Wetsuit; Wet Dream – Part 3

 

By sj_one.

The Story

After coffee and a bite to eat I fired up the PC and we went online to Google for possible wetsuit retailers. The appropriately named, “Wetsuit Wonderland” looked promising. From the pictures on the website, it appeared to be a substantial establishment with an extensive range. It wasn’t an online-only e-tailer, so Paul could go try some different wetsuits on in the shop. The place was on the coast, an hour and a half’s drive at least, but we figured an afternoon at the seaside would be enjoyable anyway, so we set out immediately.

Their website had furnished directions and it wasn’t too hard to find the location — an industrial estate on the outskirts of town. The shop was one of those out-of-town, pre-fabricated steel warehouse type buildings of sizeable dimensions, with a glass frontage featuring a display of surfboards and accessories. We went in; it wasn’t particularly busy. Typical of sports shops of the kind — they didn’t only stock wetsuits — the products were arranged in aisles like a supermarket, each dedicated to different sports: sailing, surfing, waterskiing, jetskiing, kiteboarding and so on. We looked for the rows devoted specifically to wetsuits and found them at one end of the shop.

There was an amazing choice of brands, varieties and colours — an Aladdin’s cave of wetsuits, in fact. Rip Curl, O’Neill, Quiksilver, Billabong, Sola, Salomon — all seemed to be represented, plus a whole bunch of maker’s names I’d never heard of before. Paul started down the first aisle, like a kid in a toyshop (I guess it was a bit like Wetsuits ‘R’ Us). Every now and then he would stop and pull a particular suit that attracted his attention off the rail, turning it on its hanger so he could have a closer look. I followed him, smiling to myself how deeply into this he seemed to be. I guess the previous night’s fun had had a profound effect on him. He was currently holding an O’Neill Epic in black, graphite and red. What did I think?

“Well, what exactly are you looking for?” I asked. It was rather like that children’s television programme, “Mr Benn”: as if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared. In actual fact, it was one of the sales assistants. He was in his early twenties, blonde and wearing tracksuit bottoms, designer trainers and a “Wetsuit Wonderland” staff T-shirt, sporting a name tag that identified him as James.

“Can I help you, guys?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a new wetsuit and I’m not sure what to get,” Paul replied.

“Have you worn one before?”

“Yes, but it was borrowed.” He and I exchanged glances. “I need to get one of my own.”

“Okay. Is it for any sport in particular?” Paul realized he probably couldn’t admit exactly what he wanted it for.

“Hmm, I guess I want something general-purpose, that I can use for different occasions.” He looked me in the eye again and I grinned back at him knowingly.

“If you want it for surfing, then I’d recommend Rip Curl or O’Neill, from personal experience — like the one in your hand. If you wanted something more specialized, for triathlon, for example, I’d go with Orca or Snugg. Is it for winter or summer use?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, a winter wetsuit tends to be thicker material, say 5mm neoprene, whereas a summer one is usually thinner, 2 or 3mm. Also, in the summer, you can get away with a shortie rather than a full length suit — restricts leg movement less.”

“So, I really need two, for different seasons, do I?”

“Depends if you’re going to be a fair weather sportsman or not,” the assistant said. Paul got as close as he could to the real nature of what he was looking for.

“I want something tight-fitting, but that isn’t going to be too inflexible to move about in.”

“Then you ought to think about an Orca speedsuit — a bit more expensive, though…” James showed us to the next aisle where the Orca wetsuits were located. “…Or, consider Snugg. We can get those made to measure for you, if you want.”

“Too many choices!” Paul exclaimed. “Can I try some on before I make my decision?”

“Sure, the fitting rooms are over there.” James gestured to the far corner of the shop. Another customer was trying to get his attention over in the waterski section. “Excuse me a moment while I see to this customer. Give me a shout if you need any help.” He left us among the triathlon-specific wetsuits.

“What do you think? What would I look great in?” Paul asked as soon as we were alone.

