Confessions of a Dresser

A Sexual Fantasy

— By The Dresser

I dress performers for a living. He is the youngest in the choir of men, but still ten years older than me, and he's Scottish. When I walk into his wardrobe or carry his costumes I can smell his masculine scent. In my mind I hear his crisp voice and see his big blue eyes in front of me, smiling that carefree and crooked smile. Sometimes, when I enter his wardrobe with the costumes, he's on his way out of the shower and I have to pretend not to be affected by his wet, trained body. But while I hang the costumes on the hangers, I secretly look at him. I think of him all the time.... Kenny, I think I’m in love with you.