I entered the jeans store to buy… a 3 piece suit! Duh! Not!! Of course it was to buy jeans. The clerk was a very nice and incredibly beautiful woman named Lynda, wearing incredibly tight stretch jeans. They were so tight that the seams were opening on the sides.

So, I tried a few pairs to find my right size for the fit. At one point, I had on stretch slim fit jeans, and was wondering if the size was right, since I had to buy one size smaller to feel comfortable in them.

“Oh it’s all right?”. Said Lynda. “They start tight, and they lose during the day. Take mine for example, in the morning I have to jump to put them on, but by noon, they’re all bulgy at the thighs.”

I looked at her legs.

“You call that bulgy? I call that beautifully tight.” I said, repressing from drooling as she turned around and rubbed her hand on the tightly encased hips and thigh.

“Well, I like them tight.” She said, “I would wear only non-stretch ones, but for the long days of standing up in the boutique, it’s more comfortable in the long run to wear stretch ones.”

“Well, I would be curious to see you in those non-stretch ones.” I said.

Why did I say that to her? I don’t know. It’s just that kind of girl with whom you feel you can simply open up.

She giggled as she wiggled her butt on the way back to the counter.

“Enjoyed the view?” she said as she took place behind the cash register, smiling.

I didn’t know what to answer. 

“Oh yeah, I did. Thanks.”

What? Who said that? I did it? How come? What is going on here? It seemed so easy, yet I feel so… uncomfortable.

“You seem to like it quite a lot, right? I mean looking at girls in tight jeans.”

“Well, yes, it turns me on.” I said, not believing I was spilling my guts to a total stranger. “I think I have a fetish for it.”

She smiled. She was not pissed off, not angry, not offended. She seemed glad to hear it.

“Ever heard of a series of stories on the net with a character named Karen?” she asked.

“Well, I believe there are a fairly large number of stories with the name Karen in it.” I said, not wanting to go too fast again.

“I’m referring to this series.” She said, producing a wrinkled document. I immediately recognized it at one of my stories, “Karen – The Longest Day”, a story I had written in 2000, but she had only a few pages of it.

“Yes, I know that series. Quite good.” I said. Well, I was not to talk myself down…

“Oh yeah, we all love it. I found that on my computer a couple of years ago. Apparently, my boyfriend at the time had downloaded it, and left it there. I found it after we had broken up. I lost the document in a hard drive crash and I carried the printout so often that I lost many of the pages. All I have here is what’s left of it. Do you know where I could find the rest of it? I searched, but didn’t.”

Well, she had hit the homerun. 

“Probably. You say that you all liked it?”

“Yeah, all the girls that work here liked it. They found it quite interesting and erotic. We all tried the tightest jeans we could find to see if we would feel the same…”

“And…” I asked, awaiting a confirmation or a denial of my thoughts.

“That guy is right! Wearing jeans that tight is quite… stimulating, if you catch my drift.” She said, with a wink. I blushed.

“Ah han.” Was all I was able to answer.

“We even tried the high heels, but wearing them here all day long is too difficult. Gets painful.”

“I assume.” I said as she handed me the bag. 

“So, do you think you can print me another copy of this story, or others if you have more?”

A plan started to form in my head. I asked her for a piece of paper and wrote my website address.

“Go there. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for.” I said.

She thanked me and I continued my shopping.

A few days later, I was back at the shopping mall. Lynda happened to be near the door of the boutique and she spotted me. She gestured me to come closer.

“Hi. I want to say thanks for that link. That website is exactly what we were looking for.”

“Glad I could have helped.”

“I’m curious though. How come it was so easy for you to remember that website, and immediately recognized the author of that story, although many pages, including the last one with the author’s name was missing.”

“It’s because I know those stories very well.” I said, feeling the time to throw in my fishing line, getting closer and closer.

“You’re a big fan of him too?” she asked.

“I’m his BIGGEST fan.” I said, with a wink.

“Oh really?” she said, then she got the allusion. “No way! Don’t tell me you’re the writer?”

