycleaners don’t ask questions anymore,” Robert had explained with a wink.
All through the subway ride, Gabe found himself struggling to figure out why this felt different. He kept wondering about what Robert’s house looked like, what his bed felt like. His closet. He imagined a huge walk-in closet lined with beautiful suits, shirts, shoes.
Not at all like this broom closet of an apartment, thought Gabe as he unlocked his door. Gabe pulled out his phone and flopped on the couch and texted. Just got home.
I am glad to hear it, texted Robert. Of course he used spelling and grammar and all that. For some reason, Robert insisted that Gabe let him know when he was back home. Gabe had never fucked a guy who texted him right after, who asked him to let him know when he got home like that. Always a one-shot—
Dang man that was so fuckkn hot. Gabe hesitated. Too eager? Too thirsty? He bit his lip, his thumb hovering over the “send” button. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it, the way Robert had pleasured him with that super expensive silk tie, wrapping the lustrous blade around his cock. Fuck it. He hit “send.”
The three dots danced at the bottom of the screen. Robert was taking a long time. Shit. Gabe grew nervous. The second-guesses began lining themselves up in his head. Should he have said that? Was it okay for him to admit how much he enjoyed it? Did he scare Robert off—
I am glad you found it pleasurable. I believe you mentioned that you are a student with a reputation for dressing well, but you also divulged that your wardrobe is small. After I take that suit to the cleaners, would you like to have it?
Friggin SAT words and shit. No wonder it took him forever to type all that. So Gabe texted him back. U sure? That suit was $$$ luxe & expensive.
Again, the three dots. Gabe could’ve gotten up and fixed himself a sandwich by the time Robert’s response came back. I am afraid that I am getting older. My waistline is advancing, and I would very much like to see my clothing admired by a younger lad who enjoys the finer things in life—both intellectually and viscerally, as your performance this evening indicated.
Gabe already had his shirt mostly unbuttoned, still rubbing and teasing his chest. Imagining Robert’s silky voice saying all those big words. Fuck. What had Gabe gotten himself into? He wanted to say all kinds of things to Robert right now. Horny, fuckin horny things—those, too, but—other things. Things like how much he wanted to feel Robert’s arms around him.
But no, too early, too soon. Gabe texted back, and found himself studying his grammar more than he was used to: I really enjoyed it. Wish I could dress like that all the time. But that one suit jacket is the only one I have.
Gabe sat on the couch for a few minutes, fixed on those dancing dots, before the reply:
I would be delighted to lend you my suits to try on as you explore this new side of yourself, young man. It turns out you are precisely the size that I was years ago, so it is fortunate that a minimum of tailoring is needed.
Fuck. Just the thought of that suit’s satin lining enfolding his body, hugging around his shoulders—cool, lush satin and wool and crisp cotton—the power and the luxury of it. He was about to text his usual fuck yeah, but he deleted it and went with this instead: I would be honored to do that sir.
Robert’s reply was swift: I am pleased when you call me ‘sir.’
*
A week passed, but Gabe couldn’t stop thinking about his encounter with Robert. Day in and day out he worked at the construction site, taking note of each suited guy who strolled by along the sidewalk. For the handful of actual suits and ties he noticed, he zeroed in on their tie knots, noting how sloppy and lackadaisical most of them were. None to Robert’s standards.
Each night of that week, he and Robert texted. Robert would send a picture of his outfit to Gabe, and Gabe would ask about every detail. Is that what they called a tab collar? A peak lapel? Chalkstripe or pinstripe? What kind of tie knot is that, sir? Holy fuck the lining on that suit jacket is phenomenal!
Robert responded to that last one: Droll, young man. Very droll. Gabe guessed that was Robert’s way of saying lol.
But by the end of the week the texts became Facetime chats. Gabe blushed at the first one. Robert’s living room looked like something out of a high-end catalogue. Gabe’s living room (which also served as his dining room and kitchen) had superhero posters. And Robert looked so fucking handsome. Fuck. Even at home the man wore his braces, shirts, and thick-knotted ties, and Gabe found himself mesmerized by the hint of Robert’s nipples tenting the fine shirt fabric.
Then came a text one day while Gabe was at the construction site: I have picked up the suit you wore during our first encounter from the drycleaners. When and how should I deliver it to you? I have also selected another suit of mine for you to wear for our next meeting, which I trust will be this coming Friday or Saturday, since you will be out of classes.
Next meeting? Shit. Gabe still hadn’t told Robert about his real dayjob: he still stuck to his story that he was just a student, rather than the fact that he actually worked at a construction site Robert’s architecture firm designed. The gap between the design office and the construction site kept him anonymous, at least. But the job had long and unpredictable work hours. Gabe pulled up his schedule.
Uhhh this may seem a bit weird sir but my next free day is Tuesday. Gabe winced. What if Robert wasn’t available? What if Robert had to work the next day? He imagined that Robert kept standard 9-5 hours—white-collar hours. But it was the best day for Gabe, so he hit send.
Gabe managed to finish another section of drywall before Robert got back to him: Done. I have put in a request to work remotely from my home office on both Tuesday and Wednesday.
Gabe’s cock twitched. Was this . . . was Robert inviting him to stay the night? Gabe texted back. Both Tuesday & Wednesday, sir?
Of course, young man. We will need the evening of one and the morning of the other. Will you be comfortable with staying at my place? I do not want you to be late for your classes.
