The New Suit

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!

I had been measured for suits before, but never in this way - putting pressure on the inside of the thigh. My dilemma was that I was wearing boxers, as I had for most of my life. Loose fitting boxers had always been my choice of underwear - a practice that had not changed as I grew into adulthood.

This could spell trouble!

With my flaccid cock hanging on my right side down my boxers, I was afraid that she would accidentally "engage" with it, if she kept pushing inward in the same manner.

A few moments pass and after her ritualistic two-measure process, she appears to be satisfied with her measurements on my left.

"OK let's check out the other side" - she says, as she proceeds to scoot her swivel chair over just a little.

As with my left side, she proceeds to repeat the process on my right - pushing her thumb on the inseam of my right groin...

...her knuckles just ever so slightly touching the outside of the pant suit where my flaccid cock was hanging - only separated by the thin fabric of the pant suit and my boxers.

My cock instantly reacts!

Dead kittens and root canal, dead kittens and root canal!

My thoughts were in panic - she would need to hurry and finish or there would be trouble brewing!

To make things worse, before she has a chance to take the second confirmation measurement, she accidentally drops the tailor's tape, and it rolls open to about five feet to the left on the floor.

"Oops!" - She utters as she scoots the swivel chair to the left and leans over to pick up the tape.

Several moments pass while she gathers the tape off the floor, and it felt like an eternity before she was able to resume her measurements...

...and my cock continues to swell from the instinctual memories of her earlier touches!

She swivels back and repeats the measuring process - and again, her knuckles touch the shaft of my cock over the fabric.

I reluctantly look down to see if there was any reaction on her part. She, however, proceeded as unassuming and unknowingly as I could have hoped - and before anything further happened, she was done measuring.

Phew, finally!

She was done and I was in the clear.

The mere thought of springing a pants boner in front of this strange older woman was terrifying, and multiple thoughts went through my head...

...Yelled at...?

Thrown out...?

Arrested...?

Memphis is part of the Bible belt, and this would most certainly constitute a highly inappropriate situation.

But I was in the clear - nothing came of it!

Right...?

Wrong!

My relief was short lived!

She quickly glances down to the bottom of my pant leg and says;

"Oh gosh darn it! I forgot to fold up the hem at the bottom - I'll need to redo the measurement - sorry darlin." - her voice apologetic as she looks up at me and our eyes connect.

Oh no - this cannot be good!

My cock, albeit still flaccid, was now hanging down the right pant leg by a good eight inches and clearly protruding through the fabric of the pant suit. The outline of my enlarged circumcised cockhead was contouring like a large mushroom - there was no mistake of what it was!

My thoughts were anxiety causing...

...but exhilarating at the same time!

With my head in panic mode, I tried to justify it that it was ok...

How could she blame me...?

She's the one pushing and shoving in my "private area" - yes...?

It's just a natural reaction and I have done nothing wrong - right...?

She again repeats the process - puts pressure on the inside of the inseam - and again, her right-hand knuckles engage now even more with my penis as it protrudes even further than earlier.

And then...

...she suddenly pauses, moves her hands away and instinctively jerks her head back just enough to be noticeable. The situation was no longer in doubt - she had touched my cock several times through the fabric and had come to the realization that it was my manhood she was prodding and pushing!

I couldn't muster to look down at her, but as innocently as possible I glanced at the side mirror to see if there was any reaction on her part. Sure enough, she was clearly aware as she looked up at me quickly a few times to see if I knew that she knew.

I looked straight ahead, closed my eyes, and waited.

After finally finishing the chalk marks on the lower pant hem, she steps up from her stool, grabs a few items and proceeds to leave the fitting room.

SHIT!

Was I in serious trouble...?

Perhaps she was getting the manager and all hell would break loose...?

My earlier thoughts of erotic euphoria were now overshadowed by thoughts of anxiety. My enlarged penis had made a quick three-sixty and shrunk back down to a shriveled flaccid state in an instant.

What next...?

A few minutes passed and as she returned, to my relief, there was no stress in her eyes - she did not appear upset or angry in any way.

"I have all the measurements we need. I am thinking about four days or so, and you can pick up your suit" - she says rather stoically.

Shoot - I need the suit sooner than that!

I had given myself two extra days to do some shopping and sightseeing - naively hoping that wherever I would buy the suit, it would be ready in a day or two.

