It’s hard to say where the cotton actually came from, but suffice it to say that the quality was excellent. It was woven into a rich piece of material and dyed black. The material was selected by a very astute and discriminating buyer looking for only the best to represent their brand.
The purchase included a volume capable of producing an abundance of shirts to meet the fashion needs of the population. Thankfully, I was one of the many products to spring forth from this wonderful piece of material and my good fortune was just beginning.
The material was cut with expert precision and sewn together to form me. You see, I’m an incredible dress shirt that would make any man look stylish and handsome. You know, turn the heads of the ladies. I still didn’t know my ultimate destination, but things were coming together nicely and I was a damned fine looking shirt if I do say so myself.
More exciting news was just around the corner! I had been selected to become a Harley-Davidson fashion statement. I was sent in for the excellent stitching and embroidery work necessary to properly tout the Harley-Davidson name. Let’s face it, Harley-Davidson is world renowned for its quality products and services from motorcycles to motor clothes and I was going to be a part of that world. Life was good and hard to imagine how it could get much better. After all, I’m a shirt for crying out loud.
After going through an extensive quality control process, I was finally shipped to one of the hundreds of Harley-Davidson dealers across the world. Honestly, I can’t tell you which one since I was on the inside of a box the whole trip, but I do remember the thrill as daylight breached the seam when the box was opened. As I was hung in the rack, I officially became a Harley-Davidson product. Man, things were definitely going my way.
I was on the rack for a few days before the doubts starting creeping into my mind. Sure, lots of people had stopped by and noticed me. A few even pulled me from the rack and took a closer look at the stitching on my front and back. One crazy mother-fucker even took me to the dressing room and tried me on. He paraded around in front of his old lady soliciting her thoughts. I thought for sure I was going home with someone that day.
Alas, it was not to be and I found myself back on the rack wondering when, and if, I would ever be purchased and taken to a good home.
The cockiness I felt that first day I was hung on the rack was turning into self-doubt. What was wrong with me, I wondered. Did people not find me attractive? Was there some flaw in my design or stitching that made me less desirable? I could feel myself beginning to spiral into despair.
Other shirts, particularly those low-class tee-shirts, seemed to fly out of the store. I wanted to scream to the customers, “Hey, look over here! Pick me! Pick me!” Still, I hung on the rack, desperate for attention and a home. Little did I know what fate had in store for me.
Then it happened. I was just hanging there. I wasn’t even paying attention to the clientele when suddenly I was whisked from the rack by a blonde bombshell. She was with another hottie and they both squealed with delight. The blonde, who I later learned was named Rockell, said I was perfect! Perfect! Can you believe it?
Rockell twirled me through the air and announced, “I must have it!” Her friend, Terri, agreed and encouraged Rockell to “go try it on!” What? Wait a minute! I am a MAN’s dress shirt. What the hell is she talking about “try it on!” Is this bitch crazy?
Next thing I know, Rockell is stuffing her arms into my sleeves and gathering me tightly around her bosom. Oh, this is nice. She smells great! Remember that big burly guy who tried me on a couple of weeks ago? That guy smelled like ass! Holy shit! I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I’m going to like this.
Rockell sashayed across the room drawing praise from Terri and looks of lust from the gentlemen customers as well as looks of jealousy from the female patrons. Rockell announced that she could even wear me when the occasion called for a little black dress. I’m in baby!
Then Rockell uttered the words that every shirt craves to hear, “I’m getting it!” Woo hoo, I finally had a home! And man, what a home. As she tried to remove me, her arms got entangled and I wouldn’t come off. Little did she know, but that was really me clinging to her. I didn’t want to come off. Just buy me and wear me out the door, was what I was thinking. Eventually, she pulled me from her arms and completed the purchase. I was going home.
My next experience with Rockell was even better. It was later that same day that she took me home. She decided to experiment with me. She wanted to see the various ways she could use me to make a fashion splash. Wow! What a night!
She carefully laid me on the bed and then proceeded to undress. Being a gentleman’s dress shirt, I tried to avert my eyes, but come on man, how do you not look at that gorgeous body. She swooped me from the bed and the next thing I knew I was resting comfortably against her magnificent breasts.
We spent the next hour in front of the mirror. We tried various poses that included some with a button undone here and there, some with jeans and skirts, some in the buff where my tail nestled gently against hers, all while Rockell sipped wine and nibbled on cheese.
Apparently the fashion show had its intended effect. Rockell knew that she had made an excellent purchase. The wine was having its intended effect too and soon Rockell and I were slipping under the covers for a contented night’s rest. Life as a shirt is good!
–Chuck Riddle