“I don’t know, I think you’d look good in most of them,” I told him truthfully. “I quite like that one.” I indicated a slinky wetsuit in a thinner, “wetlook” black, blue and silver neoprene. The coloured panels had a metallic looking sheen to them. I checked more closely. According to the inventory tag, it was a Snugg Slipstream suit. I tried to imagine what Paul would look like wearing it. Fantastic, my imagination said. As if he was reading my thoughts, he laughed and reached for one in his size. We went back to the beginning again and started over from the first aisle and picked out several other suits that took our fancy.

“I want to try a shortie,” he said. Of the numerous ones on offer, we agreed that we both liked the O’Neill Gooru and Sola models. For good measure, Paul chose a full-length wetsuit as well, the Epic he’d been looking at before. Carrying armfuls of rubber between us we made our way to the fitting rooms. There wasn’t room in the cubicles for two, so I had to wait outside while he got changed. Coming out from behind the curtain, he was going to treat me to a little tongue-in-cheek fashion show in each of the wetsuits in turn, starting with the blue and black Sola. It was pretty sexy on him and I said so.

“Yeah, it feels good. A bit tight on the thighs, but I like it.” There was a full-length mirror beside the changing rooms and he went to check himself out in it. I stood behind him and admired his reflection. “I see what you mean,” he remarked. I checked to see if we were being observed. James was still busy with the other customer, demonstrating different kinds of waterskis. The shop manager was at the counter dealing with another customer’s credit card. I surreptitiously ran my hands down Paul’s sides. He turned his head towards me and we kissed.

He went to try on the equivalent O’Neill shortie next. While he was changing, he said through the curtain, “You realize I might be some time here.”

“No problem, I haven’t got anything else planned this afternoon.”

“Look, why don’t you try some of these on, too?”

“All right, why not?” He came out of the fitting room wearing the Gooru and carrying the already-tried Sola for me. I took it and went back in to change while he took his turn waiting for me. I stripped off my trainers, T-shirt and jeans and put the wetsuit on, using the strap attached to the zip pull to yank the zipper up my back to my neck. It had been a few years since I’d last worn mine and maybe I was in a particularly receptive state of mind just then, having seen Paul wearing several sexy wetsuits since we’d started playing last night. It felt surprisingly erotic and arousing. I’d put on a bit of weight over the last few months, so the Sola was even tighter on me than it had been on him (I made a mental note to go to the gym or go swimming more regularly — perhaps the latter would give me an excuse to wear my own wetsuit more often). The neoprene gripped my thighs firmly above the knee. Paul was right; it did feel good. I pulled the curtain aside so he could take a look at me.

“You look ‘hot’!” he observed as I stepped out into the shop again.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d forgotten what it feels like — a wetsuit, I mean.” The tight-fitting garment was starting to excite me and I fought to prevent myself from getting an erection inside it. To add to my embarrassment, James chose that moment to return. If he saw anything, he diplomatically didn’t mention it.

“I see you’ve both decided to try them on. Oh, and you’ve picked the Snugg as well,” he said, observing the pile of, as yet, untested neoprene. “That’s available with positive, neutral or negative buoyancy, depending upon your preference, and, as I said before, we can have it custom made to your measurements. When you’re ready, let me know and you can try it out in the tank.”

“I’m sorry?” I queried, sounding confused.

“With the triathlon wetsuits especially, you want to have them skintight, to move through the water with minimum drag, you know?” he said. “You can’t really tell how they’re going to be unless you get in the water and try them out for real. We can let you do that right here in the shop! We’ve got a dive tank over there.” He walked with us down the other end of the store to where there was a circular pool, perhaps a dozen feet across and maybe four and a half feet or so deep. A plastic and stainless steel ladder ran up the outside of the tank and down into the water. The adjacent area featured various diving related equipment. “This is where customers can try out dive gear and Steve, the owner, gives introductory dive lessons.” It seemed a somewhat unusual fixture, but I guess it made perfect sense for potential purchasers to find out what they were getting for their money and not make the wrong decision. “You’re welcome to try out the wetsuits in the pool, if you want. I’ll go find some towels for when you’re through.” We thanked him and he disappeared through a doorway marked “Staff” at the rear of the shop, in search of dry towels.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Paul said. “Want to give it a go?”

