My life was set – a new Jeep by summer’s end, my own new loft fully furnished to start College with AND a magnificent grandfather who had become my new lover.
I had expected the worst summer of my life and ended up with one better than even the hottest fiction could produce. The only other part that was as exciting was surprising GRANDDAD everyday with a new outfit – or lack thereof, as was the case most days.
I scoured shops on Sundays trying to find five new things to wear during the coming week. I LOVED Sundays. A sports store, swimwear stores, malls, I couldn’t get enough – but the best places were second hand shops. The gear was outstanding and I could always be assured of a few treasures. By week four I had narrowed it down to which ones had the worst clothes, which to me made the best ones. Worn out, well-used, totally abused clothes were the best. Ripped, torn, threadbare, men’s women’s I didn’t care, it just had to be small and hot!
My first find that Sunday was awesome! A pair of well-worn flat leather sandals with knee high leather laces like the Romans wore in days past. They were a perfect fit and looked hot against my tanned legs.
The second shop was a complete dud, which made me more determined to find something magnificent. The third shop just as bad. Maybe my luck had run out.
When I arrived at the next shop – No News! I was almost overwhelmed by the bins. Every week they replenished the bins of cheap well used TOTALLY unwanted crap – my favourite treasures. These bins were loaded with t-shirts, shorts, socks, jeans, everything was under $1 and it was considered the dredge. It took me half an hour but I found the skimpiest string bikini. In fact, even I pondered how disgusting it was! Obviously a jock’s speedo the fabric was white. It had been very well used and from the ass right around to the front crotch had worn through and the lining torn out. The side Seams were ripped to the waist. I knew this was a keeper. A few minutes later I found a pair of oily greasy 501’s in my size – gross but great for cut-offs or something I thought. Then, I struck gold! I had never seen anything like them EVER. They were the ultimate find in any shop and my heart started racing just by picking them up. I didn’t know if they were men’s or women’s. I didn’t know where you’d actually wear them. All I knew was they were the most perfect fucking shorts I would wear this summer and this find was a 10!
At best they were made to fit a youth or tiny man or woman. All they were made of was a fishnet mesh material in silver grey. That was it. If I could see my hands and fingers you would see my ass, my cock, my balls, EVERYTHING. This would be as close to being naked as I could get. I wanted Granddad and the crew to see me, I wanted to take a trip to the beer store and the butcher – I wanted the whole fucking world to see me in these. Two finds in one store made my day!
I had one more stop at the largest second hand outlet. It was hit and miss just because of its size. On my way through the store I spotted a wild pair of rubber waders, MINE! Black, rubber, right up to my thighs – I thought very hot in the dirt for sure. . I expected one buy to be it. In the boy’s wear I found a terrific pair of white ribbed cotton shorts with elasticized waistband. Since they were for young boys there was no lining and no fly. I knew they would fit perfectly over my ass and package my cock very well.
The men’s wear was filled with the usual – cutoffs, swimsuits, jeans, blah blah blah. It seemed endless. I picked up some long lycra running pants I thought might come in handy sometime. Just beyond them was what I had come for. With what once was the number 5 on it was a former wrestler’s singlet. Royal blue and pinned to the hangar there was so little left of the straps. I t must have been a junior in a young grade maybe 7th or so judging by its size. I knew it would stretch and be a memorable addition to my growing collection of slut wear. On one side the seam was ripped out from leg band to waist. Both straps were only held together by the seams as the fabric was torn obviously in a rough match. It had been washed maybe 200 too many times – it was PERFECT. And, it was 50 cents!