Shiiiiiit. Fuck. A whole night of fucking. In suits. Like a fuckin porno, playing out in Gabe’s mind. Glancing around—thankfully, the foreman wasn’t in this hallway, so he had a moment to calm his hard-on in his jeans—Gabe checked his schedule. He had a Wednesday afternoon shift, so he translated that into his “I’m a college student” alibi: I don’t have class on Wed until the afternoon, so that will work. He thought for a moment, then added a “Yes Sir” at the end.
Robert’s reply was swift: Good man. I look forward to seeing you in your next suit.
“Your” next suit? But didn’t Robert say he was just “lending” his suits to Gabe? Biting his lip, Gabe glanced around the half-finished hallway, making sure the foreman didn’t catch him texting on the job. Uhh sir are you giving me these two suits? Because I can’t afford them. I can’t pay you back. I thought I was just borrowing them.
He hit “send,” then immediately regretted it. He didn’t want to assume that Robert was giving him whole pieces of his wardrobe to keep. But at the same time—he didn’t want to assume that Robert was giving him whole pieces of his wardrobe to keep, so he had to ask. Even if it sounded like he was pleading.
Robert got back to him: Yes, I am giving them to you. I would rather see someone enjoy them. They do me no good hiding in the back of my closet.
Thank you Sir. I wish I could do something to repay you.
I will not ask for repayment, texted Robert back, but I will ask you to do a favor. An assignment, if you will.
Gabe’s pulse quickened. He envisioned pictures. Maybe fully suited, with his cock out, for Robert to enjoy? Yes Sir anything Sir.
Between now and Tuesday, I would like you to think back on your childhood, your adolescence. When did you start feeling this way about suits and ties? What do you remember about them that first made you feel like this? You need not answer immediately, but I would like you to think about it. We will discuss it over dinner.
Whoa shit, thought Gabe. Like an English assignment or something? Do I need to like write this down Sir?
You may if you wish. I find that always helps. As I said, we will make it a topic of discussion after dinner. And I will consider that a “payment” for your suits, if you will. Will you do that for me, young man?
Gabe liked where this was going. No casual hookup had ever asked him about his childhood like this. Something about it felt . . . intellectual, like there was something more going on here. Like he was being studied. And he had to admit, that kind of turned him on, the idea of telling this handsome suited man about this whole suit and tie thing. Yes Sir.
Excellent. I will arrange dinner. I eagerly await our next liaison.
*
“So, uh, why do you keep doing that to your tie?” Camped out on his couch next to the wifi router, Gabe studied the jewel-toned medallion pattern of Robert’s arching silk on the screen of his phone. The video chat app didn’t allow him to see every detail, but he could tell that tie was at least three whole grocery bills.
“Oh, this?” mused Robert, tracing his thumb up and down the plump silk arching out of his waistcoat. “It’s . . . just a habit. A nervous tic, I suppose. Relaxing, but also . . . invigorating.”
“You do that every time we video chat,” remarked Gabe. He was in his tanktop, still sweaty from his gym session. That was how Robert requested him to appear: either in a full suit and tie—which Gabe did not have yet—or nearly naked. Gabe didn’t mind at all. “I mean, even when we’re not talking you can’t keep your hands off that tie.”
“No, I cannot.” The architect’s chest rose and fell with a satisfied sigh. “You’ll understand, I think, once you start wearing them more regularly.”
Why was Gabe’s dick chubbing again? He knew why. He was thinking about the date night they were about to have together on Tuesday. Reaching an arm over his head—Robert seemed to have a thing for sweaty pits—Gabe sprawled out on his couch, making sure his phone’s camera caught the whole motion for Robert to see. Gabe knew the answer to this next question, too, but he wanted to hear Robert say it again. “Didn’t you say you had a suit for me to wear on Tuesday?”
“I do. Two of them,” clarified Robert, massaging the thick double Windsor of silk at his neck. “One for you to wear for dinner on Tuesday night, and the other for you to wear to classes on Wednesday.”
Gabe still felt weird, lying about the fact that he wasn’t a full-time student, that his “classes” on Wednesday were really a shift at the construction site. He kept imagining that Robert would judge him for knowing that, knowing how lowly and blue-collar he was. Nowhere near classy enough for a guy like this. But Gabe kept up the act. “That’s going to get quite a few comments from my classmates.”
“Indeed. And I want you to tell me all about them.” A chuckle from Robert as he fingered the dimple of his Windsor knot. “But, more pertinently, I will bring both suits to my office tomorrow. I’m afraid I’m lined up in meetings all day, but perhaps you could stop by the lobby and pick up your suits? That way you’ll have them for Tuesday and Wednesday?”
Gabe let his nipple slip out of his tanktop, just to watch that gleam in Robert’s eye. “Yes sir.”
“Mmmm. You are one handsome specimen of a fellow.” Smiling, resting his hand on his belly—a solid trunk filling out his contrasting collar and cuff shirt—Robert sighed again. “But you know that I must log off now.”
Always meetings, or preparing for them. But Gabe had come to expect that by now. “I know, sir.”
Gabe wanted to add “I’ll miss you,” but he felt like that would be too much. But he did feel that twinge of longing.
“I do very much look forward to our next meeting in person, young man. If anyone asks when you pick up your suits tomorrow, explain to them that I am training you for a job interview.” Robert winked. “Oh, and don’t forget your assignment. Have you been thinking about your assignment?”
“Oh yeah,” Gabe added. The whole “think back to your adolescence bit” from the other day. Though, with a twinge of guilt, Gabe had to admit that he hadn’t given it much thought. Not a whole lot of headspace, between homework and the construction site. “I’ve been thinking about it, Sir.”
