He hadn’t sat down to count the times or the nature of the changes, but he remembered when they were smooth and unscarred, the hands of a young boy. He remembered when they’d grown larger into the hands of a teenager, young and strong and growing even stronger, and by that time, they already bore a very few scars. Most of those had gone by now, but he could still see the deep one on the top of his right index finger. He curled that hand, looking for the other part of that scar — the one which had been across the back of his right thumb. But that one seemed to have disappeared somewhere back down the road. He’d gotten them because he’d held a piece of reinforcing rod tightly in his right fist once. It had been all that he’d seen lying around one night when a man had tried to mug him, brandishing a knife. He was only seventeen at the time and he’d been scared shitless. The man was large, white, and looked to be in his early thirties. Pete could still hear the voice on him. There. Within a few years all of her friends and their daughters were coming over to seek out his advice on their clothes as well. Jeremy had a great eye and a great sense of style. Instinctively, he knew what looked good and what didn't and more importantly, he knew what alterations to make to turn a nice outfit into a spectacular one. He had a love affair with the female form going and he could make any woman become as sexy as she wanted to be with just a few simple suggested modifications or additions to an outfit. He loved feeling important and needed. He had also grown to love the feel of the fabrics as they slid through his hands and invariably he would have to surreptitiously reach down to adjust his hardening penis as he worked with his mother or her friends.By the time he was 9 he had learned how to wrap his penis in a piece of satin or in the silky back of a pair of panties or slipped into one of his mother's stockings so that his had would slide effortlessly over his glans as he.
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