DEVIL IN THE WATERS // 9.001 (Patreon)

The fine charcoal jacket fit Josh better than he expected. Though the pant legs were too long and bunched around his feet, the suit looked better on him than anything in his closet. Than anything he’d ever worn in the past.

Every day at his executive-level desk he donned a suit and tie, and had done so for years since college. And yet the difference between this suit and his others was the same as when he graduated from post-college business casual to his current wardrobe. An undeniable improvement to his masculinity showed in the suit’s tailored fit—the way it rested on his shoulders, the way it narrowed at the waist. It highlighted his best features. And somehow, having those attributes highlighted revealed something else, maybe only to him: there were no unfortunate features. Nothing about his face or his body that he needed to conceal. For so long he’d operated under the assumption that he should blend into the background, become wallpaper; that if he attracted attention it would always be the wrong kind of attention. That girls would laugh at him and guys would want to punch his face in—both for the same reason: they could see through him, through his appearance, know that it was a lie and want to punish him for the attempted deception. They would humiliate him publicly for a sin worse than vanity. They would punish him for the transgression of pretense. Somehow the way he perceived himself never aligned with the way others saw him. His friendships were profound and long-lasting, the love from his wife was pure and unadulterated and stronger than any other. Those who worked for him showed gratitude and respect. And yet the core of his psyche seemed brittle or fragile, and not a reflection of the fondness and support all those in his orbit showed him. It had never been clearer that Josh Waters was his own worst enemy.

Eyes still on his reflection, he smiled, still switching side to side, still admiring himself. How did the cut of a suit illuminate such a cloudy and remote territory in his psyche’s landscape?

From behind him, Kimmy said, “You look so damn good, Josh. I mean it.”

That was how.

The earnestness in Kimmy’s words proved she saw what he saw. A very different way to interpret Josh Waters given the vast improvement in his appearance. The Josh Waters in the tailor’s mirror stood straighter, looked fitter, presented more masculine. And he wasn’t even trying. Hence, no pretense.

The tailor said to Kimmy, “He’s lucky he has such a nice build. Your husband was made to show off fine clothing.”

Kimmy lounged in one of two leather armchairs, a mahogany table between them, her green tea served in a fine china cup with a saucer, gently steaming. It was lunchtime on a Monday, both of them taking an extended midday break to meet in Yorkville, downtown Toronto.

“My husband needs a good suit or two,” Kimmy said to the tailor, a heavyset man named Tony, who stood expectantly between them, also wearing a tailored suit. But Tony’s jacket was off, his French cuff sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a tape measure draped around his neck, a pincushion band around his wrist, its velvet bed bristling with stainless tines tipped with fat white beads.

“Every man does,” Tony said.

That old curmudgeonly and pragmatic part of Josh made him say, “ I have a closet full of good suits.”

Kimmy said, “Not like that one.”

“No,” he agreed, almost facing Kimmy now, head craned over a shoulder to regard his reflection to see if the suit looked as good from the back. It did. “Not like this one,” he muttered.

Kimmy said to Tony, “And you can definitely have it for this Friday?”

Tony lay a hairy hand over his heart. “My word you’ll have it Friday morning.”

“ Josh, you’re taking it,” Kimmy said with sly finality.

He wouldn’t argue. But he also didn’t want to know the price. “If you say so,” he said, surrendering control to his wife as he faced the mirror again and adjusted the lapels. Over his reflection’s shoulder he saw Kimmy nod approval to Tony who unwound the tape measure from his neck and got to work marking adjustments on the pants with a small square of chalk.

Down on one knee at Josh’s side, Tony asked what was the function on Friday that required such a fine suit. Kimmy said, “My boss is taking my husband to the Jays game.”

And since that didn’t seem like a suitable answer to why he would need a good—no, amazing—suit, he added: “Private box.”

“Well, well, well,” Tony said, running the tape measure up Josh’s inseam.

“He’s not just her boss, he’s our friend from school,” he said, then wondered when exactly it had become permissible to call Devlin a friend. “Kimmy is his lawyer.”

Kimmy said, “We all went to high school together in Kingston. Devlin Stone.”

Tony tilted his head. “Devlin Stone? I’ve fitted him many times.”

“Devlin recommended you,” Kimmy said.

Of course Devlin did. It all made sense now. This surprise lunch time visit to the tony old village of Yorkville had been Kimmy’s idea. Earlier he’d wondered how they’d got an appointment with a tailor so quickly. This tailor—situated in one of Toronto’s snazziest neighborhoods, nestled into the overgrowing city in an old Victorian house, in amongst stores like Chanel and Gucci and Christian Louboutin—must have a very long line up for such personal service. Kimmy made the appointment this morning—for only a few hours later. Devlin had pull here, and obviously she’d dropped Devlin’s name.