“Good man. I’d like you to recollect when you first started noticing suits and ties. We’ll discuss it after dinner.” Robert waved, cufflink glittering in the evening light. “Good night for now.”
“Good night, sir.” Gabe always both loved and hated this part, saying goodbye. “Hasta la vista?”
A smirk. Robert didn’t speak Spanish, but he bragged about speaking Italian. “Ci vediamo, signore.” He winked, wire-frame glasses catching the light over his eyes, then signed off.
Gabe looked down at his shorts, where his cock rose at full mast. What erotic fantasies lay in wait?
*
Ties. On the subway two days later, Gabe thought about shirts and ties, suits and ties. The very sight of them—their rarity—tugged at Gabe’s attention, pavlovian, arresting his sight at every glimpse. Earlier in the day, when he was doing interior work on a lobby of the new building at the construction site, Gabe kept peeking through the window at the sidewalk. Thanks to his video chats with Robert, he noticed more details now. Most of the business casual guys didn’t wear ties at all, of course: clumsy, baggy khakis, with clumsy, baggy shirts in beige, nondescript colors. Of the few who wore ties at all, most didn’t care. Gabe could tell: those were the guys who wore skinny ties, or ties that looked a bit rumpled and wimpy. Not at all like the broad silken blades that graced Robert’s neck and chest. Fuck, that barrel chest of his filling out his waistcoats and dress shirts. Gabe’s cock twitched just thinking about how that man’s full, hairy chest must look, how it must feel. But once or twice Gabe noticed a fellow or two who picked it up a notch: a navy suit, say, framing a rich green tie with a jewel-like texture. (“Gabardine,” Robert told him, when Gabe described that suit to him during his nightly video chat cum sartorial report.) Or a gray windowpane suit framing a thick-knotted tie in block stripes. (“Shantung,” Robert said, “possibly in a Windsor.”) Ties were so few and far between that even the sight of such a silk adornment just sent Gabe’s mind into a spiral of lust. Had to watch the electric hammer carefully as he worked.
But it wasn’t always like this, thought Gabe as he thumbed through one menswear Instagram after another on his phone, subway rattling around him. Suits and ties weren’t always so unusual. Gabe remembered his abuelo, who ran his own coffee shop, back before the pandemic. Gabe was thankful his grandparents had passed away peacefully, years before COVID hit: he had heard way too many stories of people losing their grandparents during that horrible year, when Gabe had to keep drilling away at a concrete overpass as an essential worker. Things were simpler when he was little, when he stayed at his abuelo’s house. When he was in middle school, he would stay with his grandparents while his mom cleaned motel rooms in the afternoons. There was the one time his uncle purchased a suit and loafers. A pinstripe suit, with a bright red tie. It was after his abuelo paid off his first business loan. He remembered how much he talked about it, how proud he was that he made it this far. Felt like a real CEO, so he celebrated by getting himself that suit.
Gabe concentrated. He remembered that Abuelo had to step out of the apartment to check on his shop, and Gabe was sitting there with his Nintendo DS in the living room, where he saw the suit hanging in its plastic wrap, the burgundy tassel loafers peeking under the chair, a crisp white French cuff shirt and that bright red tie, all hung out and ready. Why hadn’t Gabe thought about this memory before? He remembered it every now and then, but not like this. Not in this clarity, how he set down his gaming system, felt guilty somehow and checked to make sure his grandparents were really out of the apartment, before he excavated the suit from its plastic wrappings.
The bright red lining. Shocking red. Underneath the sobriety of the charcoal pinstripe exterior, Gabe noticed and remembered that satin lining, like a naughty secret hiding beneath the respectable appearance. Illicit somehow, kinky, liquid lustrous satin—too luxurious to qualify just as a “work” suit or “business” suit.” Gabe remembered slipping the coat off its hanger, and sliding it over his shoulders, hoping Abuelo wouldn’t step into the house and catch him redhanded with that red satin—
The subway car lurched to a halt. Gabe snapped back to attention, grabbed his bag, and headed to the gym for another workout. Another day, another workout, another night of homework for one of his math courses at the college. But also another day closer to his date with Robert.
*
After work the next day, Gabe dusted himself off and stuffed his safety vest and helmet in his gym bag. He still smelled like fresh paint when he stepped on the subway, but he figured he should at least not look like a construction worker when he set foot into the chic lobby of Renewal Architecture, the firm that Gabe was pretty sure Robert was the CEO of. Had to be, if he dressed in rich suits like that all the time.
Gabe recognized the oversized photographs decorating the lobby’s walls: all construction sites, formerly warehouses and the brick shells of factories, now converted into high-end lofts and retail, grand municipal buildings, a school, a boutique hotel—all projects into which Robert’s firm had breathed new life.
Gabe cleared his throat as he approached the receptionist. “Uh, hi.”
The receptionist looked up at Gabe with a smile. “Hi. May I help you?”
Gabe could see a garment bag hanging behind the receptionist’s desk. His cock twinged with anticipation. “Uh, yes. I’m here to pick up something from—I mean, uh, something for Mr. Bruce. You know, Robert Bruce.”
“Oh, yes! Right.” Getting up, the receptionist picked up the garment bag. “You mean this?”
“Yeah—I mean, yes. That’s the one.”
The receptionist smiled. “With Mr. Bruce’s style, you’re going to slay that interview.”