"Any chance of getting it any sooner" - I ask her beggingly, but realize it was a question in futility.

"Sorry darlin' - we're good and fast, but two days just ain't possible. Also, I am off for the next three days working with my precious flowers in my yard" - she responds over-admittingly.

Giving myself a little credit, I did not plan my trip frivolously, and as backup, I did bring an old suit with me that I could use instead.

But...

...as I dwell in my disappointment, and just as she is about to leave the room, she turns around and says;

"Maybe I have a solution! I run a small workshop directly out of my house - for friends and family when the need arises. I guess I could finish the alterations at home, and you could pick it up at my house if you want" - her eyes optimistically widening just a little.

"I could try to push and have it ready by tomorrow afternoon" - she follows with, enthusiastically.

"S-sure" - I respond quickly without thinking - a little surprised by the offer.

This woman had never met me before, had no idea who I was - inviting me to her home - a little strange...? But what the heck, why not - I needed the suit and perhaps this was just another "southern hospitality" offer...?

She returned a few moments later and on the back of her business card she had jotted down her address and phone number. We agreed to meet at her house around two in the afternoon already the next day.

As I left the store, my thoughts were all over the place - flip-flopping between those of bewilderment, guilt, and excitement.

Was she just being motherly...?

Perhaps she hadn't noticed anything and was just being friendly...

...or could this be something more - an invitation of sorts, a sexual exploration on her part...?

There was no way I could pursue this other than from a friendly store purchase perspective - was there...?

She is old enough to be my mother for Pete's sake!

Stop it! Get it out of your head!

As I returned to my hotel, I couldn't let go of my thoughts of what had just transpired. Even though Tabs was well over twice my age, my mind kept migrating towards those of a sexual nature - to the point where I found myself in need of masturbating.

I didn't!

I perversely wanted to hold on to the exhibitionistic sexual thoughts I was having - feelings that this older woman - a mature stranger that had just met and touched, albeit on the outside of my pants, my large penis. That this very conservative person, by her own initiation and invitation, wanted more - to exploit me sexually if she could arrange the situation.

Eventually, my jetlag got the best of me, and I passed out.

The next morning, as I slept to almost 10 o'clock, breakfast turned into brunch, and after a quick workout and shower, I made my plans to drive my rental car out and meet Tabs.

After about a twenty-minute ride, fully navigated by the GPS in the car, I arrived at the area of town where she lived. Her neighborhood, on the outskirts of Memphis, was riddled with streets that were similar in look and appearance. Her street, a typical southern one, had oversized trees with cracked sidewalks from expanding roots. The homes were all similarly designed colonial houses - all with big porches and multiple elaborate features built in the early 1900's.

As I drove through the neighborhood, it reminded me of when I was in my early twenties - and attended a local university on the East Coast on a one-semester study abroad program. The homes in the town where I was renting a room were similar to these colonial homes - also built shortly after the turn of the century.

I had gone over the handlebars in a bicycle accident and fractured the ulna in my lower left arm and strained the wrist on my right. My landlady at the time, coincidentally had a niece visiting from New York - a nurse at a major hospital on Long Island. When she found out about my ailment, and particularly my struggles with showering and washing myself, offered to help me. Being young and shy, I initially refused, but she insisted - for her it was just "another day in the office". Her persistency eventually brought me into submission, and I reluctantly agreed. The story gets involved, elaborate, and erotic - but to summarize, as she helped me wash up and get dressed, she got an up-and-close experience with a very large, circumcised cock.

(Please comment if anyone wants me to post this story.)

...back to Memphis!

Three-twenty-nine - there, her house number!

There was ample parking on the street, and I parked my car right in front of her house. Before I got out, I paused for a few moments while contemplating the situation - my blood pressure elevated a few notches from the fleeting thoughts of the day before!

Her walkway was in bad shape with pavers that had moved and cracked over the years without replacement or proper care. The house itself, however, looked well-manicured with flowerpots hanging on various metal hangers in random spots on the front and sides of the wrap-around porch. A hammock was nicely tucked on the left side of the porch. The front door was fronted by a rickety wooden screen door with metal springs on the top and bottom that showed their age.

Here I go!

As I rang the doorbell, I could clearly hear the traditional chime of a sound that was at least forty years old. I waited twenty seconds or so with no response, rang it again and waited another thirty seconds - nothing! I decided to give the side of the door a hard knock with my knuckles - still nothing!