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

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.

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