The Alteration

This all happened quite a few years ago.

I parked my little Honda in one of the spaces designated for laundry/cleaner patrons, gathered up my dirty shirts and a pair of too-large slacks, and started inside. The plate glass windows flanking the door were half opaque, obscured by signs telling about all the good things they could do for you there: shirt specials, one-hour service, alterations, even shoe repair. Shoe repair? Must be a drop-off point for some cobbler shop somewhere else in the city. A chubby friendly girl behind the counter asked about starch – none. I asked if they could replace a couple of shirt cuff buttons one of their competitors seemed to have used a hammer on; I was told they could. Then I noticed the trim lady all in white, evidently the manager, Asian features, black hair in a bun.

“If you become a regular customer, we will replace broken buttons for you for free,” she said.

“I’m only going to be in Austin for a couple of months,” I said. “But I’m certainly looking for a reliable place I can bring everything to.”

“We do excellent work. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.”

Though she spoke simply, I got a thrill from her unique style of eye contact. I found it hard not to smile at her. Her voice was straightforward enough, with only a little Asian lilt, but her questioning eyes were magnetic. She was about forty, I guessed, close-fitting uniform, slender figure. Nice. Her name badge read ‘Lily.’

“I also have an alteration,” I said. “These pants need to be taken up a bit.”

“That’s unusual,” Lily said. “Mostly we’re asked to let them out. Come with me, to the fitting room, and I’ll mark them for you.”

As I followed her swaying hips down the linoleum walkway. towards the back of the establishment, she asked, “What brings you to Austin? And for such a short time?”

“I’m going into the Navy. I was teaching in a private high school in Arizona, got tired of that, and started working as a cowboy at one of the ranches out there. Unfortunately, I hadn’t quite turned twenty-six when I quit teaching and so I got myself drafted.”

We entered a no-nonsense room. She closed the door, handed me my pants, and indicated the curtained changing booth. I went inside, sat down, and took off my boots.

“Drafted into the Navy?” she asked.

“Not exactly. Into the Army, but I made a deal with the draft board that if I could get accepted into Naval O.C.S. I could transfer. So I’m visiting my mother here in Austin for a couple of months before the next Naval O.C.S. class begins.”

“O.C.S. is what?” she asked.

I pulled off my jeans and pulled on the slacks. “Officer Candidate School. I’d rather give orders than take them.”

“I don’t blame you for that,” she said. “So what made you lose weight? And how much?”

“Cowboys have to work a lot harder than school teachers,” I said. A considerable understatement: up at 4:30 to feed stock, then working cattle, building fences, or haying until dark. Going until 8:30 or 9:00 in those Northern latitude summer evenings. “Maybe twenty pounds,” I responded to her second question. I pulled on the slacks, buttoned the waist, zipped up the fly, and stepped out of the booth holding up the slacks at the waist.

She gently laughed at the sight of me.

“You certainly do need to have those slacks altered,” she said. “Otherwise the girls could pull them off you, no problem at all. Just like that!” She bit her lower lip and motioned, a downward jerk of her small fists. No ring, I noticed. Nice fingernails, painted white. Then my gaze went from her lovely hands to her equally lovely breasts. Were her nipples possibly erect? I couldn’t be sure.

“You think so?” I joked. “Maybe then we should just forget the whole thing...”

“Too late,” she said. “You’re in too deep for that.” There was that magnetic gaze of hers again. I might have blushed, just a little.

From a small wooden table against the wall, she picked up her tailor’s chalk and, from an open box, a row of straight pins. She placed the pins between her lips. Very nice lips, bottom lip a little full. Everything I noticed about this woman was attractive; voluptuous, even, considering her slight frame and her gentle friendly manner. She went to work on me – on my pants, rather – marking the waist and then, smoothing the fabric over my buns – gentle but very friendly -- making marks and placing pins along what was to become a new and tighter seam.

She took the last few pins out of her mouth momentarily, swiveled me around, her hands on my hips, so I was again facing her. She asked, “Do you want the crotch raised a bit too?”

“A bit,” I croaked. I hoped she wouldn’t notice that my penis was slightly stiff under her gaze and her solicitous hands. But when she took a fold of the crotch material in her left hand, she also gathered up a small piece of foreskin with it.

Then it happened. My cock pulsed and jumped just as she was about to insert a pin; that pin was inserted, not into and out of the material, but into the material and then into my dick!

Lily took the pins out of her mouth and dropped them on the table. “Oh my God,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She looked into my eyes. “I hope ...” She looked down at my crotch. Then she said, “Oh, I think it’s bleeding ...”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Accidents happen. And my blood clots quick.”

“No,” she said. “We have to take care of it.”

She stood up, went to the door, locked it by pushing in the button in the knob. She came back to me, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’ll do my best to make it all OK again.” With that she unzipped the fly, reached into my pants, through the fly of my boxer shorts, took hold of my penis, and, with some difficulty, brought it out into the open. There was a small bloody spot on the left hand side of the shaft, about two-thirds of the way down. It was already starting to clot.

She knelt down before me, my cock still in her small hand. She kissed the tiny wound, then held my penis horizontal with her left hand, holding it right under the head, and with her right hand swiveled me to the side. She moved her right hand to hold the root of my cock, where the hair starts, her fingernails gently grasping the urethral bulge. She licked the shaft and along that lower bulge.