I nodded.

“Get lost! You’re just saying that. What are the odds?” she said, laughing.

“Pretty slim, I must say.”

“Yeah, whatever. Well, thanks for the stories anyways… and… good luck with your next one.” She said, giving me a nice slap on the shoulder, evidently not believing I was the author.

Once back home, I made a small modification on my entrance page. Then the next day, I was back at the shopping mall and I only walked past the jeans store, not making anything to attract the attention, looking casual. I quickly glanced around but didn’t see her. Then, as I was almost out of sight from the store, I heard a yell.

“Pete! Hey Pete… Or whatever your real name is!” she yelled from the back of the store. “Can you come here a minute?”

She came running toward me as I turned around and walked into the store. Well, she was more hobbling as she had on the tightest pair of jeans I had ever seen, and she was standing on 5 inches platform high heels sandals. She was smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s him girls. That’s the guy I was telling you about.” She said, as the other sales girls approached, not really sure of themselves. They were all wearing very tight stretch jeans. Lynda got closer.

“Are you really the one, or you know the real one and you asked him to put this on the website.” She said, showing me a wrinkled piece of paper: the print of my entrance page, with a little note in the middle:

I would like to say Hi to Lynda from the shopping mall’s jeans store.

“Yep, that’s my site.” I said, trying not to laugh too much. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Is… Is she your girlfriend, Karen I mean?” asked Lynda.

“No, she’s not my girlfriend, and she has never been. She’s totally made-up. And actually, I’m currently single my real girlfriend and I have gone apart about 4 months ago.” I calmly answered.

“Wow… But you know, I still have doubts. Maybe you simply hacked the site or something.” She said.

“Okay, what should I do to prove to you that I’m the real author of Karen’s stories? You could ask me something about the stories?” I proposed.

“Nah, that would be too easy. If you know the stories enough, you can answer easily, even if you’re not the writer. I know. Show me the original documents, and your work in progress.”

“If you want to. I’ll put them on a CD and bring it the next time I come here.” I said.

“No, I want to see them today. You bring me to your place after work, and you show me them there.” She said, very seriously.

I raised my eyebrows.

“You want to do what? I don’t know you, you don’t know me. What if all this is false and I’m a bad person?”

“Well, we have three witnesses here, and I have your face on the security cameras. If anything happens to me, there’s proof enough. What do you say?” she said, slowly rubbing her tightly encased thighs and hips, slightly balancing on her high heels. She was simply awesome… and so bold!

“Very well.” I said. 

She invited me to browse around for the time left, about one hour. She didn’t want me to leave the store. She was to be sure I would be there and not run away.

At closing time, she left the other girls with the work and grabbed my arm.

“So, you follow me in your car?” I asked.

“Hum, nope. I was expecting you would give me a ride, I come to work by public transportation.” She said.

So I gave her a ride. She was glad I was driving a pick-up truck that was roomy because with her jeans that tight, she was more leaning than sitting on the seat, and she would have had a hard time fitting in a sports car.

The drive to my place, a small house on the edge of the city, took about half an hour. I had a small house, very average. I made her a tour of it, and then headed to the office for the computer. I pulled her a chair for her to sit beside me.

Now I could have a real look at how tight her jeans were. The stitching was basically coming apart along her thighs. The zipper was getting pulled apart, and the waist button was sinking in, ready to tear off. Gee, those were tight. I got more excited when she slowly rubbed her thighs, I believe unconsciously. She was breathing in short gasps.

I browsed my hard drive and went to the stories folders. There I showed her the work already done, and the numerous unfinished stories I had, just waiting for the right spark to finish them.

Then I showed her the layout of the website.

“Wow! So that’s true.” She said, her heart racing. “You are the writer of those.”

“Yes, I am.” I said calmly. “And now, what?” I asked. What would she do now? Simply go back home? I hoped not.

She browsed at the files, like looking for something. Then she spotted “dreamed vacations” and opened it. She fast-forwarded to the scene when Karen is tied up, spread-eagled on the bed.