“Yeah, totally.” Gabe couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous at this part, having to pretend that Robert was giving him some kind of career talk. Robert wasn’t going to tell his coworkers he was about to have some kinky suited fun with the dusty college student who said he was interested in architecture. So he stuck with Robert’s cover story: training for a job interview, training for a job interview. Gabe cleared his throat, nodding, “Uh, yeah, I mean, Robert dresses like a million bucks all the time, right? I really hope just a piece of his wardrobe will make me confident, you know?”
That sounded fake, but the receptionist bought it. “I hope so, too. Here you go.”
*
The garment bag had four hangers. Gabe could tell as he swayed in the subway, supporting his gym bag in one hand, garment bag in the other. Heavy thing, too. Four lumps in the bottom of the bag suggested to Gabe that Robert had chosen two pairs of shoes for him to wear.
His cock tingled and throbbed the whole way. Fuck. Couldn’t he just sneak one peak at the outfit? But Robert’s instructions were clear: “I would like you to be surprised,” Robert had said during Facetime last night. Gabe didn’t want to disappoint.
Of course, there was no way for Robert to know whether Gabe followed his instructions to the letter. But something in Gabe wanted to. That added a whole new savor to it, knowing he was following Robert’s rules exactly, even when he wasn’t being watched.
So Gabe made it to the gym. He had one hour to work out, change, and meet Robert at Pique—some fancy tapas bar about two blocks away. Gabe wasn’t one of those “work out in jeans and boots” kind of guys, but made an exception for tonight. He had to make sure he got his gym and shower before his date tonight. Had to make sure he gave Robert something nice and firm to play with.
Like Gabe’s cock, when he hung the garment bag in his locker and caught a glimpse of the charcoal pinstripes of the suit Robert had fucked him in during their first visit a few weeks ago. But patience, patience.
So Gabe did his reps, stacked too many weights on the bench press. If he couldn’t give himself abs in an hour, he might as well at least settle for some toned pectoral action? He showered, catching a glimpse of his wet chest in the mirror. Firm ridges of muscle casting a shadow of nipple. Months of workouts finally paying off. Then he unzipped the garment bag.
He recognized the first suit alright: charcoal gray three-piece with a pink satin lining, rich pink tie, and a pink contrasting collar & cuff shirt. Gabe’s cock tented his towel as he ran his thumb along the rich lapel, fingertips brushing against the cool satin lining, remembering how, last week, this was the suit he wore when Robert had him sprawling out on his desk, humping him to completion. But that wasn’t the suit he was going to be wearing tonight. Robert wanted him to put on the second suit, the one Gabe hadn’t seen before.
Gabe caught a glimpse of it as he removed the charcoal suit and pink shirt from the bag: navy gabardine with powder blue chalkstripes. Piqued in his towel, his cock rose, bobbing, throbbing. Blue chalkstripe jacket with big, bold lapels four inches wide. Two-piece, double breasted, double-vented, with a hefty cuff to match the hefty lapel. A coffee-brown paisley silk handkerchief nodded from the breast pocket. Robert had coupled it with a white shirt adorned with fine pale gray stripes, contrasting white collar and cuff, along with a four-inch wide tie in brown and blue block stripes. A thick, chunky tie matched with a rich jacquard texture—Gabe held the heavy silk up, noticing the way the weave checkering the stripes when the light hit it just right—and, glancing around, he let the silk tickle his nose, where a hint of Robert’s cologne still clung to the fine fabric. Fuck. As he took the suit apart from the hanger, he noticed the double-breasted jacket was finished on the inside with a white lining with sky-blue paisleys, slick as ice.
Fuuuuck. Gabe was going to have a hard, hard time putting this thing on. Hard, hard, hard.
Toweling off, he remembered his instructions. No underwear, Robert had requested. So he went for the socks first, which Robert had tucked into the breast pocket. He pulled the sheer OTC dress socks over his muscular feet and calves, translucent hosiery highlighting every curve of calf and ankle, the wide toes and broad ball and high arch of his sculptural foot showing through the silky seethrough sock. Hoping no one in the locker room would see him with these kinky femme sheer silk dress socks, he pulled the trousers of Robert’s navy chalkstripe suit off the hanger, whisking them over his legs and tucking in his cock. Had to hurry, too, since he was already chubbing at it, the decadent softness of the wool against his bare equipment. Fuck, how was he going to control himself all evening, when even the slightest movement felt like a full-on stroke?
Two pairs of shoes weighed down the bottom of the garment bag, and Gabe pulled out one of them. Robert had tucked each into its own separate shoe bag, so when Gabe saw the chocolate suede peering out of one of the bags, his cock continued to tingle with lust. Such effete, low-vamp loafers—almost slippers, each adorned with a dainty tassel. Someone was coming into the locker room, so he pulled the cedar shoe trees out and slipped them on to cover his sheer-hosiery-clad feet. But that didn’t help: just the thought that these elegant suede shoes had cupped Robert’s sheer socked feet, aromatic leather marinating in his musk—the imprints of Robert’s toes in the buttery soft instep—all that was enough to make Gabe’s cockhead leak right into the rich wool.
Now that other guys were in the locker room, he didn’t have time to savor his arousal. He shrugged on the shirt next, a tad snug on his broad shoulders, crisp starched cotton against his furry nipples as he buttoned and tucked. Cufflinks gave him trouble—it took him a few minutes fiddling with them, fitting them into the white cuffs, before looping the braces over his shoulders. He had to smooth them several times to make sure they weren’t twisted the wrong way before he buttoned them to the inside of his trousers. Then, spreading the shirt smooth, he zipped up, fingers brushing his commando cock just a touch along the way.
