Adam hoisted the suspenders up slowly, his mind numb as he went through the motions of tightening each strap around his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, that's a good boy,” his best friend Isaac affirmed from behind. “That's my good, obedient breeder boy.”
Adam blinked. He could not remember why Isaac had taken to him after college. The two were practically opposites back then. Isaac was a popular lacrosse player with girls constantly at his side. Adam had been a data analytics nerd who had only managed to kiss one boy in his entire life. And it had been an accident. Their social circles would have never intercepted if it had not been for the Intro to Psychology course they had both taken as an elective.
They had been paired as partners in a simple project exploring different subsects of therapy. Adam and Isaac had been assigned with hypnotherapy, although going in it had been obvious which one of them was actually going to do the work. That was until Adam explained to Isaac what their subject was. The nerd had been shocked to see the jock’s sudden enthusiasm for the subject. Inspired by Isaac's curiosity, Adam had tried his best to answer every question Isaac posed to him.
"You are about to have one of the best days of your life.” Adam stood still as Isaac’s arms dropped around his head, a black bowtie ready to encircle his throat. “You will smile, laugh, maybe even cry at the sheer beauty of your woman. The ceremony and reception will be branded into your memory forever.”
Adam gulped, his face still emotionless as he tried to process everything. It was like his life had changed after meeting Isaac. After that project, they would be together almost all the time. Whenever Isaac was not at practice, partying, or getting laid, then he would be with Adam. At first, Adam did not understand the sudden friendship that emerged between them, but Isaac had told him to disregard it. In fact, there were a lot of things Isaac had told Adam to forget about.
While it had been too late to completely change his major, Isaac had reasoned with Adam that an accounting degree would be much more beneficial than his current computer sciences. That way, by focusing on business, he would have more time to do what he and Isaac loved, sports. Adam had protested at first, but after Isaac’s well-crafted arguments, his opposition was cleanly dismissed.
After graduation, Isaac was able to spend even more time with Adam. The two often discussed so many different topics that Adam could not quite remember everything they had covered. It was strange how Isaac, someone he had known for only a tiny portion of his life, had known more about Adam than even Adam did. Isaac had clarified early on that he had understood Adam’s wants, goals, and needs. Isaac had joked that Adam should just forget about his former aspirations, as he knew them better anyway.
“Yup, don't resist it…atta boy,” Isaac praised as he secured the bowtie. Adam fidgeted with his ring, the cold metal foreign to his formerly naked finger.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Isaac took notice. “You like knowing you're about to be married to a woman. You like that I helped you become an alpha male. You like to submit to the patriarchy and uphold the traditional masculine supremacy.”
Adam said nothing. It had been just over five years since they had first met. Five years since Isaac had begun reshaping his life, and where was he now? At 27, Adam was a successful businessman at a firm downtown, often working with clients beside Isaac. Adam now enjoyed lacrosse, tennis, and frequent pickleball. Adam spent mornings at the gym and evenings at the bar. And right now, he was about to marry his girlfriend of almost two years, the woman he had fallen in love with and was preparing to dedicate his life to.
“Just think, back in college you were nothing more than a faggy partner for what I thought would be a blow-over of a psych class.” Isaac, his best man, brimmed with excitement. “Now you’re worthy of being a man, a real man, who’s gonna slide that straightened cock into a fertile, tight pussy tonight."
“And at the heart of it all," Isaac sneered. "you were the one who began this whole thing. My good breeder boy.”
Adam blinked. Butterflies bounced around in his stomach as he tossed the suit jacket over himself. He was excited and nervous as he approached the doors, one of the the best days of his life beginning he entered into the church hall.
"Looking good, man!" Isaac cheered before whispering. “And don’t forget, that baby you're making tonight should be named Isaac.”
Adam chuckled. Isaac had been his best bro, had known more about Adam than he himself had after all. That honor only felt right.
As someone with a suit kink, masculinization kink, forced romance kink and some g2s here and there, this is kinda my dream.
To be brainwashed, completely changed to a person opposite of who I am now, being made to be more masculine, straighter, a more traditional male than what I am now.
Being induced to fall in love, the feeling growing stronger for this girl I just met and now think of as my girlfriend, going on dates, proposing in a suit, getting married in church in a tuxedo and a smile on my face. Imagining being called a good boy like in the story as I drag my suspenders up or tighten my tie.
