Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an439155@anon.penet.fi (Brad Hardwick) Date: Sat, 3 Feb 1996 09:37:28 UTC Subject: Andy's Uniform Andy's Uniform I was working late, much later than I had planned. I called the wife earlier to tell her not to wait up, but this was ridiculous. It must have been about 2:30 in the morning, and the building was already locked up. Apart from not being able to use the elevator this late, on account of the elevator man had gone home, my office wasn't in the safest part of town. So here I was, alone in this big old building, downtown, and hungry as hell. I figured I may as well finish, even if meant working till dawn, but I couldn't go on without some grub. So, I checked the yellow pages and found an all-night Italian deli that delivers around the clock. Grabbing the phone, I dialed and gave my order. "Submarine, large coke, small salad." I gave the address and hung up the phone. ETA - 20 minutes. Good food in less than half an hour. The wonders of the nineties. I started thinking about the health benefits of eating at 3 a.m. and figured, what the hell, I'm hungry at 3 a.m., I'll eat at 3 a.m. I'm really health conscious, usually. I work out about 4 times a week, swim, eat more grains and less meat, etc. And I must admit, my healthy lifestyle shows. At 36, I look pretty damn good for a solid family man. These late night meanderings got me thinking, why not get a little workout in while I'm waiting for the food. So, I stripped off my shirt and tie, took off my slacks and shoes, and hit the floor. I performed 36 pushups, followed by 36 situps, (I like my reps to match my age) and repeated. By the hundredth or so pushup, I was feeling pretty pumped. I got up and jogged in place, then continued on the floor. I was working up quite a sweat, when my phone rang. "Stromboli's Deli, delivery, downstairs." Food! I threw my shirt on without bothering to button up and ran downstairs. Shit, I realized in the lobby. I forgot to put my slacks back on. What the fuck, it's late. I unbolted the front door and let the kid in. He had my dinner in a paper bag, and then I realized I had his money upstairs, in my slacks pocket. "I gotta run up and get your money." "Sure, mister, go right ahead." I told him he could wait in the lobby - it was pretty cold out. He stepped through the door and took off his baseball cap. He looked pretty athletic, like your typical college freshman jock. His hair was cut real short, in a crewcut, and he was wearing a baseball jacket. He must have been a sloppy dresser, cause his jeans were unbuckled and partially unzipped. I asked him if it was okay for him not to wear the deli uniform. He laughed and said no way, man, that's for queers. He explained that the uniforms they make the kids wear are real tight, and that old man Stromboli has the guys try them on in front of him before they get hired. What he does is he wears the uniform in the deli, but changes out of it first chance he can get when he makes deliveries. Then he changes back into it before he returns. That explained the undone jeans. "That's bad news," I sympathized. I had heard of some guy getting sued for making his girl employees wear little skirts and then standing underneath the wrought iron staircase as they'd climb up. But a queer old sausage maker? That was new to me. "Yeah, what a fag. But he's cool, I guess. He lets me keep most of my tips." I thought that was pretty generous. I could see why an old fruitcake would favor this kid. As he stood in the light, his blond crew cut took on a glow, like a halo. His face was just on the verge of maturing into adulthood, when remnants of the little boy flicker through but there's no mistaking he's on his way to manhood. His lips were kind of pouty, like a girl's, and his eyes were, what's that word, limpid. Kind of big and blue and soft. But the rest of his face was definitely a man's... strong jawline, broken nose. And, as he shifted from foot to foot, the contour of his body became obvious, confirming my earlier observation that he was probably a jock. His shoulders were broad, his chest was well-developed, and his waist was narrow. I bet he had a lot of girls chasing after him, and envied him his youth and the opportunities that came with it. I've got a boy of my own, he'll be seven in April, and I felt an affinity towards this kid, saying goodbye to his childhood. "The money," I announced and started to run up to my office. "Hey, mister, before you run upstairs, okay if I grab my uniform from the car? This is my last delivery and I've gotta change back into my uniform." Not a problem, I told him. He turned and ambled back to his car, in no particular hurry. I admired his casual attitude towards life. As he walked, the legs of his jeans rubbed against each other. His butt looked so full and round, it reminded me of some of the chicks I went wild for in college, and still do! I wished my own boy would grow up strong and athletic like this kid. He came back with a small pile of clothes. I could see what he meant about the uniform not fitting; there was hardly anything in that little bundle. "All right, dude, let's go," I said, attempting to sound younger than my age. I'm in good shape, but I look my age. I've always looked my age, if not slightly older. That's due to what my wife calls my "intensely masculine features." I always appear to have stubble, even after shaving. So my blue chin and prominent nose don't make me look like much of a kid. Plus my hair (and it's all mine) turned salt & pepper in my late twenties. Can't complain, though. I get mucho attention, enough to make the wife a little jealous. It's okay, it keeps her wondering! We ran up the stairs, me because I was freezing, and got our asses into the warm office. I closed the door behind us and the kid was laughing like crazy. "Mister, where's your pants?" Like he just noticed. "Well, they're in the same place as my wallet, kid. That's why we had to come up here." "You can call me Andy," he said. "Dave," I announced, as I extended my hand. He put down the bag and shook my hand. His grip was really strong, and it felt like he wasn't letting go, just squeezing harder. I instinctively squeezed harder myself until we were having a little contest. His face started scrunching up and I knew he was in pain, so I let go. Don't underestimate the grip of a well-preserved 36 year old ad exec! And a hungry one, at