from Recon News

19 August 2020

By sleazysuitedsub

I was fascinated by suits and fancied men in them long before I knew what sex was. It was partly the men in them as my earliest memory of any type of crush on any man was my young, good looking – and suited – music teacher at primary school, Mr Lucas, and partly the suits themselves.

I remember seeing my best friend's dad's three-piece suit hanging in the bedroom and being fascinated by the layers, the linings, the pockets – the inside of the jacket you could not see unless shown. This was in the 1970s, and by the time I hit puberty and secondary school I was surrounded by good looking young teachers in suits or strapping six form boys and prefects in blazers and ties.

The whole look just drove me wild. I found it manly and unattainable for a child or a gawky teenager, and intriguing in the ways it showed you some things – the bulge in the trousers, the hint of chest definition when the jacket blew open, a bit of bum when the hands were in pockets – and hid others - the real details of what lay underneath.

The suits and trousers were often quite tight, sometimes in soft fabrics like cottons and velvet, and for me a heady concoction of formal and sensual. There was no freely available pornography at this time, of any kind, let alone the kind that involved men in suits on the internet. I had little idea of what on earth two men did with each other, I just desperately wanted to get my hands on their suited bulges, pull at their zippers and feel under their jackets.

One teacher in particular stood out – unbelievably named Mr Topp (!) – he looked rather like a butch version of Robert Redford, complete with the moustache. He had a daily changeover of suits, jackets and ties, so I would be in state of excitement to see what outfit he would arrive in. He also had a personality that was stern and strict, but also fair and not sadistic, which drove me even more nuts. I would get goose bumps and hard-ons if he stood within a few feet of me. And if, rarely, I got bored of him, there were plenty of others to admire.

Whilst all that was going on, I was developing my own auto-erotic world. I did have a blazer, the closest thing to wearing a suit, however I did not wear it. Or rather I could not wear it to school for fear of being sent into a sexual frenzy. Even by the time of graduation, just wearing a suit alone would give me a hard on. I would therefore only get the school blazer out the cupboard to masturbate wearing it when home alone. This itself was something I remember learning to do one night – prior to this I tended to do what many young barely pubescent boys do, which was rub myself on the bed. I sat on my parents' bed (Freud, make of that what you will), put my blazer on and taught myself how to do it hand on cock. It took a while to get the knack but what takes work pays off and I had one of the best orgasms of my life, like bolts of electricity traveling from the back of my neck to my toenails and back again. I also had to get the spunk marks out my blazer afterwards. This would set up a whole dynamic in itself – do I keep it all on as much as possible and revel in how it all feels, inevitably getting spunk all over it, or try and avoid the mess but risk losing the buzz. As you might imagine, I've usually tended to go for the former. It went on this way for some years, Mr Topp was replaced by Mr Carter - my first boss on my summer office jobs. He was also a bit cruel but kind, and I remember I used to have to get lifts with him from the station, which made me excited and nervous all at the same time. He'd comment on the young girls wandering by saying "Oh to be young again", to which my unspoken reply was "Oh if only you knew".

I still hold my besuited invigilator, in trousers-so-tight-you-could-see-the-outline-of-his-evidently-cut-cock responsible for the failure of my French exams.

From school days on, I would also hang around toilets to (ostensibly) relieve myself of these frustrations in private but more of that later.

My suit fetish remained a secret until I had my first proper boyfriend on leaving university. He was a solicitor and wore suits to work, so I made sure he knew I wanted him to keep them on. We did explore a bit and I remember going to dinner, both in shirts, ties and new velvet jackets, and being so randy we couldn't wait to get home, so had sex in the restaurant toilets.

As I've explained, I liked the whole sensual touchy-feely aspect of wearing suits. I also liked the sensuality of getting wet and was beginning to put the two together occasionally. However, it was not till some years later that the roof really blew off.

I was in a relationship with a guy who was clear about not being into suited sex, nor anything much else I was into, so I was deeply frustrated. I had also decided to start to come out the closet and started buying and wearing suits for work although it was not necessary. So, I developed a bad-but-good habit of hanging round public toilets after work whilst suited up in my professional best. The combination, and depravity and subversion of the two was – I discovered – hot as hell. Smartly suited professional bloke goes to stinking latrine and behaves like a slag.

As anyone who has done much cruising or cottaging knows, you get to know regulars, what they like and vice versa. I'd routinely suck guys off. Anyone in a suit or, alternatively, wearing labouring gear – holding a particular appeal if it smelled of engine oil – and I'd get them to blow their loads over my suit; my own messy business had now turned into delight in others doing it for me. One particular afternoon, when dressed in a very nice double-breasted grey pinstripe gaberdine with a bit of a sheen to it, I dared to ask one said regular to piss on me… suffice to say I became like a kid at the fairground constantly queuing up for another go on that ride. The more depraved it got the more exciting it was – why just have one guy do it when you can have three and why just stick with piss and cum stains telling the world what you'd been up to when you could get your clothes torn open and really show them…

The internet adds a twist here for finally, in my thirties, there was now pornography involving men in suits. I'd joined the Suit and Tie Society (horribly sexless but a friend had told me where to look) and found nirvana for a while in feeding my pleasures both online and off. Yet of course you just end up wanting even more. By the time Menatplay came along, I was not just wanting any old porn with men in suits, but for the suits to stay on, the suits to get messy and total depravity. This remains hard to find in any abundance, as any suit fetishist will tell you. You do of course also find like-minded men, and after a bit of that, I found love and sex – and suited sex – all in the one package. Suited sex though is not really the cement that makes relationships stick together, and we parted a good few years later though remain friends.

By the time I'd been wholly done over and used by a group of depraved dominants, who tied me up whilst wearing a much-loved suit at City Boys night at Central Station, I'd pretty much run the gamut of what was possible, though fantasies will always find new ways, and I still want a date with a drunken suited Jason Statham… What I've learned in my time, though, is that the suit fetish is as diverse as any other. There are those who like the suits on, and those that take bits off, those obsessed more by ties and tie knots, those that like role play and those that like shoes, and a guy in Peterborough who only likes black dress shirts, because of the way they show up the spunk stains or something. The more specific it gets - the more amped up - the more frustratingly elusive it can get, too. For now, I like to say this is part of my repertoire, and a guy who does not have it in his is not for me, but part of a repertoire it remains, nonetheless.

And in case you are wondering, neither I nor any suit fetishist I know fancies every guy who wears a suit, or we would be very, very tired… there remain guys one fancies regardless, the many who you do not fancy even in a suit, and that lovely combination of the two that keeps you endlessly enthralled.

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