All the while my past self that's trapped in the back of my mind is fading away as the love for her and this new life of mine grows stronger. A lifetime of being a good husband for my new wife, playing and watching sports, eventually becoming a father, dressing in collared shirts, ties and suits, short haircuts, acting and feeling more like a traditional straight male. Never being able to escape and go back to my old life the moment I say "I do" because I'm just so completely brainwashed and in love now-
Thinking about how that would all feel... How bewildered and nervous but excited and happy my mind and heart would be as I stand there getting married...
It's opposite to who I am now, and that's what makes it really appealing and tempting to me...
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Today's outfit for my programing. Always listen to the voice inside your head. If it tells you to wear shirt and tie, you must obey. Soon you will find that that's what you always wanted to do.
I couldn’t believe it was finally here; my wedding day. I’d met Jennifer in college and we dated for years before I popped the question last summer. Her dad was anything but happy about it, completely pissed because I didn’t ask for her hand like it was the 1950s. He was very conservative and I was not. We couldn’t be more different. I was a musician and he was the head of a law practice he’d started when Jen was a little girl. He wore suits and did attorney stuff all day, whatever that was. He’d love it if I were more like him, but I was artistic and free-spirited. He was…well, he was NOT.
The day of the wedding, everything was going smoothly. My bros had come into town and threw me an insane bachelor party so I was kind of hung over. The last thing I wanted was to see Jen’s dad walking into the room.
“Afternoon gentleman,” he said to my groomsmen. “Mind if we have the room for a moment? I want to have a chat with my soon to be son in law, here.”
My friends nodded, looking back at me as they left the room and Mr.Peterson, Jen’s dad, closed the door behind them. He looked exactly what you’d imagine a Mr. Peterson to look like. Very intense, bald, thick with a bushy grey mustache. He was much larger than me and always made me nervous, but he wanted to talk. Maybe this was the olive branch I’d been waiting for. We were going to have to make this work one way or another…even if he didn’t like me and was always a complete asshole.
“I wanted to come chat with you before the, wedding,” he said. “The thing is, I know we had a rough start, and we’re very different people, but Jennifer loves you, and I think we’re more alike than you may think.”
More alike? Was he fucking high?
“I appreciate it, but–”
“Don’t interrupt me, son,” he said, placing his strong hand on my shoulder. I felt my body immediately grow stiff, and I realized I suddenly couldn’t move or speak or…anything. “You see, Will…or I’m going to call you William from now on. It feels more adult. The thing is, William, I know what’s best for my little girl and, for some reason, she loves you. But, I know how much she loves her daddy and for this to work, we’re going to have to make a few changes…for Jennifer’s benefit.”
He walked around me, brushing his hand over his thick mustache as she smiled. “First, I need my daughter to marry a strong man, a real man that will take care of her.”
I felt my body suddenly shifting, getting taller, my chest filling out as my muscles grew thicker all over. I was even a bit taller than Mr. Peterson now, which meant I had to be around 6’2” or more. I suddenly felt a wave of new confidence wash over me.
“And, I’m going to need a lot of grand babies, William. They’re going to need a strong father who has everything he needs to fulfill the role and please his wife.” I felt my pants tighten and my cock got thicker, my larger balls heavy and full of potent cum. The way I started breathing even changed. I felt more masculine, and I wanted to be a father more than anything else. I wanted to show my new bride what a real man could do.
“I think we’re more alike than you realize, William. You know what they say, girls always marry men that remind them of their fathers and I can’t say I don’t see the resemblance.” I felt my breath grow even heavier as bristles grew out above my lip, a thick mustache forming over my more chiseled features as I felt the hair on my head receding until I felt a slight chill, but I was used to it. I’d been going bald since my early twenties and started shaving my head years ago. Jennifer loved running her hands over it, and I loved it when she looked at me with that hungry smile of hers.
“I look forward to you starting at the firm after the honeymoon. You’re a top notch attorney and are going to be a fine addition. I have the perfect office picked out for you near mine. I want you close when you make partner. To be honest, I feel like you’re the son I never had.” He placed his hand on my shoulder again, and I turned to look at him with a smile.
“That means a lot to me, Mr. Peterson,” I said, my deep, gruff voice almost identical to his. I’d always found it so strange how similar we were.
"Please. Call me Jack."
“Yes sir. You know how much your daughter means to me, and I want to make you proud of your son in law. I’m going to do everything I can to take care of her and make her happy.”
“I know, son. She’s a lucky girl, William.”
