As soon as I knew I was alone, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my cargo shorts. With the speedo covered, I swung the sack back over one bare shoulder, kicked sand over my drying cum, and headed back to the house.
It definitely felt like a shorter route on the way back and I was opening the front door in no time. Unfortunately, I was still not back in time to catch up with the others, and I got a series of texts from Josh as soon as I crossed the threshold.
"We're headed over."
"Get dressed and come to 36 Wisteria Path"
"You can walk it's just down the street"
My phone pinged in my hand and a final message popped up.
"It's a tea party so think gay garden party"
Ping.
"You know for how to dress"
What the fuck is a 'gay garden party'?
I thought. How was that supposed to help me choose my clothes?
I left him on read, a little miffed they didn't wait for me at the house but still determined to catch up. I went to my room and opened up my suitcase and felt a sudden distaste for everything I had in there.
Some band tees, more cargo shorts, and even a Giants jersey.
Wow, I really had no idea what I was getting into this weekend, did I?
I looked past my "tragically straight" clothes and found a short sleeve button down and khakis that I'd packed for fancier settings. If this didn't say "gay garden party," then I was shit out of luck. Mercifully, the pattern on the emerald green shirt was little palm trees.
I changed and paused to look in the mirror.
Has this shirt always been this boxy?
I thought, staring at my reflection.
I'd already worn this outfit several times before without a second thought, but now - here - they just seemed ill-fitting. I tugged at the collar I'd buttoned all the way up and frowned at the way the khakis just looked saggy.
Who am I kidding? I know the reason.
I thought, rolling my eyes.
Josh is for sure gonna have something to say about it.
The walk over to Wisteria Path was pleasant enough, but as I approached the house I could hear the beats of disco starting to invade the birdsong and distant crashing sound of the waves.
"It's rainin' men! Hallelujah, it's rainin' men!" The Weather Girls blasted through the door as it opened, and the man who let me in greeted me like we knew each other. He immediately gave me a kiss on each cheek and a full body-contact hug.
"Hi there," he said dreamily. "Welcome to m' party. Ssssso nice t' see ya again. Come on in!"
"I'm sorry, I...," I began as he led me over the threshold and across a very large foyer. I took an extended look around at the high ceilings and marble tiling. "S- sorry, I, uh, I don't think we've actually met before."
"Oh thassokay. 'T's not really my house." he slurred before turning a corner into a large living room and immediately wandering off into the crowd of guys that were milling and dancing about. I paused for a moment, wondering if I should go help him out. He seemed too drunk already and it was barely 3pm.
"Danny!" A voice called from across the room. "You made it!"
It was Benji, standing in the little kitchenette in the corner by the sliding back doors. He had a drink in each hand. I waved and made my way over.
"Hey man! I can't believe you're still drinking!" I said.
"And you better catch up, gurl!" He said before giving me a visible once over. "Oh... oh my."
"What?" I looked down, half expecting to see some food on my shirt or something.
"No no no, this won't do." He was laying the drama on thick. "Follow me, we need the girls for this." And he led the way to the back patio, tisking along as he went.
"Dan- I mean, Danny!" Yelled Josh when he saw me right before downing the shot in his hand with the rest of the group. "We've got shots for y... what the fuck are you WEARING?"
"Ok right?!" Benji said as he put his drinks down only to take the offered shot. It went right down the hatch.
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Well, these are the nicest clothes I brought with me. If you hate them so much, help me!"
"Oh baby, we thought you'd never ask," Amir swooped over. "And in all honesty, we might just be able to alter what you've got here."
Set myself up for that one.
I thought sardonically, but I resigned myself over to his fussing.
"Now, first things first we need to undo these," he reached up and unbuttoned my top three buttons. "And we gotta roll these sleeves up a few times to show off those arms." He gave my bicep a soft, teasing pinch.
"Now the thing with the pants," Amir stepped back to observe, "is that they're entirely too big. Like
too
big. You need a tailor or a Marshall's, gurl."
"Or a costume designer." Allan raised his hand high and took the last gurgling sips through the straw of his cocktail. "Come on, let's go see if we can find a sewing kit."
He grabbed my forearm and led me away back toward the house. A few steps later he looked back at me and very suddenly dropped my arm.
"Uh sorry about that," he mumbled and turned back to keep walking through the crowd, muttering about being drunk.
It took us a few tries at the random doors in the depths of the house, but toward the back we found a laundry room that had what Allan was looking for.
"Bingo!" He said. "You can always trust the gays to have safety pins lying around somewhere."
"Oh nice!" I said. "So, like... what are you going to do with those?"
"Unzip your pants."
"What?"
"S- sorry!" Allan seemed to realize the forward nature of his request. "I don't mean like- like that! I'm just gunna do a quick, dirty backstage alteration."
"Oh," I said and tentatively unbuttoned and unzipped my khakis.
"Oh wait," he held out a hand to stop me. "I forgot, I should see how they sit on you first. May I?"
I let go of the front flaps that now hung open and held my arms aloft as he reached for my waist band.
"Ok so the thing you should always remember about pants like this is they sit higher than your hips. They're supposed to go to your waist."