He took three tries to master the double Windsor knot of the tie, recalling Robert’s exacting standards. A full, flushing cone of silk, broad at the top and cinched to an hourglass dimple at the bottom. The matte sheen of the silk brushed and swished in his fingertips. A few of the guys in the locker room glanced at him in the mirror, the only person wearing something other than gym clothes, or sneakers, or jeans, or sweatpants. He stuck out like a finely dressed anachronism, had to play it cool as he plumped out his double Windsor knot, fastening it with a tie bar, letting it arch out an inch or two from his chin, before finishing it off with the suit jacket, whose ice-blue paisley lining gleamed like silver as he whisked it round his body.
It was a two-piece suit, and the double-breasted jacket looked even bolder in the fluorescent lighting of the locker room. Adjusting his cufflinks, Gabe smoothed the broad lapels, tucking in his pocket silk. Vibrant coolness enfolded him from all that paisley satin inside the jacket, luxury layered in luxury, layers of the double-breasted jacket thankfully covering up his full tent in his trousers underneath. Even if only Gabe knew that the jacket was lined this way, that knowledge gave him an extra strut, and extra swagger of his shoulders, as he slicked down his hair into a sidepart and brushed his beard.
“Lookin sharp, man,” grunted one of the gym bros in a grimy tanktop nearby. “Like a fuckin CEO.”
Gabe nodded, trying not to feel too giddy at the CEO part of that complement, letting his tie drape out of his lapels. “Thanks.”
Collecting his gym bag and garment bag, Gabe strode out the door to catch the subway.
*
It was the same neighborhood as Robert’s architectural firm, same subway stop. Gabe checked his phone. This was it: a stately townhouse adjoined to others in a row, each with handsome balconies, columns, masonry. Gabe wished he knew more about architecture, and imagined Robert could tell him all about it: the history, the style, the details. Swinging the garment bag and gym bag from one arm to the other, he stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.
A moment passed, and Robert answered. “Come in, please.”
The entryway of the townhouse featured a curving staircase, with entrances to a dining room on one side and a living room on the other. Gabe didn’t have time to take in the details, though: Robert’s attire consumed his attention.
Robert’s outfit was a riot of rich patterns. A three-piece, single-breasted suit in gray stripes—thicker than pinstripes, bolder, almost too loud for business, but still subtle enough to flow with the outfit. The lapels of the waistcoat and jacket framed a triangle of his blue and white striped shirt. Gabe recognized that the white contrasting collar was a tab collar designed to jut the tie forward, presenting the broad silk blade in a lustrous arch: medallions in amethyst and silver, abstract geometry in a gridwork of angles and curves, the warp and weft of silk fibers imparting a metallic sheen, emphasized by a long, conical knot cinched in a deep dimple. Heavy amethyst cufflinks accented his French cuffs, along with a purple pocket square whose ruffles concealed a rich pattern of their own. Cushioned in sheer socks that showed every hair, Robert’s feet rested in a rakish posture, ankles crossed as he leaned against the banister, letting his low vamp black tassel loafers slip off the arch of his foot.
Fuck, was this even real? Months ago, Gabe was dying for a glimpse of this man. And now here he was, right in this guy’s house. Stiffening his posture, Gabe rested a hand on his tie, loafered feet shoulder-width apart, looking up at Robert. “Good evening, sir.”
Robert smiled, stroking a thumb behind the blade of his tie. “Good evening, young man.”
Gabe gestured down at his suit. “So, is this up to your standards, Sir?”
“It is indeed, young man.” Pacing around Gabe, Robert inspected Gabe’s outfit, nodding. “Yes. The tie knot is good and full . . . very good. A fine jut, too.”
Gabe had to admit, he huffed his chest with pride at that. Maybe he could actually pull off this dressing well thing after all? He noticed, too, something pitching a tent in Robert’s trousers.
Robert nodded again. “Very good, young man. May I take your bags? I figure it would be best to keep them here until we return after dinner.”
With a nod, Gabe handed them over, glancing up at the chandelier. “This is a nice place you’ve got here, Sir.”
“Thank you.” Robert hung up Gabe’s garment bag and set down his gym bag. “I’d give you the grand tour, but I’m afraid we have a dinner reservation to make.”
“Grand tour later, then?” Gabe grinned.
“Indeed, handsome man.” Robert grabbed his hat and offered one to Gabe. Both were Panama hats. “For you, as well.”
“Ooh, shit—really? I mean, uh—” Catching himself, Gabe tried again, using words Robert might find more appealing. “I have never worn a hat like that, sir. You know, like one from an old movie.”
“I foresee us developing your wardrobe together in all kinds of ways,” replied Robert, stroking his full beard as he watched Gabe try the Panama on. “A fellow of your Caribbean complexion looks most fine indeed in a Panama hat like this—”
“Puerto Rican,” Gabe corrected, frowning a bit. At least Robert wasn’t calling him “Mexican” the way guys did on Grindr, but this wasn’t much better. “I’m Puerto Rican. And—uhh—Panama hats are from Ecuador. Not the Caribbean.”
“Ahem. Yes, of course Panama hats are.” Robert’s handlebar mustache twitched, his beard obscuring his lips. It seemed as though it took him a moment to recognize his mistake. “I—I am sorry, sir. You did mention that you’re Puerto Rican, in previous conversations of ours.”
“Yes. Yes I did.” Something about wearing the suit, and getting to tell Robert something he seemed not to know—Gabe had to admit, his tailored, satin-lined uniform made his words feel heavier, more authoritative, especially now. “There are lots of people in the Caribbean, you know? People from Trinidad and Cuba aren’t the same.”