“Cool! Do you suppose he meant just the Snugg wetsuit, or this as well?” I pointed at myself in the shortie.

“He did say ‘wetsuits’ — plural, so I guess he meant both. Excuse me while I go put on the Slipstream.” He wandered back in the direction of the fitting rooms. While he was gone, James came back with a pile of assorted beach towels, which he dropped in a loose heap next to the ladder into the pool.

“Go on, then,” he said encouragingly, nodding at me. For some reason, it felt bizarre to be going swimming in a shop, but I shrugged and climbed up the ladder, swinging myself over the edge of the tank and lowering myself into the water. It was cold, but probably a good deal warmer than the ocean, not more than a couple of miles away. I felt the water permeate the wetsuit and, after a few minutes, the trapped layer began to warm up with my body heat and it became quite comfortable. The pool wasn’t big enough to swim properly in — two or three short strokes and you’d crash into the opposite side. It was just sufficient to be able to get the hang of scuba gear in a controlled environment.

Before long, Paul returned wearing the Snugg wetsuit. I won’t say it was a perfect fit, but my intuition was right: he did look gorgeous in it. He saw me in the pool, my back against the side, arms supporting me both ways along the curve of the edge while I kicked my legs leisurely to keep them from sinking to the bottom. He laughed and joined me in the water. James left us to it while he went off to serve another customer.

“This is really odd, you know?” he said.

“That’s just what I was thinking. Still, why not? You don’t get this in JJB or Decathlon.”

“True.”

“So what’s the Snugg like? Is it as the name suggests?”

“Hmm, not quite as good as I expected; not quite as good as you were expecting either, judging from your expression.” I mentioned I’d noticed some wrinkles in the material.

“Yeah, I think it’s a size too big for me, after all. Perhaps you do need to have one made to measure rather than off the peg. It’s expensive too — I saw the price on the tag as I was removing it to put it on — over two hundred quid!”

“I guess it’s because they’re intended for high performance athletes.”

“Whereas, I only want it to be athletic in bed!” We giggled and he tried to duck me under the water. I attempted to maintain some decorum, keeping up at least the pretence that this was a sensible, scientific evaluation rather than an excuse to fool around. We kept the noise down to avoid attracting too much attention to ourselves. It was just as well the shop wasn’t that busy. We fooled around anyway for twenty minutes or so — as long as we could reasonably claim to be doing serious research.

“What do you think of the shortie?” Paul wanted to know.

“I wasn’t planning on buying a second wetsuit, but, truth be known, I like it a lot and I think I’m going to take it.” In turn, we climbed out of the pool and stood on the rubber mat under the foot of the ladder while we dried ourselves off with the supplied towels. James spotted us getting out and came back over.

“So, did you like the Snugg Slipstream?” he asked Paul.

“It’s not as skintight as I had hoped,” Paul replied, a little disappointed. James looked him over, professionally.

“Yes, you’re probably between standard sizes. It would be a lot better if you had it custom-made.”

“Also, I think it’s a bit too specialized for me.” James looked downcast and then brightened, an idea evidently occurring to him.

“Wait right here! I’ve just remembered. I think I might have just the thing you’re looking for.” He vanished into the recesses of the backroom once again. We waited patiently to see what he would come back with.

After a few minutes he came back with a wetsuit slung over one arm. It was absolutely stunning, made of bright scarlet 3mm material, with burgundy shoulder flashes and textured rubber knee and elbow pads. There was an unfamiliar swirly logo on the chest in white.

