happy_never_after | The Weathermen Part 11

Part 11

"One hour?" Jack said. "That gives us about a half an hour to shop, ten to change, fifteen minutes to locate Nefarious' evil lair, four minutes for witty banter, and five minutes to find, then disengage the doomsday devise."

"Wait a moment. Shop?" I asked. "Why do we need to shop?"

"Well, we can't go dressed like this! I'm not flying the friendly skies again in the altogether-- too cold-- and you know what they say about shrinkage."

"Fine," I said, setting the timer on my watch. I relinquished myself into Jack's able fashion hands. "But we've already wasted six minutes. We'll have to be quick finding her heinous hideout! Let's get shopping!"

We rushed to the elevator, out the front doors and into the chaotic streets of the city. I looked to Jack-- he seemed to know where he was going.

"Follow me," Jack said. I did, racing behind him in that great fitted suit he still had on from his weather forecast. God, he was hot. I was so busy thinking about those strong thighs that I plowed into him when he stopped short in front of me.

I stood dumbfounded, staring up at the blinking neon sign and into the gaudy storefront window. "House of Newmar? B-but this is a--"

"Dance and costume and apparel shop," Jack nodded, opening the door, then pulling me along by the arm. "I know all the drag queens shop here, too-- but get over it! This is perfect for us: it's the only shop close by with quality heavy-duty leotards. "

I didn't ask why Jack knew about the heavy-duty leotards or the drag queen thing-- I figured there are some details better left explored later.

We dashed into the shop, and a hungry looking clerk hovered over us the moment we sauntered in. Jack shooed her away, and she sniffed twice, then turned away a big huff.

"We don't need her assistance," Jack said. "She has no style-- that menswear for women look just isn't flattering on her body-type: she should go with something more feminine."

I looked down at my purple and white striped shirt and tight jeans. Frankly, I wondered what he thought of my fashion sense. And I was beginning to wonder about Jack: his obsession with fashion worried me.

"I think this is your color," Jack said, grabbing a shiny black and yellow body-hugging number. He never overlooked a chance to touch me: he brushed the back of his hand over my chest and let it linger just a bit longer than necessary. "Not much protection, but I kind of like seeing those freckles on your chest, and it looks like it will hug that mighty-fine ass of yours nicely-- at least it will cover that tattoo. And I think the yellow brings out the highlights in your hair and the amber in your eyes," he said, herding me over to the full length mirror. He stood me hind me nice and snug, arm around me, holding the body suit tight to the front of me while rubbing his crotch into my ass crack from behind. The clerk gave us a disgusted frown. "What do you think?" Jack said. "You think we should get matching outfits?"

"I think I'll take it." I trusted Jack's fashion sense. That and we were running out of time. I knew Jack would love to continue shopping and gyrating against me, but we needed to get our priorities straight. "We better hurry. Saving the world comes first. Buying matching superhero apparel, second."

"Ok, ok," Jack said, shoving the outfit into my chest. "I thought maybe we could fit a quickie in the schedule. I guess we don't have enough time. I'll pick something out fast." He rushed to the racks and rifled through the garish selection while I tapped my shoes impatiently. Jack looked disdainfully down at them. "Boots! You can't wear those Bozo things! Grab some real boots, over there!" he pointed.

I got some nice black fitted leather ones, hugged my calves nicely. I got a pair for Jack, too-- hoped I guessed the right size-- his feet were big, and you know what they say about the size of men's feet? I turned around, and stopped, my mouth flapped wide open like a carp's. Jack was holding this incredible cornflower and powder blue bodysuit with matching gloves up tight to body.

"You like it?"

I got hard just imagining him in it.

"Sold!" I said.

We threw our clothes on the counter and paid with my American Express Card.

Glad I didn't leave home without it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Author's note to fun: In case you missed george66's illustrations from Part 10, here they are in all their glory. They're by an artist named Patrick Fillion. Here's the link George gave too, but understand that is leads to explicit material and isn't work safe...