“That is what dogs or cats do when they get a splinter in their paw,” she said. I felt like I was going to faint, but perhaps that was just because most of the blood in my brain had departed for my swollen cock. Cowper’s fluid, pre-cum, was starting to flow.

“Now look at what I’ve done,” she said. Those eyes were again looking into mine. “And I don’t seem to have any Kleenex in here.” Her right hand then swiveled me around again so I was front on and her left hand moved down to encircle and support my cock. Not that much support, by this time, was needed; I had a monstrous hard-on. She sucked ever so gently on the head of my dick, tasting the pre-cum, sucked again as more oozed out, swallowed, and licked her lips.

“I think it’s stopped bleeding,” she said. “But we have to be sure. You know how when they draw blood from your arm they want you to keep that cotton in the bend of your elbow for thirty minutes? I think maybe I should keep paying close attention to your wound for about that long ...”

“A lovely idea, Lily,” I said to her. It was the loveliest idea I’d ever heard. She licked the swollen glans, around its edge, then back underneath where everything comes together in that little sensitive knot, then over the broader expanse of the head. Then she moved her mouth over the head of my dick, using the most wonderful tongue motions to swish it around in her saliva. A small suck on the tip, her finger running up her chin to catch a dribble, and she swallowed again.

“Nice,” she said. “Do you like this?”

“O yes.” What an understatement!

“Would you like to see my breasts?” she asked, almost shyly.

“Yes I would.” She unbuttoned her uniform, slipped the top portion off her shoulders, unfastened her bra, and took it off.

“Do you have a handkerchief?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me, please.”

She put a corner of the handkerchief in my left pants pocket, most of the cloth hanging out where she could easily get at it in a hurry. “I’d like your hands to stroke my breasts,” she said. Then her mouth, seeming now hungrier, went back around my cock. She began to more frankly suck on it, moving towards me, then away. I started making a gentle to-and-fro motion, fucking her mouth. It was wonderful. My hands went down to her breasts, stroking the beautiful swell on the sides, then over to her nipples. Her nipples were erect, fairly dark, and quite granular in appearance. Not small, not large, with surprisingly youthful pink areolae. I squeezed her nipples, gently, and she moaned as she continued sucking, dragging her teeth on my cock just a little bit on the retreat stroke.

“Go ahead and come,” she said. “The first time ...” I was dying to suck her tits, but what she was doing to my dick was too good to break into. I thrust it into her mouth a little harder. She almost gagged at one point, so I made myself control myself. Somewhat.

Then it started. That ball tightening feeling, that feeling of inevitability, and then crashing gushing cum that made it almost impossible to remain upright. “God!” I said somewhat too loud. “Wonderful!” Lily gulped down some of my cum, then grabbed my handkerchief, wiped her mouth, then sopped up the stringy slippery wad on her throat.

“Now I think you need to sit down and rest a minute,” she said. She led me – no one could be more docile than I after a lovely head session like that – back into the changing booth and motioned for me to sit on the bench and take off my pants. She sat on the floor in front of me.

“Take off your shorts, too. Now just lean back and rest,” she said. “I want to hold your lovely limp penis in my mouth, and taste it, and slowly feel it stiffen up again ...” And she did that, and it did, while I stroked her hair, her ears, her throat. Lily was the most beautiful, most attentive, most thrilling woman I’d even known. She sat with her head in my lap and made gentle murmuring sounds while rolling my soft cock around in her mouth. As it got bigger, she had to let some of it go, but she kept tasting the head of it, and some of the shaft, while moving her nails gently along the exposed portion of the shaft and down around my balls. I inched forward a little to get my balls free of the bench.

“Thank you,” she said. She moved her left forefinger around to the rear of my ball sac and gently stroked there, up and down, on the midline. Lovely! My cock started coming back to attention.

Lily stopped sucking me for a moment and pulled her head out of my lap. She looked down at my swelling cock and said, admiringly, “What a lovely penis. Such nice big blue veins. Such a nicely shaped head. Beautiful.”

“You’re the one who’s beautiful, Lily,” I told her. “What can I do for you?”

“Just stroke my nipples, and twist them a little, gently, while I suck you off again. That’s all I need to come.”

And she was right!

After we put our clothing back on and got ourselves into some semblance of order, we walked back up – in my case on quite unsteady legs – to the front. There she went back to her professional commercial manner.

“Your pants will be ready Tuesday,” she said, with that sweet smile and lovely gaze.

“Fine.”

“But you’ll need to come in to get them sometime when you have few minutes.”

“Oh?”

“To check the fit, of course.”

I smiled. “Of course. And if you do a good job, I have several more pairs that need to be taken up.”

“I suggest you bring them in, one at a time, over the next couple of months, at your convenience.”

“Great idea. Thank you very much. Thanks for everything.”

“My pleasure,” she said.

I walked out the door, then looked back through the garish red and yellow signs on the plate glass to see her waving very gently at me. I waved back.

Then even do shoe repair, I thought. And a wonderful job of hauling ashes. I’ll certainly be back.

The End