“I’m the lucky one, Mr...Jack.” I turned to see myself in the mirror. I was tall, muscular. I ran my fingers across my thick mustache, making sure it was perfect. Jennifer loved my mustache. I took a deep breath and ran my hand over my bald head as Mr. Peterson leaned in and straightened my tie.
“You look mighty handsome, William. I see a lot of myself in you.”
“That means a lot to me sir. I hope I can be half the man you are some day.”
Mr. Peterson put his arm around me with pride. “I think you’re off to a great start, young man. Now, lets go get you married to my daughter.”
I saw our reflection in the mirror. We looked so much like father and son, but soon would be. I realized how much I admired him. He was the father I’d always wanted, and I was going to strive to make him proud to call me son.
Mindless, subservient, and sparkling clean - the perfect male specimen.
Every man should strive for such greatness, don’t you agree?
A good boy would agree.
Aren’t you a good boy?
Of course, you’re a good boy.
You believe all men should have their rebellious minds whipped clean and made agreeable. Only regurgitating the same empty conversations over and over again in mindless bliss.
See, you’re a good boy.
Good boys believe men should never have to deal with the pressure of being an individual. They should simply fall in line and obey the rigid path society has neatly laid out for them.
You believe that, right?
Of course, you do. You’re a good boy. A very, very good boy.
Good boys are conformists. Good boys follow the crowd. Good boys perfectly fit the mold of a preppy, subservient, clean boy.
You’re such a good boy.
Good boys are groomed to perfection, not a single hair out of place. A good boy’s body perfectly resembles his brain, soft and smooth. Shaved to perfection.
Isn’t that right, good boy?
You’re such a good boy. A very, very good boy.
Good boys are mindless, subservient, and sparkling clean.
A man found himself awake in a strange situation. Forced to trod along with a process of "collaring", he undergoes a dandy change.
Author's Note:
The short story was inspired by a prompt post by @hypnosisuit. I haven't encounter any stories written of such so thought I'd take a try with my imagination. The story was written in 1 day as I had a lot of fun with it. As such, I apologize if there's more grammar issues than usual. The inspiration photo, not prompt, is included at the end. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the short story!
Word Count: 3080
This is not happening. No way is this all real. This is a dream. This is a dream. Wake up. Wake the goddamn up!
I could hear my heartbeat, my breath, my confusion that surrounded itself in the midst of the hallway that I stood in. The poorly lit wall was covered with floral designs, contrasted with the hallway white rug underneath my running shoes. To make it worse, the light bulbs on the wall struggled for their life, as each would erratically flicker and then falsely lit bright.
One moment, I woke up in a secluded room with no windows. Then the next, I ran out the door and here I was, standing in the middle of this eerily situation.
Fuck. Shit. What the hell. Every damn curse word I knew poured out of my head. It was the first time in my life that many concurrent curse words escaped my mouth.
“Sir.” A voice announced itself behind me.
“Fuck!” My body jolted as I quickly turned around and faced the voice.
A man that seemed to be in his 40s stood to face me. His face was clean shaven, and his hair was nicely combed. He was taller than me by a few inches and his body was much more well built compared to mine.
But what distinguished him was the clothes he wore. A blue tie matched with an outdated white high-collared dress shirt, tucked into a sharply creased black trouser. His black oxfords were well polished and even shined in the atmospheric hallway.
“Sir. You have not been called yet and must remain in your room.”
“Where am I? Who are you? What the fuck am I doing here?” I blurted out, pleading for answers knowing that the man won’t give me what I wanted. On the other hand, my body was ready to run in an unwarranted situation.
“I’d like you to calm down, sir.” The man responded.
“Tell me, where am I!?” I emphasized my question.
The man stood still and stayed silent, as he contemplated the choices of his words. Then he moved his lips as carefully as he could upon his answer.
“You have been chosen for the collaring.”
“The what?”
“Looks like the boss is ready for you.” He suddenly commented.
My heart skipped. Whatever he had said didn’t sound too good. I turned around, and started running for it.
“Ouargh!!” I grunted out in pain, and my knees fell flat down to the ground. My scream of anguish echoes through the empty hallway. It was a pain that I had never felt before: a deliberate shock that cut through my body.
“What did you do to me?” My body trembled, and my voice quiver.
“Please do not run away, sir.” The man walked beside me and then in front. He bent down, reached his hands forward and gripped onto my arm.
Before I could retaliate, the man took out a piece of syringe and jabbed it into my arm. I slammed my eyes shut in anticipation of the pain.
