Finished by Hand by William Anthony Page A

move things along, ‘If you would care to follow me, we shall get you measured up. Then we can see what we can offer.’
    They moved further back into the shop, stopping in the middle of a small space surrounded by various mirrors, and several wooden doors which led off to the fitting and changing rooms.
    Picking up a measuring tape from a rack, young Mr Grisham asked, ‘If you would care to raise your arms up?’ As he did so, the assistant had moved closer, slipping the tape around the gentleman’s waist – and almost laying his head on the gentleman’s chest in the process. At such close range he could smell the warm, inviting musk the Moroccan was wearing.
    It had been an intoxicating scent which brought back recent memories of holidays full of illicit adventures. Quiet, sandy coves under a hot Algerian sun – the taste of olive oil and herbs, licked off a dark brown hip, then his tongue travelling across a seductive stomach to the glistening base of the thick-veined tower …
    Blinking several times to help dispel the images, young Mr Grisham quickly wrote down the measurement in his little top pocket notepad. Thirty-four-and-three-quarter-inches. It had been gratifying to know he hadn’t lost his touch. Turning back to the gentleman at hand, he had pursed his lips, smiled, then knelt down in front of him. Placing one end of the tape measure against the right shoe, Mr Grisham had slowly moved up the gentleman’s inside leg seam. The tape unravelling as he went, it seemed as though he had been greeted with the faintest of gasps when it – along with the back of his hand – had brushed up against the inside of the gentleman’s crotch.
    Looking back on it, as young Mr Grisham would recount later, the sound had taken him by surprise and he couldn’t for the life of him be sure who it had come from.
    However, try as he might to focus on the tape measure, Mr Grisham’s eyes were repeatedly drawn to what had become a rather large and prominent bulge – unmissable by dint of its size and the position of Mr Grisham’s eyeline. For a moment he had remembered Algiers again – the lithe and oiled African body underneath him, the firm feel of muscular buttocks, the way his hands had felt as he ran them along the supple back, and the incredible feeling as muscular resistance had melted away and he had slipped into the realms of physical ecstasy.
    Looking upward, young Mr Grisham had seen the Moroccan gentleman looking down at him, a knowing grin raising the corners of his sensuous lips. A pink tongue had darted out and back momentarily, leaving them moist and glistening, and young Mr Grisham had felt his heartbeat speed up, which had led to an increase in his blood pressure which, in turn, had led to a painfully similar bulging of his own.
    Mr Grisham stood and added the gentleman’s inside leg measurement to the notebook. ‘A respectable 31 inch should hang well, provided the cut isn’t too restrictive. Seeing as though sir obviously dresses to the right, may I suggest you consider this rack over here?’ He had guided the Moroccan to the racks nearest the changing rooms, and waited while the gentleman picked out three pairs of trousers.
    Looking at Mr Grisham with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, the gentleman said, ‘I believe the changing rooms are this way?’ And with that he proceeded to head toward the back of the shop once more. Over his shoulder, he added, ‘I take it you will be able to give me assistance if I encounter any problems?’
    Young Mr Grisham had nodded reassuringly. ‘I shall be right outside the door, sir. All you need do is call.’
    A few minutes later, while Mr Grisham had been idly rearranging some sports jackets which, in all honesty, didn’t need rearranging, he heard the gentleman’s soft voice call out for him.
    â€˜Could you please come in for a moment? I seem to