that. I grabbed the bag and checked out the contents. Just what I ordered. I turned around to hunt for my slacks. Andy said that he was going to change while I looked for the money. I started to tell him that he could use my executive washroom when I heard the sound of a sweatshirt coming off. He had already taken off his jacket and was in the process of undressing the whole way. I let him know that he could have a little privacy, but he said he didn't mind. His sweatshirt was off the whole way, and he started towards me, offering to help me find my slacks. This is the part that I have a hard time explaining. He was walking around in his half- unbuttoned jeans and tennis shoes. Somehow he had put his cap back on again, and I'm embarrassed to say that he looked really good. I mean, I've never felt this way about a guy before, but looking at his body, I got real flushed, my mouth got dry, and damned if I couldn't find my slacks at all. His chest was perfectly smooth, but also perfectly developed. Large, broad pecs tipped by hard brown nipples, with really deep cleavage. His arms, too, were very muscular, but in a God-given way; he obviously came from healthy stock. He's what my granddad would have called a strapping youngster. His shoulders were broad, and his biceps were pumped up, with a little blue vein running down the inside of each. His waist was narrow, like I noticed earlier, tapering down into his jeans, the top button of which was still undone. I didn't know what to make of all this. I got busy looking for those damn slacks, but my mind was so clouded and my heart was racing, I kept turning the same pile over and over again. I wanted a drink of water, so I turned to the water cooler. Andy was right behind me wherever I went. I could feel the heat from his body in this cold room. I filled up a small paper cup and drank it, asking him if he'd like some. "Nah, I'm okay." With this, he kicked off his sneakers and removed his jeans the whole way. There he was, in his clean white underwear that his mother had probably washed for him. I felt so guilty looking at him and having these feelings. He just stood there looking right back, then he turned and grabbed his little uniform. He took hold of the pants and squeezed into them. If the effort it took him to slide them on was any proof, I could see why he complained about having to wear his uniform. And after he got them on, I could see even more. They were just barely decent. Although there was enough material to cover him, the cotton clung so closely to his crotch and backside that any right- thinking person would turn away out of modesty. They were like an old queer's parody of a baseball uniform: they fit so tightly they pushed his natural endowments out. His cock was clearly visible, and I guess the tightness of the material created enough friction that he immediately started to grow. There was nowhere to go in that tight crotch, however, and I could see this bulge expanding at an alarming rate, hugging his inner thigh. Unperturbed, he removed his baseball cap, picked up the top half of the uniform and started to put it on. From what I could see, it was basically a t-shirt. As he squeezed his head and arms through the begrudging holes, I could see that this was another sadistic design from the mind of a voyeuristic old freak. It had obviously been a kid's team shirt, mesh, with the team name on the front and the player's name and number in athletic lettering on the back. Maybe some little league cast-off. Anyway, it had been custom altered to Andy's body. First of all, his developed torso barely fit in the shirt anyway. But to make matters worse, holes had been strategically cut through the mesh to create clothing so revealing it could hardly classify as clothing at all. One huge nipple luridly gaped out of a slash through the left side, while on the right, a regular meshed hole had been slightly enlargened so as to cup the tip of his right nipple, and, by the constant friction, keeping it constantly erect. The right nipple was so subtly revealed that I didn't notice it at first, but when I did, it was so vulgar in its stimulated erectness that I could not ignore it. Since the entire shirt was meshed, his tanned skin was always visible beneath the fabric, even where it hadn't been altered. The shirt ended just above his navel and, instead of hanging loose around his torso, hugged his midriff tightly, so as to accentuate the v-shape of his upper body. His biceps strained the tiny sleeves, which had been rent with jagged rips at the cuffs, giving the illusion of his muscles literally busting out of his shirt. His strong back filled out the little shirt, and tiny mesh holes had been stretched out in the back also, exposing yet more skin. Every ripple of his butt was visible through those clinging pants. The uniform was obviously calculated to provide the utmost viewing pleasure for the creepy old coot, and it kept poor Andy in a constant state of excitement. I wondered how often he had to relieve himself, but didn't want to ask. I now knew how those cocktail waitresses in Vegas must feel, wearing skirts that barely cover their ass, feeling the warm air brushing their cunts all day and all night and not being able to do a thing about it. I also know how turned on I am by their little outfits, and I had to admit, Andy's was pretty hot. I felt guilty getting aroused, because at the same time I felt he was so vulnerable, standing there in this humiliating uniform. I wanted to hug him and save him from this old fruit, but at the same time I was extremely aroused. Shaking, I handed him his money, way over the amount, and told him to keep the change. "Thanks, mister," he said. "That uniform looks pretty uncomfortable," I offered, cursing myself for drawing attention to it. "It's okay, I'm used to it." "Is that the standard uniform you all wear at the deli?" I asked. "Uh huh. We all get our own custom made." What a sordid setup. I really wanted to rescue this kid from his degraded life. As he stretched his arm out to put on his baseball jacket, the seam of his left shoulder ripped a little, giving way to his expanding deltoid. Apparently his uniform was a work in progress. My own cock, which had been doing yo-yos of its own, lurched upward at this sight. I knew that in order to save this boy, I would be putting my own sanity in jeopardy. We shook hands and Andy left. I ate my dinner in silence.