Something about the sheer dress socks made Charles nervous.
He was at his bed, fully dressed in his best three-piece suit, lush paisley tie knotted around his crisp cutaway collar, grosgrain braces to match, silk handkerchief spilling out of his breast pocket, glittering cufflinks--the whole nine yards. But he saved the sheer socks for last. It was the way he could see his feet perfectly through them, like pantyhose. Sheer and silky, luxurious, cushioning his feet. Something about them felt . . . wrong. And right. So, so right.
But these were the kind of socks Professor Williams always wore, and Charles felt a twinge in his groin at just the thought of his favourite Professor. The sharpest dressed Professor at his university law school, always in three-piece suits, always in beautifully shined shoes, and always with silky see-through socks like this. That was why Charles had finally ordered himself a pair. And now, trying them on for the first time, he was having second thoughts. What if someone noticed? What if someone said they looked girly? But Professor Williams always wore them, and no one questioned his impeccable style.
So Charles took a deep breath and slipped on his velvet slippers. These were new, too, quite a bit more formal than Charles' usual wingtips and laceups. These were soft, decadent, dandyish. It was a semiformal ball, so Charles thought he could get away with an even more peacockish outfit than usual.
Standing up and admiring himself in his bedroom mirror, Charles was pleased with what he saw. He wasn't a particularly tall or broad lad, but the suit did wonders for his frame - making him look more masculine and elegant. The dandy accessories on the other hand, the purple paisley tie and the pocket square enhanced his effeminate side. Smoothing his slick hair back, Charles took extra time putting all the finishing touches on his look. A slight adjustment of his large tie knot, an extra puff on his pocket square.
Once he'd achieved as close to perfection as he could, Charles was ready and summoned an Uber on his phone. It was time to go.
Fidgeting in his suit while he waited for his driver, Charles thought about the night ahead. A rather dull affair, he thought, but with any luck Mr Williams would be there in one of his impeccable dandy outfits and that was reason enough to attend.
Mr Williams had always inspired and excited Charles. From their earliest interactions as student and teacher, Charles sensed a connection between them. A mutual subconscious understanding between two dandy men in an otherwise conservative world. Charles didn't know if there were any gay men at the school, and indeed wasn't even sure if he himself was comfortable at the label. That he might be interested in men was Charles' most closely guarded secret.
Still, there was no denying that he was attracted to the Professor. Thinking about Mr Williams always took Charles to a sexual place. He'd masturbated countless times thinking about being seduced by the confident older man. All he had to do was imagine touching Mr William's tie while they kissed and Charles would become rock hard.
Catching himself imagining just this scenario, Charles realised he'd been rubbing his rock hard cock with one hand and stroking his silky tie knot in the other when his phone beeped - his driver was here.
Thanks to traffic, Charles arrived a little late. The ball was in the oldest building of the university campus: marble, columns, a bust of the founder. He collected a champagne flute and took stock of the fashions in the room. His cock started to plump at the sight of all of his fellow students wearing suits. It was still a thrill to see all of his acquaintances dressed to his liking. Sure, some fellows had wimpy little tie knots, or some wore trendy tan shoes with their dark suits. But some had pocket squares, and one had cufflinks, so Charles decided that all wasn't lost with the world.
But he was looking for one person in particular. Surely he'd find him in the crowd of standard-issue suits in charcoal and navy. Where was his favourite peacock?
Charles also started to wonder why he was the only guy there with champagne. Certainly there were some women sipping bubbly, but all of the guys had cups of beer, pinching their tie knots, shifting uncomfortably in their suits. Maybe it was the suits and ties that made them self-conscious? Charles decided that the beer had something to do with that. They didn't want to seem like poofs.
And then Charles saw him. Professor Williams, floating through the crowd with a champagne flute glittering against his cufflinked wrist, clad in an immaculate three-piece pinstripe suit.
As the elegant Professor drew closer, Charles began to make out the finer details of the beautiful older man's outfit. The suit was a dark navy, beautifully cut and accented with a bold pin stripe. It hugged his body in all the right places and gave the man a powerful sense of masculinity. His shirt was crisp white, with a full British cutaway collar that held an enormous and luxurious tie knot under his throat. And what a tie it was! A bright and thick pink silk tie cascaded down his body, the blade disappearing under the Professor's waistcoat.
His wrists were framed by a beautiful French cuff, pinned together with two rose gold stud cuff links.
Charles drew his attention down and saw that Professor Williams was of course wearing his signature sheer silk socks, but tonight his shoes were an especially dandy pair of patent leather oxfords, shined like mirrors.
His heartbeat quickening as he took in the site of the Professor, Charles took a deep pull from his glass of champagne to give himself courage. "Before the night is through, I will tell that man how amazing his clothes are" Charles murmured under his breath.
Calming his nerves, Charles took a moment to adjust his tie and suit, his eyes never leaving the Professor and he moved through the room.
Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted as a hand clapped his back. "Look at you, you bloody big girl. A three piece suit? You love wearing this crap!"
Charles knew who it was before he even turned around to look.
Snidely, he replied "I'd rather not look like my Mum dressed me, Brent."
Brent threw his arms out, sloshing his beer on the floor. "What, this? This is my best suit. I've got better things to spend my money on than prissy boy clothes."
"Look, Brent, I know that you're all about buying your weight in protein powder each month." Charles had already scanned Brent's outfit earlier: a grey suit so tight that it was already wrinkling just to stay on him, paired with a scrawny black tie and scuffed double monkstraps with cheap soles. "But some of us can't spend six days a week at the gym."
"It's a lifestyle!" Brent leaned closer. Too close. "All day, every fuckin day. The gym is my office. I'm 22 and in the best shape of my life. Results, boy. These gains are results."
Charles' nose wrinkled with the odour of beer on Brent's breath. "And how has all that lifting worked out in the relationship department?"
"More than you, girly boy, with your girly champagne and your fuckin girly ass little slippers and pansy pantyhose socks." Brent scowled at Charles' shoes.
"Is that right?" Charles started looking around for an exit, but Charles immediately regretted breaking eye contact. He knew Brent would take that as a sign of weakness.
"You know, I love seein' smart little sissies like you tryin' to tell me how to live my life." Brent leaned in even closer. "When I start my own firm, can't wait to not hire you bud. Cuz that's what I've got that you don't--leadership and goals."
"Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?" Professor Williams stepped in, patent oxfords glistening like dark mirrors and clicking on the marble tiles. "You both seem to be having a spirited discussion."