But instead of letting it bother him, Josh enjoyed it. Sure, letting Kimmy work for Devlin Stone had its hardships, but maybe they’d all rolled that heavy rock up the hill now. Being close to Devlin Stone came with perks. Money—lots of it—trips to private Cayman villas, box seats at the Jays game, and you could jump the queue if you, say, wanted a very fine suit, very fast.

“Devlin Stone is a good man,” Tony said, shuffling around to do the other leg. “A good customer.”

“Devlin dresses very well,” Kimmy said. Josh watched her in the mirror, a grand eight-foot tall monstrosity framed in tarnished brass, and leaned against the wall.

Tony said, “Next time you come, don’t make it so urgent. I’ll fit your husband with something custom.” Tony gestured with his hand the way a Michelin-star chef would, some sort of four-finger Mediterranean OK sign that conferred exquisiteness.

Due to the time constraints of when this suit was needed, they couldn’t have something tailored. But the shop also had some off-the-rack items that could be customized. This rich, warm charcoal single-breast with a faint chalky window-pane called to him from the rack. He tried on three others but none of them compared to this one. None of the items had prices. He feared the suit might cost as much as five-grand. It was Kimmy’s treat, but still, it seemed exorbitant. Now that he’d seen himself in it, there would be no dissuading him. He was going to have this suit. And he was going to wear it out on Friday night with Devlin Stone.

Josh flinched as Tony’s hand slid one end of the tape measure up his inseam and knuckle-brushed his package. An uncomfortable grunt hitched in his chest, and then both he and Tony chuckled. Tony hadn’t harmed him, but the contact was startling.

Kimmy had been watching. She said, “At least you know on which side he dresses.”

More awkward chuckling, though Josh was unsure what that meant. He asked and Tony said, “It’s an old way of asking where you keep the family jewels. Which pant leg.”

“Ah,” Josh said, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Then to join in on the fun he said, “I’m a lefty.”

After a small beat of quiet, Kimmy said, “Devlin’s a righty.”

The quiet after that went on and on and the heat on Josh’s cheeks grew to flames. Even his ears burned. Tony said nothing, but his eyebrows raised as he concentrated on marking the pant cuff.

Such a dumb thing for Kimmy to say. Such a salacious thing. It wasn’t even funny. And it was ripe with awful connotation. Hopefully Tony thought Kimmy just wasn’t good at making jokes or witty banter. She’d just pulled the pin on a hand grenade and let it roll to his feet, thinking everyone would laugh. But no, Tony would be thinking it wasn’t a joke. That Kimmy knew which side Devlin Stone dressed on. That this poor chump getting a suit bought for him by his wife like she was his mommy, was oblivious to the obvious fact his wife was fucking this guy Devlin Stone. He was fitting a suit for a cuckold. A dumb, blind cuckold. And, fuck, Tony fitted Devlin. Tony most likely knew how much man-meat was dressed on Devlin’s right side. It was probably a concern between tailor and well-hung client. We have to make the right leg a little looser because I tuck a fucking anaconda down it.

Kimmy sneered at him in the reflection and he could see how red his cheeks had blossomed. At least she enjoyed the joke. She looked so fucking sexy sunk in the chair, her long skinny legs crossed one over the other, wearing a black pant suit and black blouse, her expensive shoes—

The red soles. They were Louboutins. Perhaps purchased just next door. Maybe one day she’d come down here with Devlin to pick up a custom suit and she nipped next door to buy herself some expensive footwear.

His cock hardened at a furious pace. Maybe his sexy wife had lounged in that chair the same way she did now, looking like an evil fashion model, and one of the other tailors measured Devlin’s inseam, and Kimmy had learned that day what “dressing” meant, and they all laughed and the tailor joked about how they would have to charge Devlin more money for the extra fabric required to accommodate his equine manhood.

Josh made an obvious gesture of checking his watch and saying, “Shoot, I really have to get going. I have to be back at the office.” The worst thing right now would be for Tony to double-check that left leg inseam again and bump his hand up against a throbbing erection.

Kimmy still smiled devilishly at him, locking eyes with him in the mirror, really loving her stupid comment. The smile that spread on his face was unstoppable. As mad as he was, or as offended, or whatever the fuck he felt, he couldn’t deny she’d done that to zing him. He shook his head at her reflection and she tossed her head back in silent laughter.