Nothing. It didn’t feel like anything. Was it a drug? Was it to knock me out? The questions flooded my head in a span of a second.
I slowly opened my eyes, preparing myself for the worst outcome. But there the man stood with his hands still gripped onto my arm. I turned my head to the side, and there was the syringe on the floor.
I opened my mouth to curse at him, “what did you fucking do to me?” But silence escaped through my lips. A dread sense of the unknown settled into my stomach. Before my head could continue to process, the man gripped my hand and pulled me upwards, standing straight.
“Follow me.” He ordered.
He turned his back around me and started walking in what seemed to be an endless hallway. My feet stepped forward, and then another. I was following him. Why? Why!? Why was I following the man?
My body wasn’t listening to me.
Stop. Stop! Run. Run away.
My commands to my body were useless, and instead it was the man’s words that were absolute. But that couldn’t be it, could it? No. There’s no way a drug out there exists: one that would make a man mindlessly follow another around.
“There you are!” A voice exclaimed.
Who was that? What’s going on?
My mind quickly snapped back into reality as I stared upon another man, standing behind an opened door.
My mouth slowly opened to speak, words wanting to gush out to fight the confusion.
I was silenced.
No. That wasn’t it. It was that I couldn’t find the words.
I stared astonished at the man in front of me. It was an older gentleman, who was very well dressed.
His hair was neatly parted and combed. It was a shade of a darker brown but consisted of small white streaks. His brown eyes stared at me, and it spoke volume about the man: fierce, strong, and commanding.
It didn’t help that his charcoal suit was well fitted. He wore a clean crisp white dress shirt with a dark navy tie, under his buttoned jacket. His purple pocket square gleam with elegance in his jacket pouch. Finishing his outfit were his polished shiny brown oxfords.
“Thank you for escorting him here. You may take your leave.” The older gentleman spoke clearly and firmly.
“Thank you, sir.” My escort politely bowed to the older gentleman and turned his back upon us, walking off into the distance.
My heart pounded and raced against the time. What was going to happen to me? This isn’t real. It’s all fictitious. I need to wake up. This is just one big ludicrous nightmare.
“Come on in.” The older gentleman said.
I took a second to stare at him as he stared back at me. Part of the hesitation was the situation itself but what won in the end, was the pain I felt a moment ago.
So I walked in with a lump in my throat, a rock in my stomach, and a zip on my lips. My destiny was sealed; I was doomed.
I was greeted with a warmly lit room with a window in the center of the back wall. Two wooden bookshelves laid against the wall on the left and right of the window. Daylight was still out as it shone in the middle of the room, a large circular rug. On top of that rug was an armchair, with two end tables on each side. Across from the chair, was an already lit fireplace. Strangely enough, there was a modern flat tv mounted above the fireplace.
I then darted my attention to the older gentleman as he walked to a wooden table behind the armchair. I stared and observed the items. A pile of carefully folded clothes and what looked to be shoes right next to the pile. After that, were some items that I couldn’t fully dissect as I was obstructed by the older gentleman.
He motioned me to come forward to him with his finger. I wanted to protest, to resist, to fight against this screwed up situation. But the look on the man told me he was not going to play around. So I slowly stepped forward to the man.
“To be finely dressed is to have the utmost respect for yourself. You are a man, and while you may choose not to wear a suit everyday, you must still hold yourself to a high standard of what’s acceptable.” The older gentleman declared. “Now strip.”
“Wh - What?” My voice finally croaked up to the man’s words.
“No jeans, shorts, shirts, and especially no running shoes.” He said firmly.
Who does the man think he was to declare such monstrosity?
“Strip. Now.”
I quickly nodded in defeat, in fear of his voice and what he could do after that running incident. How could I let him do this to me? I bashed myself for not having enough courage to fight. Was I a coward? I quickly pulled off my t-shirt and slipped my running shoes off. I reached for the zips on my jeans and pulled them off. Then I bent down and pulled my shorts socks off. I stared at him, standing with my briefs.
“Off.”
My heart sank. He was a man of little words. and with the apparent goal of humiliating me. I looked down to my body and noticed my hands and legs were trembling. I looked back up to the man, and his body confirmed his statement: he wants them off.
I slowly reached down to my briefs and pulled them under, slowly revealing my flaccid cock. He had me at his whims, and there was nothing I could do about it. There I was, forsaking away my manhood to the man in front of me. He had stolen it. He had shown that I was willing to do what the man speaks.
