Carnaby Street has been a tourist Mecca for several decades and while the fashions displayed in the shop windows constantly change, there are plenty of specialist outlets catering to those with a nostalgic bent. I'd been invited to a sixties party and wanted to gear up as a mod. It was a Monday morning and the only sign of excitement in the premises I'd entered was the sound of a Desmond Dekker greatest hits CD booming out from Wharfdale speakers.
'Can I help you?' a woman in her late thirties enquired.
'Yeah, I want a suit,' I replied.
'Thirty-six inch chest, thirty waist, thirty-one leg, charcoal grey.'
I didn't need to state the style, the only type sold in the shop were the three button affairs with narrow lapels that had been favoured by mods during the cult's sixties heyday. The sales assistant pulled what I needed from a rack and handed it to me as I stepped into the store's only changing cubical.
I took off my coat and then dropped my trousers.
'How's it going?' the woman asked as she yanked back the curtain.
'I haven't got the damn thing on yet!' I replied as I stepped into a freshly ironed pair of sta-prest trousers.
The shop assistant zipped up the fly as I fastened the button on the waist-band. The woman smiled at me, the corners of her mouth turned up in a laugh as she took in my mild embarrassment. I slipped on the jacket and the sales girl ran her hands over my body, simultaneously smoothing down the odd crease in the material.
'All the boys look very smart in our clothes,' the woman told me. Then touching my erection with her hand added, 'the tight fit shows your body to its full advantage.'
I tried to put my arms around the sales girl but she stepped out of the cubical. Reaching forward again, she grabbed my shoulders and then spun me around, so that I was looking at myself in a full length mirror.
'Being dressed in a smart suit must make you feel more of a man!' the shop assistant cried.
'Yeah, I feel really good,' I crowed as I looked at myself in the mirror. 'But why don't you wear the kind of clothes that are sold in here, I like what you've got on but it would be great to see you in mod girl gear.'
'No, no, no!' the woman shot back, 'I'm not a youngster like you, it wouldn't be dignified at my age, I'm more at home wearing skirts from Marks and Sparks.'
'You're not that much older than me!' I protested. 'And I'm sure if you let your hair down, you'd be asked for proof of your age every time you ordered a drink in a pub.'
The shop assistant fiddled with some clips and then shook her head, so that her shiny black hair cascaded around her shoulders. With her face framed in this fashion, the woman's infectious smile was even more stunning than the first time I'd clocked it.
'I think that dark suit is a little too sombre for you,' the sales girl observed gravely. 'What about trying one in a different colour?'
'Blue,' I said, 'let's see what I look like in blue.'
As I hung up the first suit I'd tried, the woman zipped around the shop. I smiled as she locked the door. Split-seconds later, she was back with me, a new suit, white socks, black tie, white shirt, union jack boxer shorts and loafer shoes in her hands.
'I want you nicely packaged,' the shop assistant told me, 'your grey briefs and socks are a fashion mistake. The loafers are size nine, you'll look a lot better in them than those awful trainers.'
I stripped off. Once I was naked, the sales girl stroked my pubic hair but was very careful to avoid touching my throbbing erection. She handed me the union jack boxers shorts and I stepped into them. Then I pulled on the socks and slipped into the shirt. The woman lifted my collar and wrapped the tie around my neck, knotting it and pulling it tight. After this, I slipped into the sta-prest trousers, jacket and shoes. Once again, the shop assistant smoothed down the creases in my clothes. This time she kissed me on the cheek before stepping back to admire my sartorial elegance.
'You look great!' the woman said admiringly, 'I told you all the boys look very smart in our clobber!'
I spread my arms and stepped towards the sales girl but once again she spun me around. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and what I saw did a great deal to add to my self-confidence. It made me wonder why I'd spent so much of my life slouching around in jeans and a leather jacket. Power is sexy and the mod gear gave me an aura of youth and vitality, something that is often in short supply among men in their late twenties.
This time as I advanced on the woman, she let me put my arms around her. We kissed but she pulled back as I tried to force my tongue into her mouth.
'You're too greedy for it,' the sales girl laughed. 'I like to take things slowly, I want you to smell my hair and then kiss it.'
I took the shop assistant in my arms a second time and pressed my nose against the crown of her head. I sniffed and inhaled a peachy fragrance.
Her hair smelt really fresh, I guess she must have washed it that morning. I let two great handfuls of the woman's silky black hair slip through my fingers as I kissed the top of her head. Then I moved my mouth to the right until I was kissing and eventually nibbling at the sales girl's ear.
'That's really nice,' the woman laughed as I bit her lobe, 'but now I want you to start at the other end of my body, I want you to give me a shrimp job.'
'Okay,' I agreed, 'but I'd better take off my trousers because I don't want to crease them.'
As I kicked off my loafers, the shop assistant stepped out of her white stilettos. While I carefully folded the sta-prest, she peeled off her tights. The sales girl sat on a high stool that had been placed by the till. I got on my knees and licked at the purple varnish that had been painted over her toe nails. Then, I worked my tongue in and out of the cracks between her toes. While I was doing this, a youth banged on the door.
'Come back in twenty minutes,' the woman shouted at him, 'the shop is closed right now.'
I took the sales girl's big toe in my mouth and sucked on it. She moved her foot back and forth, I quickly caught on to what she wanted and bobbed my head up and down, so that my lips were rolling up and down the toe.
'That feels so nice,' the shop assistant moaned, 'it's got me all wet! Now I want you to run your tongue around my clit!'
The woman stood up, simultaneously rolling her skirt around her waist. I raised my head and pressed my mouth against her pubic thatch. I flicked my tongue back and forth across her clitoris, then ran my nose up and down her slit. Her olive brown skin beautifully offset a profuse tangle of jet black hair.
'Work your tongue up my hole!' the sales girl screamed as I lapped at her quim.
I did as I was told, then replaced the tongue with a finger and successfully penetrated the site of her mystery. I worked a second digit into the shop assistant's cunt, while simultaneously using my mouth to lap at her clitoris. Sex juice was splashing between the woman's legs and she was bellowing the sweetest of obscenities.
'You beautiful bastard!' the sales girl howled as I worked her hole with my fingers and mouth. 'That feels so good! Now I want you to lie on your back!'
I did as I was told. The woman hauled the boxer shorts I was wearing over my ankles and then rolled a condom down my prick. With my cock in her hand, she straddled my thighs and guided the throbbing member into her cunt.
'Lie still, I'm setting the pace!' the shop assistant barked as I thrust upwards.
Allowing my buttocks to sink back against the floor, I obeyed. Ever so slowly, the woman raised and lowered her body. These movements became more and more subtle, until she was sitting motionless above me.
'Can you feel my cunt muscles contracting?' my partner demanded. 'Do you like it?'
'Yes, yes!' I yelled. 'Your body fits me like a glove!'
'I've studied tantric sex and I'm gonna make you come by relaxing and then increasing the grip I've got on your prick!' the woman hissed.
I could feel the muscles in my crotch contracting as she worked me up towards orgasm. The sales girl's hands were pressed against my chest and I grabbed her tits before shooting off a great wad of liquid genetics. The shop assistant yelped with pleasure as a simultaneous orgasm swept through our twin bulks. Then she tilted forward and fell panting against me.
The few minutes during which we lay together on the carpet were an utterly blissful moment of union. Then the sales girl got up, pulled on her knickers and unlocked the door. I skulked back into the fitting room split-seconds before a customer came through the door. Once I was dressed, I paid for the blue suit with a credit card.
'I can't remember how much those ties cost,' the woman laughed, 'so I haven't put it on the bill. I hope you're honest enough to come back in a few days to settle up the difference.'
'Oh yes,' I assured her, 'I'll be back!'
Stewart Home © 2007.
Stewart Home, 43, is the enfant terrible of the UK post-punk avant-garde art movement and cult writing circuit. He is the author of over 20 books including: Memphis Underground, Down and Out in Shoreditch and Hoxton, 69 Things to Do with a Dead Princess and his most recent, highly acclaimed, novel Tainted Love. Famous for his elaborate hoaxes and agit-prop art events, and feted by the likes of Kathy Acker, Iain Sinclair and the NME, he is often referred to as the English successor to William Burroughs. For more information please see: www.stewarthomesociety.org