“Again, I apologize.” Robert cleared his throat. “That was an ignorant remark, on my part. I was trying to say, I imagined you would look suave and distinguished, with a hat of any sort, but particularly one like this. On a pasty-faced fellow like me, a hat like this tends to wash out the complexion. But on you—” Robert clasped his hands in front of him, a bashful fig leaf over his growing tent. “On you, it looks stunning, Gabe. Even handsomer than I imagined.”
Gabe felt his cheeks flushing. “Thank you. And you’re not pasty-faced. You’re hot, and I’ve been like crushing on you for m—”
Robert tilted his head, confused by the way Gabe cut himself short.
“I mean—” Shit. Butterflies and nausea and shit. Gabe almost let it out. He might as well have said, Hello Mr. Bruce I’ve been laying drywall at your architecture firm’s construction site and I’ve gotten a massive hard-on every time I’ve caught a glimpse of you on the subway for months. Also, you’re the reason I’m into menswear all of a sudden. But thankfully Gabe didn’t say that. He collected himself, and said: “I mean, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all week. And—uhh—I feel like, all confident and nervous too, at the same time, I guess.”
Reaching over with a smile, Robert patted Gabe on the shoulder. “I believe we both need to relax, then, and simply enjoy our evening. I could not have asked for a more beautifully dressed consort.”
Consort. Wasn’t that like an escort or something? But Gabe liked it. Catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he noticed how unlike himself he looked—yet how like himself, as though this was the version of himself he’d been wanting to see all along. Debonair. As Robert opened the front door for him, Gabe winked at his reflection in the mirror.
*
They arrived at the restaurant. They were the only two people wearing suits and ties. One person wore a button-down shirt with jeans, with regrettable shoes. A few baggy polo shirts from the tech crowd. Many of the women wore outfits that looked put together, but there was no such display from the men.
As the waiter seated Robert and Gabe and collected their hats, Gabe noticed Robert scanning the crowd. When he saw two or three baseball caps, Robert sighed, shaking his head.
“Is something wrong, Sir?”
“No, no, young man. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m afraid it’s all just so . . . ordinary, so casual. Thirty years ago, you would not have seen a baseball cap in a restaurant like this. You certainly would not have seen jeans and sneakers.”
“Oooh,” Gabe nodded, studying the rows of silverware on either side of his plate. Why did they need so many knives and forks and spoons? Why were there two glasses? “I see what you mean.”
Drawing a sigh, Robert adjusted a cufflink before scooting his chair under the table. “That’s all the more reason why I am pleased with your attire this evening, young man.”
“Thank you sir.” Reaching a finger up to his tie knot—the heavy fist of silk that jutted forth from his neck—Gabe blushed. He could see a few of the other folks in the restaurant looking over at him and Robert. They did indeed stand out, even in a fine restaurant like this. Well-plumed anachronisms in a world of corporate casual beige. “I mean, I really enjoy wearing this suit. But, uh, don’t you think people will stare at us?”
“Let them stare, then.” Balancing his spectacles on his nose, Robert stroked his beard, inspecting the menu. “You’ll get used to the comments, once you attire yourself a notch better than others. ‘I wish I could dress like that’ and ‘Aren’t you uncomfortable in all that clothing?’ My answer is the same every time: I dress for myself, just like you do.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Gabe frowned over the menu. Wines with unpronounceable French appellatives. Farm-to-table this. Artisanal that. Part of him just wanted to ask Robert what he was getting and get the same thing. Gabe traced his fingertips along the rich-textured silk of his tie, and found it comforting. After a moment, he bent across the table to Robert, lowering his voice: “You know, I really enjoy wearing this suit . . . knowing that it was on you.”
Robert’s eyes swiveled up from his glasses, mustache twisting in a knowing smirk. He said nothing at first, until Gabe felt a warm, silky pressure on the arch of his foot. Then a chuckle from the architect. “Very good, young man.”
Glancing around—Gabe was sure a few folks kept glancing in his direction—Gabe leaned back in his chair, pulling aside the tablecloth just an inch. With one heel out of his loafer, and the other soft low-vamped shoe discarded off to one side, Robert had his sheer-socked foot resting on top of Gabe’s. And the sensation was hard-wired to Gabe’s cock: instant arousal, tenting in his suit trousers.
Again, Robert chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind. I think I’ll just rest my foot there the whole meal.”
“Yes. Yes Sir.” Gabe gulped, his stiff collar constricting his throat a moment. “Good thing they’ve got long tablecloths in this fancy joint.”
“Indeed.” Placing down his menu, Robert smiled at the waiter.
Robert ordered something called a fricassee, and Gabe ordered the same. A bottle of wine came out, and for some reason the waiter didn’t just come out with the wine. Instead, they poured a small amount of it in a glass, offering it to Robert, who swirled and sniffed it before tasting it, all while the waiter held the bottle of wine with the label facing Robert the whole time. Gabe stiffened his posture, trying to act normal, but had to admit this whole fancy restaurant thing seemed a bit weird. He wasn’t used to a place where the waiters folded he napkins on the table like origami cranes.
After the waiter filled both Robert’s glass and Gabe’s, Gabe raised a glass. He at least knew how to toast. “Cheers. To a wonderful evening?”
“To a wonderful evening,” replied Robert, clinking his glass.
Gabe could get used to wine like this. Much better than anything he’d ever had at communion, back when his parents took him to church. Setting the glass down on the table, Gabe noticed how rough his fingertips felt against the napkin, against the table cloth, against the rich checkered texture of the thick tie blossoming at his neck.
