Seductive Indian Stories

Failed Fashion Designer

Early in life, a lot of my friends had the ambition to become doctors or engineers, mostly as per their parents's wishes. I had no such qualms or ambitions. I liked girls. I adored feminine beauty. I loved the arts-creating stuff, poetry, writing, drawing, paintings, traveling, and exploring the world.

So after high school, I enrolled in an arts school. I thought that I'd become a fashion designer. So I graduated from college and studied fashion design. Now, having such wayward thoughts is one thing, and being successful in the cutthroat world of fashion design is a totally different thing. To tell you the truth, I aspired to become a fashion designer so I could meet and date beautiful women. I tried my luck to become a top-notch fashion designer, walking on ramps with beautiful models, but I failed.

So instead of pursuing a job at a big corporation and becoming a 9-5 cubical rat, I became an independent tailor specializing in Indian ethnic wear and opened my boutique shop near a few posh localities. I thought rich people would love to have unique things stitched at a local boutique tailor shop at much cheaper prices. It worked. As I thought, ladies love to flaunt unique things at parties. I soon gained some new customers, and as word-of-mouth spread among affluent ladies, I had a good business. I behaved like a gentleman, mostly.

My boutique was small on a not very busy street, with tinted glass doors; there was a long counter in the back, some fabric shelves, and some racks to hang newly stitched dresses. There was a small change room in the back behind the counter. It was a comfortable place. I had another place on the outskirts of the city where I used to have local artisans help stitch the dresses as per customer specifications. I mostly used to be alone in my shop unless there were any customers for whom I had to fit, measure, or show them the catalogs.

One day, Sana came to my boutique to get a new blouse top stitched for her. She was alone and was looking very sensual in a navy blue saree and matching blouse, which I had stitched a few months ago. This time, the blouse fabric was black.

Let me tell you that Sana was the wife of a rich businessman. She was a new customer and started coming for stitching for a year or so. She was in her early 30s. She was about 5'3 with jet black hair, which I believe she used to color. She had a pale complexion, like most Kashmiri girls have. She had sensuous curves, an hourglass figure, and a sweet voice. But she was shy, or at least that is how I felt while interacting with her.

I was in my early 40s, slender, standing at around 6'0, and in good shape. I was enjoying life and making a comfortable living, as the business was going well. And I was meeting some interesting, beautiful ladies along the way.

Looking at Sana, I said, "Sana Ji, show me the fabric; I will stitch the blouse to the same size as before."

She said, "No, I'd like you to measure again because the last one you had stitched was too tight."

Some women come with their old dresses or something and request that I use those measurements, or they would ask to use the measurements as last time, and some will allow me to measure them.

I said, "Sure, please come inside."

I asked her to step into the measuring room. Because of the small space inside the change room, she was standing very close to me. She wore this aromatic, floral perfume, which felt so intoxicating to me.

I said, "Please, remove the pallu (the front part of the saree that covers the chest)." Her blouse was tight, and her breasts were desperate to come out, and the line between her breasts was also clearly visible.

I said, "Your blouse looks tight; sorry, Sana ji, last time I got the size wrong."

She said a little shyly while looking at me, "No, Anil ji, it is okay. I wanted to come and get it refitted, but I did not have time. I know you always ask me to come back if fitting is not right."