On The Surface

Real Classy

On the way to work the next morning, Waylon followed Lisa's advice and stopped at a drug store to buy some lube. He didn't even go for the small bottle – he went for the economy size. He figured he could afford to hope.

Waylon's morning was quiet until he was called away to the office of Dr. Richard Trager, the chiropractor in the shopping center. His internet wasn't working. Waylon turned it off, and back on again. With the problem solved, he took his leave, the doctor calling out a 'thanks buddy' as he left.

A large box had been left outside of his door with a smaller shirt box on top. He had been expecting a delivery of used computer parts he had won on an online auction. The smaller box was an enigma. He took them both inside before opening the shirt box and watching a small handwritten note flutter out to the ground. He picked up the note and quickly read, "Wear these for me tonight, darling." It wasn't signed. It didn't have to be.

The contents of the shirt box were concealed by delicate white tissue paper. Waylon pulled it back and stared confused. White silk. White lace. No tags. In the box were silky underwear and a lacy top that looked like they were designed for a woman, but Waylon suspected they would fit him perfectly. They were obviously handmade by Eddie.

Waylon slid a finger across the fabric of the underwear and immediately felt himself stiffen in his jeans. Eddie wanted him to wear these? Did that mean Eddie wanted to have sex tonight? Surely that's what it meant, right? Good thing he had bought all that lube. But wait, did he really have to wear these girly undergarments? Did he want to? Waylon shoved the shirt box into a desk drawer and decided to put off thinking about it.

He busied himself all afternoon taking inventory of all the new parts and calling a customer to know the part they had requested was in the store ready for pick-up. But no matter how busy he was, Waylon kept thinking about silk. He locked the shop and excused himself upstairs to the empty bathroom. He pulled his blue, collared shirt over his head and touched the lacy top experimentally. He shrugged as he pulled it on over his head. The lace material was actually very stretchy. The top hugged around his chest, cut in a mockery of a sweetheart neckline that would accentuate a woman's chest, though obviously Waylon had none.

Well, if Waylon was willing to go that far, he decided he may as well try on the matching set. He pulled off his jeans and boxers and slid on the silky panties. The cut in the back was precise to fit over his backside while leaving just a peek of his cheeks coming out the bottom sides. Waylon was surprised at how shapely his ass looked. The front looked much less feminine with his man junk crammed inside. Would Eddie want him to tuck? Wait. No.

Waylon was about to take off the underwear when he heard a loud knock on the door downstairs. He quickly put his jeans and shirt back on, leaving the undergarments, and rushed back downstairs to the door. He immediately wished he had not.

"Waylon Park. My man. Security breech over at Saint Psycho's?"

"How do you hear these things so quickly..."

"What did I say about my sources? C'mon now. Did they get anything good?" Miles asked.

"They got nothing, but I really can't talk about it anyways. You know I signed an NDA."

"I do know that. I also do not give a shit. Listen, these guys don't play by the rules, so why are you playing by theirs?"

"Is there a particular reason you're here today Miles, or just the usual paranoia about environmental pollution?"

"What did you think of friendly 'Father' Martin there, Park?" Miles asked, holding up his fingers to act as quotation marks when he spoke the man's title.

"He seemed..."

"Bat shit insane, right? Yeah. Not a priest. Not even any kind of religion I can figure out. Claims he's his own kind of religion. Why on earth would a chemical company keep such an unpredictable crazy ass church on their own premise. Ask yourself that."