“I see you’re stroking it again,” remarked Robert with a chuckle as he began fingering his own tie out of his waistcoat. “Seems you can’t keep your hand off it.”
Smiling, Gabe took his hand off his tie. “Sorry, sir. I don’t know what got into me.”
“No need to apologize, young man. I am pleased you’re enjoying your fine attire.”
Gabe felt his stomach twist. He knew he’d asked Robert this question several times, about whether he was really just getting two free custom suits, shirts, magnificent ties, and soft Italian loafers from Robert for free. But Gabe still couldn’t believe Robert would just give away parts of his wardrobe like that.— “I mean, there’s no way for me to repay you.”
“I urge you not to think about this in terms of mere repayment, young man. I see this as the beginning of a friendship.” Again, that knowing smirk under his silver handlebar mustache. Robert had mentioned something during a video chat about how it was a beard style worn by some Russian czar a century ago. “Perhaps something more.”
Something more. Something about that sounded reassuring. Under the table Gabe let his foot relax, cock twitching in his trousers as he felt Robert’s sheer socked toes resting against his arch. Twirling the stem of his wine glass, Gabe thought of a different topic to discuss. “So . . . after we first met last week, I tried searching for you.”
Again, Robert stroked his tie, slowly extending the arch of silk out of his waistcoat. “Oh?”
“You’re not on TikTok. Or Twitter. Or Instagram, at least not that I know.”
“Oh, yes. That.” Robert adjusted one of his French cuffs, amethyst cufflink catching the subdued light. “I’m afraid I’m not on social media at all these days.”
What the fuck? Gabe swallowed his incredulity. “None?”
“None. I will confess, though, that I was briefly on Instagram, and noticed many handsomely dressed gentlemen on there. Most were simply fellows into menswear, with which I find no fault at all. Some had a more than casual interest.”
Gabe was learning to pick up on this, the way Robert intonated his voice whenever he spoke of something naughty. “You mean, there are other guys who are . . . into suits and ties? The way you are?”
“The way we are, yes.” Robert pinched his tie knot, eyes shifting around the room to make sure nobody could overhear. “But none of them live nearby. And many of them proved—frankly—to be rather shallow. They’d only ever message me to . . . relieve themselves. Never for a conversation. Sometimes sending explicit pictures without an explanation.”
With a twinge of guilt, Gabe thought about the number of times he’d done something like that. Horny and desperate, he’d shoot a dick pic to some guy on Grindr. He visualized the meme of the pie chart showing the number of men who send dick pics versus number of men who actually want them, and how the pie chart was all one color. But Gabe took a sip of wine and focused. “Yeah, that must have been frustrating.”
“Indeed. I also found it irritating how certain gentlemen would call themselves ‘doms’ or ‘tops’ and message me with outrageous expectations. Or gentlemen calling themselves ‘subs’ or ‘bottoms’ expecting me to fulfill some kind of daddy fantasy for them.”
Wasn’t that kind of what Gabe was doing, courting a sugar daddy fantasy right in front of him? Gabe bit his lip, his hand resting in his lap, not far from where his dick throbbed commando in his suit trousers. But he listened. Robert seemed to be on a roll.
“Both kinds of people are frustrating, because they’re not interested in conversation. They’re interested in using you as a canvas on which to project their fantasies. For all their fantasies, they all lack imagination.” Adjusting his spectacles, Robert sipped his wine, scanning the room. “Truth is, the erotic element of a relationship is just roleplay. It’s so much more interesting when each person experiments with something new, instead of falling into the same rut over and over again.”
Gabe nodded, noticing the pressure exerted by the thick fist of silk at his collar, just a hint of it at his neck. It all made sense, Gabe guessed: a guy with Robert’s daddy-bear looks would have gotten plenty of attention from all the thirsty young gays online. “So it was all too much attention for you?”
“It was, yes. Then, during the pandemic, people stopped wearing clothing altogether. Nothing but pajamas, sweatpants.” Robert frowned. “Haberdashers having to shut their doors left and right. Thinkpieces on The Rake and Articles of Style about the possible death of the suit.”
“So you must have had to work from home a lot,” added Gabe. “During the pandemic.”
“Indeed. Many of us did.”
Gabe thought about it, the “us.” White collar guys, not at all like him. During that terrible year, Gabe’s team was contracted to finish an overpass on a busy boulevard through the middle of town. In the early days of the shutdown, the lack of traffic allowed them to complete the project leaps and bounds ahead of schedule. Gabe swore he’d never poured so much concrete in his life. An “essential” worker. Meanwhile, folks like Robert got to camp out in their home offices. Gabe imagined Robert lounging about with his tablet, attired in gabardine, with a magnificent tie knot curving from his neck, relishing the satin lining of a jacket too decadent for outdoor wear.
“You seem lost in thought,” observed Robert.
“Oh! Um . . .” Gabe stared at his glass, the way the fragrant wine made an exaggeration of Robert’s arching, draping tie, magnifying the texture like a gold-tinged fishbowl. “It was just . . . a bit of a rough time for us. My family and all. We had to move my parents out of their nursing home, you know, when infections got high. And I couldn’t see them for months, because I was working.”
“I am sorry to hear that. That had to have been difficult, not being able to see your loved ones.” Robert nodded, adjusting his glasses. “I’m afraid my parents passed away years ago, so it has been a while since I have needed to care for someone like that.”
“Yeah . . . I mean, yes sir.”
“No need to say ‘yes sir’ all the time, young man. We’ll save that part for later in the evening, I think.”