“It’ll be a bit small on you, I should think,” James said, “but that’ll make it nice and tight, which is what you want. It was made specially for a customer, only there was a bit of a cock-up over the measurements and it got made at least two sizes too small! It’s such an unusual colour; we haven’t been able to sell it. If it fits, you can have it at cost price.” Paul took it from him and turned it this way and that. He looked at me for a second opinion. I think he could tell I was all for it. Sufficiently dry now not to leave a trail of drips on the shop carpet, we walked back to the fitting rooms. I changed back into my street gear in our original cubicle, while he swapped the Snugg wetsuit for its replacement in the adjacent one. From the stretching and squealing sounds of taut rubber next door, I guessed that the new wetsuit must have been a really tight fit to get on.

I finished changing first and hung around outside the cubicles drying off the Sola as best I could with the damp towel. I was just putting it on its hanger when Paul emerged from the fitting room, clad from neck to ankles in crimson neoprene. James had been right, it was definitely on the small side, but that served only to make it even more revealing on Paul’s body. Nothing was left to the imagination. I could tell easily from the outline of the crotch that the suit was making him extraordinarily horny.

“Amazing! That’s retina burning,” I remarked.

He grinned at me inanely and the gleam in his eye betrayed the fact that he really, really liked this particular wetsuit. I certainly had to agree with him. It was the most incredibly sexy outfit I’d ever seen him in and made him the most attractive guy alive! If James hadn’t been standing nearby, I would have ravished him right there in the shop. He looked red hot (if you’ll excuse the pun)! Paul didn’t need to ask what I thought, the answer was written clearly on my face. I couldn’t stop staring. Buy it, buy it! I tried to project the message mentally at him.

James nodded approvingly. “Yep, that’s the one, all right!”

“I’ll take it,” Paul confirmed in an understated voice. We discussed the price. At cost, it worked out a lot cheaper even than a standard, O’Neill wetsuit. For a customized, one-off wetsuit, it was a bargain. I said I’d have the Sola shortie as well. It turned out to be part of a clearance sale and discounted also — so, another good deal. I handed him my purchase and he took it down to the front counter. Paul stood there motionless.

“Aren’t you going to get changed?” I asked him. He looked guiltily at me.

“No, I want to wear it home!”

“You’re such an exhibitionist,” I told him. We fetched his ordinary clothes from the cubicle and made our way to the till to pay for our goods. On impulse, we stopped at a nearby end-of-aisle display and selected a pair of wetsuit boots each. At the counter, James raised an eyebrow when he saw Paul still wearing the steamer. He had to lean over to get at the bar-coded price tag, winked at me and said, “The model comes free with this wetsuit!” He rang up the price. I laughed and handed over my credit card, putting everything on one bill. I punched in my PIN on the handset to authenticate the transaction, while James put the rest of the items in plastic bags.

“Did you come by car?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re parked out front.”

“If you can, try to hang the Sola up and let it dry on the way home,” he suggested. “It’ll help stop it getting creased.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that — and thank you for letting us use the pool,” I replied. He handed back my card along with the receipt.

“No worries. Thanks, guys. Have a great weekend!”

“I’m sure we will,” I assured him.

It was mid-afternoon when we left Wetsuit Wonderland. We had been there for a couple of hours at least. There was no hurry to get back home just yet so we debated what to do next. We decided to head down to the beach and get some fish and chips.

Ten minutes later I found a parking space on the esplanade a few hundred yards along from a fish and chip shop and restaurant. Lover boy got out of the car and I marvelled at his daring. Appearing in public in a provocative wetsuit didn’t appear to faze him in the slightest. We crossed the road and walked to our destination. The restaurant part was crowded and there were no free tables unless we cared to wait. So, we bought cod and chips from the takeaway counter instead and sauntered along the front nonchalantly eating them with wooden forks. I noticed passers-by giving Paul odd looks, but he didn’t seem to care, so, eventually, neither did I. Maybe they were wondering why he wasn’t carrying a surfboard or something. The tide was almost completely in, so we couldn’t go for a stroll on the beach. We headed back to the car and drove back to my place with plenty of time to spare before having to get ready to go clubbing. I had to concentrate on my driving however, as my garishly dressed boyfriend proved to be something of a distraction sitting next to me in the passenger’s seat!

To be continued… In part 4.

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