“Ever tried that one with your girlfriend, when you had it of course.” She asked.

“No. She was not into tight jeans, even less bondage. Why?”

“Oh, I was wondering if it had been the case, if the hardware was still there.” She said, closing the file.

“Why? You want to do it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind spending the night with you.” She said with a wink.

I quickly figured out that the bed of the guest room could be used for it. I didn’t have the ratchet straps, but I remembered a simple device with a rope and two flat washers that was quite effective to chinch ropes.

“There’s a possibility.” I said. “But are you sure you want to do that? I wouldn’t want to end up in tomorrow’s paper with an abduction charge.” I said very carefully.

“Hell no. I’ve wanted to do that for years. I just never found the one to do it with.”

So we made a deal. The next thing she knew was that she was tightly tied on the bed, spread eagled, unable to move. Her crotch was very sensitive under the tight denim. I slowly climbed on her, and started to stroke gently, softly.

She moaned and was trying to move, but nothing much yield. After a short moment, I spewed the gooey stuff all over her jeans.

“Well, I guess I should buy you a new pair to pay for this.” I said as I wiped it off. Then I laid over her and started to kiss her.

“Can I be your girlfriend, your Karen?” she asked softly, sparks in her eyes.

It’s at that exact moment that the fucking alarm clock went off….

© Pete, May 2005

Author’s note

Yeah, this story is somewhat weird, and I present myself with an ego way bigger than it really is. Let me tell you another story, as to how that idea came to be:

I went to the jeans store to buy jeans. I had been a wearer of Levis 501 for many years. I always bought them at the same dept store, always the same size and inseam. But the last pair I got had a higher rise than normal, making them uncomfortable. And more, the inseam was definitely longer, as they were trailing on the floor, although the label showed the desired sizes. Looks like a “bad batch”.

I’ve read in a newspaper that Levis was having a lot of difficulties making turns to follow the trends and the market. The same article stated that it was the reason why all the manufacturers offered lo-rise stretch jeans for about a year before Levis followed. So, I figured that they had started cutting the corners, and I decided to look elsewhere.

I usually buy my jeans in large dept stores, because they are cheaper than in boutiques, but the other day I was at the shopping mall and this boutique was on sale. So I went in, browsed around. Of their “house name jeans” on sale, there was two styles: lo-rise slim fit stretch, and relax fit non-stretch. I hate baggy jeans, so I headed for the other selection. Having never bought lo-rise before, I was a little reluctant. I had bought stretch dark blue cotton pants a few months ago and was disappointed by the fit: they appeared too loose, although they were my regular size. 

So, just to try it, I took a pair of my regular size, and another one two sizes smaller, and asked for a dressing booth. One of the clerk, a very nice lady, average height and very slim, early 20’s offered her help.

Of course, the regular size was too large, and the two sizes smaller… too small. Well, I would have wear it (I like tight fit), but I would have look totally silly in them. I mean, tight jeans are awesomely good looking on women, but totally ugly on men.

So, I went back to the rack and picked one “in between”, put them on and stepped out of the booth to look at myself in the mirror.

I wasn’t used at the fit. They felt tight at the waist and upper hips, but loose from the buns down. I would say that they felt “sluggish”. I wasn’t sure about the size, and I talked of my questioning to the clerk. She said:

“Yeah, they feel tight at first, but then they loosen with time. I have to jump to get mine on in the morning, but by the end of the day, they’re all baggy.” She said, turning on her side, and showing me that in effect, they were somewhat baggy on her buns and thighs. That gave me a hint that she simply loved wearing tight jeans. Eiter that or she used her sex appeal to get me to buy the jeans.

I bought the jeans (I like’em so far), and by the time I was out of the store, I kept remembering what she had said about jumping to get the jeans on, and this story formed in my mind. I would have loved to see her early in the morning, jumping around to get into those jeans… hoping they were non-stretch…

© Pete / monsterp63, June 2005