Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 16.

I woke in my apartment having dozed off in the late afternoon. The journey home had been exhausting, the plane being rerouted due to a runway incident at O’Hare, and one way or another the trip took a lot longer than expected.

I reeled as I remembered the events of the weekend. ‘How could I have got to this place?’ I asked myself.

Over the last few weeks Davina had blackmailed me, abused my trust, co -opted my sister and god alone knows who else, and even my new business partners saw me in a light which, when you stopped and thought about it, couldn’t be described as entirely professional. I think that’s fair, as the swallowing of what must have amounted to a couple of pints of semen is rarely a quality one looks for in the new VP of Marketing (Eastern Sector).

As I got to my feet I remember I felt groggy. I’d left San Francisco early that morning, and I’d sat staring at the back of the seat in front of me, contemplating what I’d done the night before. The people around me, ordinary in their way, had no idea that the previous evening I’d been dressed in a white bridal dress and had taken mouthful after mouthful, greedily, and with complete relish.

I think that was the hardest part. There was simply no denying that after the first couple, any reservation I’d had was washed away. I found the warm taste excited…