Photo illustration by Taylor Harris.

Drip For Me, Part II: Get a Fit Off

In the second chapter of our fashion erotica, our ingenue connects an influencer with the drop of a lifetime—and maybe more.

by Jordan Barse
Dec 6 2018, 6:35pm

Photo illustration by Taylor Harris.

Read part one here.

A smooth, liquid voice came from behind her. “Hey, uh, do you work here?”

Fay dropped the chunky knit in trendy electric green that she was gripping stupidly, and the heavy acrylic hanger it clung to clattered to the floor. “Oh! Yes… I do. Sorry! One sec, uh,” she bent at her waist to pick up the hanger and knitwear.

Camrin stood patiently, amused, and enjoying the show as this flustered shopgirl bent over and showed him the reason designers keep repurposing old Levi’s jeans. That ass…

Fay rehung the sweater and turned to face the model/stylist/influencer. “Need help finding something?” she asked, in her chillest possible tone.

“Yeah, actually,” he smiled, “What’s your name?”

She blushed, “Oh, it’s Fay. You’re—”

“Camrin. Nice to meet you.” His voice was like how it felt to chew 5 Gum. His short black dreads were pulled back from his face and his dark, almond eyes radiated calm.

As he extended his hand she noticed four large pavé diamond signet rings on his fingers: an enamel portrait of Dante alongside the sparkling logos of Bauhaus, Aphex Twin, 4Chan. The four houses of Millennial Influence, she figured. Her hand chilled in his cool, platinum embrace.

“Basically,” he said with a smile, “I’m just looking for some new shit, and you seem like you know what’s up. Think you can pull some of your favorite new pieces for me to try?”

Within a magical few minutes, Camrin’s crew had dispersed, leaving him at Pistoplato in Fay’s slender hands. She and Camrin were on the second level of the store, where the sleek fitting rooms subverted the disused bank vault. She had loaded up the dressing room with what felt like her body weight in clothes and was resting on a floating lucite bench outside his room as he modeled for her barely masked bias of approval. Camrin stepped out with an open, nearly vulnerable expression and looked to Fay, who was finally feeling the effects of last night.

Instantly, she perked up when she saw him, so handsome and buoyant in her artfully styled ensemble. “Wow… I know this is the first look, but if you leave here with one fit, let it be this.”

Camrin pivoted in front of the full length mirror and smirked at the unbuttoned $1,300 floral Haider Ackermann Pyjama shirt revealing his chiseled abs, paired with slim Lanvin trousers. Turning his body towards her, but keeping his eyes on the mirror, he said, “Damn. You’re pretty good at this, Fay. This houndstooth is just… fire.”

“Actually,” Fay interrupted his praise, “Wait. Go put on the Martine Rose jeans and Issey top.”

She brightened and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I have the perfect shoe.”

Fay ran to the stock closet and straight to the back shelf labeled “EXCLUSIVES.” She grabbed a gleaming white box and sauntered back to the vault, excited to see the contours of his chest better in that semi-sheer Issey Miyake crewneck.

She set the box down on a Murano glass side table. “You’re a 10, right?” she asked with a smile, gently pushing his chest backwards and down towards the vintage Eileen Gray club chair in his fitting room. She could tell he liked being directed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he affirmed, sitting and locking his bemused, conspiratorial gaze on her.

Fay got down on her knees before him and began to open the gleaming white box. “The Margiela Fusion Sneakers were only released to a handful of stockists, and I don’t know if we’re even going to get a second pair, but these were the only ones they sent us for Fall ‘18,” she whispered. “I’m not really supposed to tell people about them because the competition and waitlists are insane, but…” Fay unwrapped the clunky rubber, leather, plastic, mesh, nylon, and glue monsters from the paper and beheld them for Camrin in silence.

“God. Damn.” he muttered, splaying his long legs open slightly and letting his jaw fall in unguarded amazement.

Fay began untying the laces as Camrin reached for his Louis V chest pack. From it he pulled a small white rounded edge pen that looked like a Tampax Pearl designed by Glossier. He put one tip of it to his mouth and sucked until the pen buzzed, and exhaled a light, herbal scented vapor. “Try this,” he instructed, passing her the pen. “It’s a Dosist. Got it in LA. THC and CBD specially formulated for whatever vibe you’re tryna have. I like this one the most: Arouse.” His eyebrows raised as his mouth formed a crooked smile.

She hesitated, trying to map where this fell on her professionalism matrix. “The customer is always right,” her Id taunted. She pushed the door to the room closed behind her. She tucked her hair behind her Sophie Buhai-adorned ears and brought the gleaming pen to her bee-stung lips, then sucked. When it vibrated, she leaned closer towards him on her knees, and exhaled the fresh vapor in his direction. She laced up the glue-drizzled Margiela sneakers for him as he hit the pen once more. The sneakers were so ugly, so large, so impractical, and yet so fucking perfect on him. Like an emissary from the Fashion Gods, his body communicated the true purpose of the garments’ designs.

“You’re pretty cute, Fay.” Camrin remarked. “And I like your style.” He stood abruptly and helped her to her feet, resting his hands on her waist as she met him at eye-level. Her head felt light and her pulse quickened as she basked in the tropical sunshine of his liquid words and realized that she had to respond with some of her own.

“Thanks… well, I’m just… doing my job…” she spilled with maximum calm. Her hands lay limply on him, and the haze of the Arouse vapor was clearly doing its job. His hands fell beneath her t-shirt and gripped the bare skin of her waist with the slightest pressure, sliding his thumbs to rest on her pronounced hip bones. Cool metallic liquid seemed to flow from her pelvis to her chest, leaving heat in its wake. She was a quivering body of Essentia Alkaline water, subject to his whims.

“You make commission here or what?” Camrin asked, still smiling.

“Yes,” Fay replied, checking back in with reality, “Yes, I do.”

“Cool,” he said, flipping his hair off his face. He removed a hand from her body and leaned forward, bringing his perfect lips mere inches from hers, his eyes piercing her with–was this desire? For her? Fay could feel her lace Eberjey panties getting wet with the anticipation of how he might take her, right here, right now. She wanted to ride him in those $450 Martine Rose blue jeans. She needed his icy 4Chan and Aphex Twin rings inside of her. She would be the best client servicer he'd ever had. He smiled deviously. With a gentle jerk of his shoulder, Camrin suddenly pushed down on the metal handle behind her back and the fitting room door clicked open. Fantasy bubble: popped. She gathered herself enough to move out of his way.

“Yeah, these are flames,” he concluded, looking at himself in the mirror to shield the obvious blush on his cheeks. Fay nodded in agreement, shivering a little.

“Your grand total is $13,487.52,” Maritza informed Camrin politely at the checkout counter as Fay finished folding the last Raf Simons “Drugs” t-shirt and neatly stacked 22 boxes of ayurvedic charcoal candles that claimed to contain the ashes of Hilma af Klint in a canvas customer tote.

Camrin looked up from his DMs to hand over his Amex. He turned to Fay, whose hazel eyes were fixed on him like an Hervé Leger dress on a rich Long Island teen at Prom in 2010.

“Hey, what are you doing after this?” he asked her.

“I’m down,” she blurted.

“Bet,” he laughed quietly. “Meet me for a drink at the Mercer—8:30.”

Read chapter three here.

Martine Rose
Haider Ackermann