Gabe let himself laugh a little.
“So what were you working on? During the pandemic, that is?”
“Oh.” Gabe thought about it, how close he was to letting it slip. Not a construction worker, not a construction worker. “I was . . . um . . . at school. In person.”
“In person?” Robert stroked his beard. “So, they were holding in person classes, during the pandemic?”
Shit. Gabe really didn’t think this alibi through. His collar felt like an iron ring around his neck. “Uhh . . . yeah. I mean, we had to wear masks and all. But, uh, we couldn’t come back home.”
“I see.” Robert traced a thumb along the plump blade of his tie, his expression illegible. “But did your family remain safe, at least?”
Gabe nodded, then tried to steer back to a safer subject. one that didn’t involve fibbing about his dayjob. “So you said you quit Instagram?”
“Ah, yes. That.” Robert swished his wine glass. “A number of the fashion fellows I followed stopped posting pictures of themselves in fine suits and ties, and instead started wearing something called ‘athleisure.’ So after that I took down my Instagram profile.”
“Huh,” thought Gabe aloud, plucking the dimple of his tie blade. “All the times we’ve facetimed, you’ve wanted to see me wearing a tanktop.”
“Indeed. And that is because I know you’re willing to wear something more.” Leaning forward, Robert lowered his voice. “I enjoy the idea that one either wears a full suit and tie, or as little clothing as possible.”
“Oh really?” Gabe purred with excitement, the tantalizing thoughts trickling into his brain as he continued to relax his foot out of his loafer—heel fully popped out now, letting Robert’s sheer socked toes trace the edge of his arch, that tingling sensation of silky hosiery rubbing silky hosiery. “I—uh—have been fantasizing about what you might look like under all those layers, sir.”
“Nowhere near as muscular as you,” Robert deflected, pointing his tie knot forward, as though the silk adornment weren’t puffing out of his waistcoat already like the plumage of a bird in mating season. “But, given the way I foresee this evening playing out, I believe you’ll be satisfied soon enough.”
“No, I mean, seriously—like unwrapping a package,” Gabe heard himself blurt out. He pressed his lips together afterwards. “Sorry. That was a little loud.”
“You’re forgiven,” replied Robert, looking up at the waiter. “I can tell you were excited.”
The waiter delivered their food, and Gabe and Robert continued the conversation along safer topics. Pausing in the middle of his meal to enjoy his wine, Robert posed a question: “So what sorts of movies do you enjoy, young man?”
“I have a thing for older movies,” answered Gabe, flexing his foot in his soft Italian loafer a bit. The ball of Robert’s sheer socked foot had been resting on Gabe’s ankle throughout dinner, warm and silken like an embrace. “I watched the old James Bond movies all the time.”
“Oh?” Robert passed his thumb under his tie blade, plumping the arch out of his waistcoat. “Roger Moore? Sean Connery?”
“Whoa—uh, those are a bit older than I was thinking. I was thinking Daniel Craig, you know?”
A chuckle from Robert as he pinched the silk dimple at his neck. “It would appear that we have different definitions of ‘old,’ then. I think of those as the newest ones.”
“I mean, I guess so,” mused Gabe, swishing his wine, plucking the silk blade of his tie in imitation. “But Casino Royale came out a while ago, didn’t it?”
“It did, yes.”
“I mean . . .” Gabe lowered his voice, glancing around, tugging his cufflink, “there was this one scene in Casino Royale where they take James Bond and—uh, you know—rip his suit and tie off.”
“And end up tying him to a chair?” Robert’s handlebar mustache twisted with his smirk. “I must admit I love the way your eyebrow moves when you’re having naughty thoughts.”
Gabe quirked his eyebrow, then. A full on Dwayne Johnson impression, and Robert laughed. Gabe finished his thought about the movie: “Uh, yeah. That part. I would watch that scene over and over again, when I was staying in my abuelo’s place. I had to wait to make sure they were out of the room, since . . . you know . . . that’s when Daniel Craig is naked and all.”
“Tied to that chair,” repeated Robert, thumbing his tie.
Gabe picked up on it again, Robert’s intonation. He really liked that part of the movie. Gabe took note of this.
Robert set his wine glass back on the table, cufflink glittering. “Are you familiar with Arsenic and Old Lace?”
“Uh, no. Haven’t heard of it.” Under the table, Gabe let his loafer settle off his heel, nudging Robert’s sheer socked foot.
Robert continued to play with his tie arch. A tease in public that, to the untrained eye, would look innocent. “It’s from the 40s. Stars Cary Grant. He plays a theatre critic who’s always dressed in fine suits and ties. And in one scene he ends up tied to a chair, muffled and gagged.”
Gabe quirked his eyebrow again, and Robert chuckled in response.
“See, young man, that was the movie I watched when I didn’t think my parents were looking. I imagine you had quite a few of those, before your parents sent you off to college.”
Before I started working construction, Gabe thought. But he cleared his throat. “Yeah, now that I’m on my own and in college, I can stream MenAtPlay videos and not have to worry about anybody noticing.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that site before. Quite a few videos there that involve well-attired captives who end up in . . . bound, shall we say, for certain forms of pleasure.”
“Oh yeah,” Gabe answered with a stroke of his tie. “You seem to like that, the—uh—movies where a guy in a suit and tie ends up, you know—”
“Tied up?”
“Yeah.” Gabe smirked, massaging his tie knot, the full fist of silk at his neck.
Robert swirled his glass and took another thoughtful sip. “Yes. You’re most attentive. But I believe we might want to reserve that conversation for later in the evening.”
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