Okay confession time… I like to sew, and I’m very good at it.
The thing is, it doesn’t fit my own self image of what is cool. I’ve been sewing since I was a teenager. I learned from my mom who sewed all of my sisters clothes. I started out making Halloween costumes for myself and later clothes for my wife and kids then sexy clothes for my girlfriends.
Something about dressing a girl in provocative clothing that you made with your hands scratched an itch that I never knew existed.
To this day if someone asks, I’ll make a costume, sew a skirt, I’ve even made bathing suits.
Which brings me back to the purpose of this story, “I had a secret.” Often times my only payment for making a garment for a woman was that they could never tell anyone I made it. It was just too embarrassing.
That all fell apart last St. Patrick’s day, my date wanted to wear a sparkly green skirt to go with her sparkly green top. After dragging me along for a day of searching the shops I finally broke down and told her that I would make her one. She looked skeptical, not knowing my history, but since she was desperate, she said okay. St. Patrick’s day was a day away.
So I took her to the fabric store and let her pick a few yards of shiny metallic green material. With that and one of her old skirts that was of the same style, I went home and dug out one of my old sewing machines, I actually have three. Working late that night watching TV I sewed it up. The next day I had her to come over to get ready for the St Patricks day party at my place.
A few last adjustments and a final hem the skirt was ready. I love that part the best. Standing there in her panties and top as I had her put on the skirt pin it then off again. Waiting impatiently, skeptical, until it was completed, shifting from one foot to the other, unashamed in her panties. She loved the finished skirt and we left for yhe party, both of us very happy.
Shortly after we arrived someone complemented her on her outfit. Asking her where she found such an impossibly sparkly skirt the exact shade as her top, she immediately said. He made it last night pointing to me. All turned to me and I could see the narrowed eyes taking in this new bit of information. The guys laughed and smirked, but the girls looked from me to the skirt and then moved on.
I had forgotten to exact my promise of silence upon transfer of the finished skirt.
Later that night I kept feeling a tap on my shoulder and one of the girls would point me out to her friend as the guy who made the skirt. Some asked if I would make them one also, most just looked at me as if trying to decode a puzzle.
Mr. P who is so controlling of his image and interaction, spinning out of control, losing control. I think I felt relief.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.
The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect 