Tag: hot fashion

Gallery
by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

dappergentsclub:

Preparations for a Dapper day 👍🏻 @sinabrochar

#MensFashion #MensWear #MensStyle #MensLook #MensClothing #MensSuitStyle #SuitAndTie #Dapper #Outfit #Fashion #Style #Hot #Look #Cool #Inspiration #Life #Repost #Photo #DapperGentsClub

“What are you staring at?” Robin asks, folding his flannel scarf.
“I’m watching you dress,” I reply, leaning against the wall with my foot pressed against it for support. “I just realized that I’d never seen you dress before.” Robin gives me a look and an eyebrow raise to convey that he’s never heard such an odious lie and is offended he thinks I’d swallow it. “You have seen me dress before. Plenty. All those times after we had sex, or after the shower – you know, before we moved in?”
I fuss with the band of my underwear, the only thing I’m wearing. “Well yeah, but you were always wearing jeans or something. I’ve never seen you dress for work.” 
“Not true. I’ve slept over at your place and gone to work the next morning, and more than once I might add.”
I can’t tamp down a small smile. “Nope. All those times you came out of the bathroom fully dressed in your work clothes, or I came out of the bathroom and you were already dressed.” 
“What’s so captivating about watching me dress for work?” Robin asks. 
I blush a little and switch feet. “I’ve never gotten to bathe you, and help moisturize you, and then taken the trimmer and touched up your beard. Then, I’ve never gotten to watch you put on your slacks, slide the delicate shirt fabric over your beautiful torso and watch it take shape over your muscles, then watch work those tiny buttons with the same fingers that stroke my cock so strong and tenderly…”  
Robin is fixated on me, and now he is blushing too.
“And you look so serious when picking your tie and suspenders, you’d think you were the President going on television or something. And then damn – there you are. Fashionable, stylish Robin. Looking utterly gorgeous and ready to take on the world.” 
 Robin just stares at me. He fumbles with the scarf in his hands. “I – I’m uh, wow,” he chuckles. “No one has ever said something like that to me before. It’s really flattering.” 
My smile widens. “It’s true. Just another perk of loving you and sharing a home with you.”  
Robin’s expression softens. “You are so beautiful with your words, you know that? Especially when they come out of those soft lips of yours….” 
It’s my turn to feel my ears burning. “Well, a poet has to have his muse.”

Robin glances aside and adjusts himself. “Turn around and put your hands against the wall.”

I raise both eyebrows. “Are you arresting me?”

“You wish. Which reminds me, I need to buy some handcuffs now that we have a headboard.” 
“Oooo.”
“Do as I say.”
I turn around and position myself like he asks, trying not to move too much. I love it when Robin gets bossy but it does not happen very often. I hear a drawer open and close. A moment later, I hear him get off the bed, which is followed by socked feet padding on the wood floor. Hands find my waist, which makes me jump. Robin kisses my shoulder and without asking permission, pushes down my underwear.

I gasp. This was a new type of play. I was eager to see where it went. When I turn my head towards him, I am given strict instructions to keep my gaze forward, to get real acquainted with that shade of Duck Eggshell White paint we used. A pair of smooth hands caress my hips and then my ass. I arch my spine and the hands squeezed me. I keen out into my arm, quickly becoming excited.

I hear the tear of paper, and the flick of a lid. I’m incredulous. He’s going to fuck me, just like this! Without even asking! I think it’s kind of thrilling to be wanted and lusted over and used like property. 
God, if he treats me like how he treats his clothing then I hope I’m his property.  I wait for Robin to stretch me but he does not. He just suites up and pushes in. The pain feels like a spark of electricity, but luckily I’m still a bit loose from all that dildo play last night. I feel virginal and Robin feels huge. I’m sure I’m drooling on the wall.
He rocks against me, sliding in and out. I try to meet his pace but it causes conflict with his pattern. Robin presses his fingers into my iliac grooves and pulls my hips up and back. Instantly, and impossibly, he slides in even deeper. I cry out, a ragged noise and strangled gasp. 
Robin groans. “I knew you could fit another inch.”  

I can feel the course fabric of his pants push up against me with every thrust. We don’t make it to ten. Robin stands up on his toes and pins me to the wall, wanting to be as close to me as possible when releasing his load. I hear him take in a huge lungful of air, hold it, and then release it after the orgasm peaks. His heat flows inside of me, and I wish he isn’t wearing a condom. I feel oddly happy and dizzy, and I realize I came when he did – all over the wall. “Shit,” I mutter. 
“Mmmn,” Robin replies, reaching around to play with my balls. We enjoy a moment together. A bird chirps outside.

“Now,” Robin purrs in my ear, pausing to teeth my ear lobe. “I have to go to work and earn bread for our household. You be good for me, do your chores, attend your grad classes, and when I get home, I want you to greet me wearing hardly anything ok?”
I press my forehead against the wall. Everything was still spinning. How could I feel so empty and yet still totally slutty after what Robin just said?
I nod.
“Fuck yeah. How about instead, totally naked?”
“…You’d do that for me?” Robin asks. 
“Anything for the man of my dreams. And don’t forget to take your lunch with you ok? I made it with love.”
“You made me lunch?” Robin replies, genuinely surprised. 
 “Just some left overs I packed last night,” I admit.
Robin slaps me on the butt once, making me yelp.
“Fuck, I wish I could stay home and just make love to you in every room of our new condo.”
I chuckle. “One day you should.” 
Robin nuzzles my shoulder and his beard scratches me. “One day I will. But today I must go in to work because someone made me a nice lunch and I do not want to waste it.”

Robin kisses the back of my neck, swats me on the butt again, and then drifts away. He throws the condom in the trash, cleans himself up. I watch him over my shoulder with doe eyes as he maneuvers his half tamed cock back into his jockstrap. Yeah, the man doesn’t even own normal underwear.  
We kiss good-bye, and he leaves, reluctantly. I pass out on the bed and listen for him closing the door. I cover my face with my hands and sigh in bliss. I never knew how wonderful mornings could be. An early jog, breakfast together, showers, sex…. I notice something and lift my head. Oh my god, I could see my drool spot and cum on the wall from the bed. I laugh. How embarrassing! I get up and go find the cleaner. We’re running low. I make a note to buy it in bulk next time. If this is how life is going to be living together, we’re going to need it.

___________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Picture is from and of Instagram user and fashion blogger. @sinabrochar.

Gallery
by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

We nuzzle, intoxicated by the warmth of eachother’s cheeks. We kiss. We’re on a public street, a little sidewalk cafe, but it feels like we’re the only ones in Paris, like the world revolves around us. My fingers are so intertwined with his own that I cannot even pull my hand away to pick up my glass. So I keep grasping, and kiss him again.

He’s wearing this cologne – just a dab – made of flowers grown specifically in France. He’s so French, so painfully French, and so fashionable in turquoise and leather slippers. I feel worthless and uninteresting in a grey suit, another American businessman bumbling through Paris trying to make a name for himself. I know I only have value to my company because no one else wanted to get on that plane for this three week assignment.

Yet, I am not angry that I got pushed into this trip. It’s been the best three weeks of my life. My head is still full of images and scenes from yesterday when I spent the night.

“Please don’t go back,” he begs, his voice full of so much hope and pain. I was so shocked that he would say those words to me. What does a Parisian boy need with an American lover? Aren’t we on a lower rung, in the ladder of accomplishment? Isn’t it usually the other way around, the boring American pining for a romantic European heartthrob? We kissed more, our ice melting in our glasses.
When I dodn’t answer, his voice grows tight with need. “Please…stay here. I cannot put you on that plane to Washington DC. I cannot, now that I know you exist.”
“Jean Luc…” I breath, weakened by his accent which was heavy during his confession. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” he whimpers, looking oh-so vulnerable. “You would crash with me. We’ll get some place bigger. Some place with a better view. Your French is getting better every day. You said your company wants to extend your visit right? Offering you a job here right? For gods sake, please, take it, or my heart is going to break.”

I think for a moment about what this all means. It is not a deep, philosophical event. I had already weighed these options in the shower this morning, because I suspected I would reach that state of lunacy by lunch. I had been right. It would mean packing everything up in my apartment and sending it overseas. It meant not seeing my family as often, but they would likely visit. It meant starting over. New cafes. New barber. New doctor, new optometrist. It meant breakfasts with fresh pastries and tiny coffees. It meant learning all the dirty French words first. It meant holidays around Europe and trips to the country-side where we would spend most of our time screwing in lavender fields, no doubt. It meant a life with Jean-Luc. I had known him for three weeks. He rescued me after I got lost after taking the wrong train, and he’d been by my side ever sense.

“Oui,” I say with a smile. “Yes.”
Jean-Luc gasps. “You really mean it?”
“Well, I have to talk to my office and tell them I accept their offer to extend my temporary assignment into a permanent post. Then, there’s visa issues to work out.”
He kisses me hard and squeezes my hand so hard I fear it might break. “We’ll work them out!”
“Jean Luc, just remember – I’ll have to go back to DC to pack. I have to give 30 days at my apartment. What if you fall out of love with me then? What if, after a week of not having me here, that you come back to reality and our chemistry is gone?”
“That will not happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I am going to come back to DC with you.”
Now it is my turn to gasp. “Can you?”
“I have time off work, and I can telecommute for a bit. I want to see your American life before I steal you away.”
I gawk at him, my heart throbbing. It is true, what people say about the French being romantics.
“Yes,” I repeat. “A million times, yes.”

I am a lunatic. Maybe that is the American way, to confuse passion with irrationality. Maybe so, but right now, I am so happy I can’t even speak for fear of crying. Because it is the right answer. I am moving to Paris. I will be his.

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. From photographer Braden Summers’ All Love is Equal Project.

Gallery
by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“Awww lookit the puppy. What a beautiful baby. Is it a blue mix?
I nod.
"Hi there,” he coos. I watch as Zach takes off his glasses and gives the pup a little scritch. My eyes wander over his suit tailored to his body. Blue looks fantastic on him; he could almost be a fashion model posing with a prop dog. The two of them are far too beautiful for my shabby living room.

“So you finally got a real dog huh?” Zach asks.
“Well…”
“He’ll be a good companion for Smokey huh? Say, where is your pup boy anyway?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Zach blinks. “What…?”
“Look at the name tag.”
Zach does. “It says Smokey. Wait.” He looks at me, then at the dog. “What?”
“My pup boy liked being a dog so much, that I woke up one morning and discovered he had turned into a real, live pup.”
Zach is staring at me sideways now. “Not sure if you’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m not. I’ll prove it. Try to get him to do a trick. Something complicated.”
Zach thinks about this a minute. He goes through the basics – “shake”, “bark”, “roll over”. He then makes a gun with his fingers and says “bang!”. Smokey rolls on his back and puts his paws in the air, head lolling on the ground.
I laugh. “Good boy Smokey!” Smokey gets to his feet and comes over to me for a belly rub.
“There’s no way you could have trained a pup to do all of that in such a short time.” Zach says hesitantly.
I shrug. “As I said, my pup boy turned into a pup. Unbelievable as it is, that’s what happened.”
My friend looks at the puppy, silent.

Then, as if right on cue, my pup boy saunters into the room. He’s just woke up from a nap and was wondering where everyone was and who took his collar off while he was out.
“Hey!” Zach cries.
I burst out laughing. “Busted! You totally believe it!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did!” I fall back into a chair, clutching my sides. “God your face…Jesus Zach, that was fantastic!”

Smokey the pup boy tilts his head in confusion. “Roo?”
The real pup, whom I actually named Greybeard, goes to sniff him. Within minutes, they’re playing. I watch them, still chuckling. Zach looks sullen and miffed.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“No, it really wasn’t, but the opportunity presented itself. I’m sorry. You do look bloody good in that suit you know.”
“Well,” Zach smirks, “I expect all you’ll get out of is a good look, because you are never gonna undress me out of it.”
I groan. “Aw, Zach, that was just harmless fun, why are you being hard to get? You know you came over here to get laid.”
“I did,” he admitted, ‘But you have two pups that need your attention.“
"They can amuse themselves as you see – hey, Smokey, watch out for the coffee table! Good boy.”

Zach folds his arms. “It’s gonna cost you an expensive dinner. THEN, I’ll think about coming back home with you.”
“Alright, alright. I can handle being owned by three boys.”
He grins. “That’s more like it.”

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the model but the clothier is Patrick Johnson Tailors.

Gallery
by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

My sister stuck her head in my room. “He’s here!” she hissed, a huge smile on her face. “Hurry!”
“He’s here?” I repeated, jumping up.
“Yes! Hurry!”
I grabbed my sunglasses off the nightstand and picking up my leather bag from behind my bed. “Has mum seem him yet?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, looking around. “Here.” She thrusted a basket in my hands. “Going away present – your own picnic basket set. I packed you two a lunch so you don’t have to stop for a while.”
“Oh Samantha, you’re a darling,” I cooed, kissing her on the cheek.
“How often do I get to be a part in a dashing escapade like this? It’s soo romantic.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “But life is not a fairy tale.”
“It can be if you try! Come on, stop dawdling. He’s waiting”

I followed her to the upstairs landing; she stopped there and watched me go down the grand stairs to the lobby. Then, we heard our mum.
“What the heavens was that ….is that the Culver boy? I’d recognize that hideous orange automobile anywhere. Americans! No taste! Walter, call security, I told this man he is not allowed on my property and no where near my son! The things they did at boarding school! Soiling my precious boy’s reputation. He’s a heathen!….Aldred, honey, where are you going?”
“Out, mother,” I say briskly, my heart caught in my throat. I just had to keep moving, I reminded myself, one foot in front of the other. Down the stairs. Out the door.
“Out?” she cried. “With that boy? I won’t allow it! I forbid you from seeing him again!”
I forced myself to pause. “Mother. I’m 18. You can’t forbid me to do a thing.” I enjoyed the stunned look on her face. I delicately picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Good day, mother.”

I heard Samantha whoop upstairs as I stepped out of the house and onto the cement walk to the driveway. My leather soled shoes made little noise. For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. “There you are,” Mathias said, his face lighting up. “Oh gods I missed you.” He looked so stylish  in that his navy slacks and combed back hair, posing against his beloved car. I sighed, smitten. He was marvelous. Dashing, even.
“What are you staring at …?” he says with a smile.
“You. Just…missed you so much since my mum pulled me out of Essex School.” I stepped up to him and nuzzled his cheek. “Thought I’d never see you again.”
He put a hand on the back of my head and kissed me. My knees felt like gelatin. Mathias whispered in my ear. “Wait until you see what I’m going to do to you tonight. Then you’ll known how much I missed you back.”
I had to resist just pouncing him right there. God, did I love American boys and their Yankee accents.
“WALTER! CALL SECURITY!” My mother’s screeching voice snapped us out of our cuddle.
Mathias rolled his eyes. “Get in the car before the calvary arrives. What’s in the basket?”
“Lunch! Samantha packed it for us.” I threw my bag into the backseat and slipped into the front seat with the basket. Mathias joined me on the driver’s side and made the engine roar to life.
“Oh your sister? I’ll have to meet her sometime. Seems like a nice lady. I should introduce her to my cousin. Perhaps she could come for Christmas?”
“I think that’d be delightful, Mathias.”

We sped off down the street, bound for the main road to the highway. We had planned to head up the New England coast where we would eventually take a ship to London, where my aunt was waiting for us there. The window was open. I couldn’t help but whoop myself as the wind cut through my hair. My mother was likely furious, but I felt not a drop of guilt. She was going to be even angrier when she found out I turned down acceptance at Yale to go to the School of Oriental and African Studies in the UK. But her life was no longer my life now. I was free – finally, finally free, with a boy I truly loved.

_________________________________
Text is fictional. Source: Drykorn Fall/Winter 2013

Gallery
by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I see Howard across the shopping center and totally just freeze. It’s him. It’s absolutely him. I forget that he can see me staring and that I’m not gazing at him through a screen or one way glass. He doesn’t look like his online profile at all – he looks twice as tall and three times more handsome. The angle of his photos made his face look shorter and rounder, and the lights from the club made him look much lighter. His skin is the exact color of cinnamon, and I don’t doubt it’s warm and smooth as the foam on a chocolate latte. He is more handsome than I ever could have hoped.

But he’s wearing a cardigan and I’m just not sure if I’m ready for boyfriends that wear sweaters…and what are those shoes called? Chukkas? Where at the basketball shorts and wifebeater shirts and sneakers? Are those jeans or slacks? God, what do I do – I can’t tear my eyes away and he’s noticing me, his face furrowing in confusion. Am I ready for a man like this? He’s gotta be intelligent as hell and totally down to Earth and practical, hell I can just tell he’s gonna be a great dad one day… and I mean, why would he want to date me?

I shouldn’t have worn this shirt. I should have gone with the button up. Should I have played up my 1/16th Cherokee heritage? Maybe he doesn’t date white boys. God he looks amazing in that cardigan. This guy isn’t gonna try to fake his way through a date just to touch my dick, he’s gonna want to cuddle up next to me and have a glass of whine…. am I ready for that? Am I really, really ready because this guy could be the father of my kids one day and oh god he’s coming over here.

When he looked at his phone earlier, he was totally checking out my profile picture. I can’t be what he thought I’d be. He has to be disappointed already. I’m just not that put together, and I should have worn the button up shirt, goddammit. What color do I look bad in again? Purple or yellow? My socks are cream – is cream yellow? Oh god, brain please shut up he’s coming over here. People are looking at him, noticing him, his style is just so casual and organic, how does he make it so effortless?

Why does that guy not have every gay college lit major trailing after him for his phone number? Why does he have to turn to online dating? And why did he pick –

“Pardon… are you Micah?” he asks, adorably nervous. Part of him is surely wondering if I’m just stoned out of my mind, standing here gawking like this.
I stammer and run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I’m Micah Carter. You must be Howard.” I offer a hand, he shakes it; his grip is perfect. I faintly smell sandalwood.
“Yes, I am. Is everything alright? You have this frightened look on your face. Is there something growing out of my head?”
My face darkens a deep red. “No it’s just – just… well, I don’t know if I can explain it. I’ve met a lot of guys online and no one else gave me this feeling…ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’ll tell you one day, it’d just seem silly now. Um. You look really handsome and well put-together. Love the cardigan.”
The confused look on his face melts into a relaxed smile and he chuckles. “I’m not really sure what you mean by that first part, but thank you, that’s sweet of you to say. I went through eight other sweaters to pick it out.”
“I’ve never dated a guy who owns eight sweaters before…”
“I’ve never had a date with a guy I met online before.” Howard offers, looking shy. “And uh, I think it’s kinda hot you’re wearing just a plain white tee-shirt and raw denim. It’s such a classic look, you just don’t see it anymore.”
I’m momentarily speechless. “Howard, you are a sweetheart for saying that, but I just don’t think I can hold a candle next to you.”
He tilts his head and I swear I see him blush.. “Why don’t we just go on our date and you let me decide, Micah?”
Relief floods through me. He’s taking control. I need this, like my lungs need air. “Yeah, sure, I can’t wait.” Howard gives me another little smile and begins to walk; and to my surprise, my feet become unstuck from the floor and follow after him.
_________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Watermarked. This man’s name is Rashid, and this was taken at the Melbourne Central shopping plaza in Australia.