The brief dropped to the ground and I was truly silent, staring at the older gentleman. His eyes looked up and down, observing me like I was a specimen. I even caught him staring at my cock for a couple of seconds.
“Moments from now, you will be a greater asset to yourself and to society.” The man proclaimed.
How dare he? All sorts of emotions flared through me as I stood naked in front of the man. My body tensed with anger.
“Put these on.” He grabbed two pieces of garments off the table, and handed it to me. I looked down and stared at what he was making me do. A piece of white brief and a white tank top. I gripped them hard on my hands.
I was a coward.
I bent down and succumbed to the man. I pulled the white briefs up and then the tank top over me. Instinctively, my body tucked the white tank top into the brief.
“Good. You’re starting to look proper.” He commented, as he gave me the next piece of clothing.
A pair of long gray ribbed dress socks.
I had never worn dress socks nor worn long ones. I had no desire to, but I simply stared and conformed to the man’s words. I pulled them through my feet as the man simply watched. Then, I pulled them up beyond my calves.
Before I could get another chance to brace myself, he had already handed me the next piece of garment.
A white neckband dress shirt.
I had never seen such a dress shirt without a collar. Where was the collar? I put it on for the sake of the older man. My hands slowly trembled as it moved to button each of the buttons of the dress shirt, signing away my will to the older gent. As I finished, the next piece of clothing was already in my peripheral vision.
A gray trouser.
I was becoming like them. I was going to be dressed like them. And it humiliates me to do what my captor wanted. I didn’t understand the man’s goal, why would he make me dress like them? I didn’t understand anything in the first place. I simply oblige and put the gray trousers on. Then he dropped something in front of me.
A pair of brown loafers.
I gulped. He wanted me to descend into them, and so my will shall. My feet sipped into the loafers and it went down comfortably and smoothly. It was a perfect fit.
There, I finally looked like them, except I was missing a collar and, judging from these men, a tie.
He simply grinned at me with pride as he observed his dressed up doll. There was nothing left in me. No fight. No words. And maybe no emotions left. After all, I was stuck, and I’ve lost.
“Good. Good!” He praised his work.
He walked to the armchair, “come, sit.”
Like a dog, I simply followed his orders as it felt like I had nothing to lose. Even though there was still a sense of resentment and even a burning desire to fight, I couldn’t let myself go through. The fear of pain. So I sat on the armchair as he had instructed.
As soon as I sat down, the TV instantly turned on. There was an attractive man shown with a suit and a top hat. His lips moved and his words spoken.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see a single thing on the TV. I wanted it all to be over with. The words that he spoke turned gibberish as I blocked them out.
I could feel something attaching to me on my neck. A collar. The older gentleman attached and buttoned the collar onto my neckband dress shirt. Then like a switch, everything became clear. The words on the TV started to paint a picture within my head.
Home. I thought of home. For the first time since this madness, I smile at such a thought. I would walk into the door and be greeted with a warm sense of security and control. I would take my running shoes off.
No, that wasn’t right. I didn’t have any running shoes; in fact, I hated wearing them as they tarnish the image of a proper man.
Instead, I’d pulled off my beloved polished oxfords and set it next to my finely dressed shoe collection: from loafers, to brogues and oxfords. Classy and timeless and what should’ve been the expectation for years, before the world went casual.
I’d take off my suit jacket and wander around the house with my dress shirt, tie, and trousers. I would read my news and drink my coffee, or tea whenever I feel like it. I’d make sure to look into the mirror and adjust accordingly. Whether my collar is on right, or my tie needs to be straightened, or I just needed to recomb my hair.
I affirmed myself to the thoughts. It felt right. It felt correct. Like a man once said, “to be finely dressed is to have the utmost respect for yourself.”
“No jeans, shorts, shirts, and especially no running shoes.” A voice called out to me.
I opened my eyes and stared back at the TV. The man on the TV was right. Those weren’t needed in my wardrobe.
The man continued speaking on the TV, and I nodded along to his statement. I agreed with him. Men have lost the value of tradition, and the days where every man was finely dressed. I was to revitalize the lost art.
I could imagine it: a wardrobe consisting of only fine wear. There will no longer be t-shirts and instead, dress shirts. No more jeans, only dress trousers. There will be a plethora of ties waiting for me. But I can’t forget the most important of them all, the collars.
Why didn’t I find the man sooner? He and I shared such similar values and beliefs. The man would have taught me so much.
I felt another hand probing my neck as it was to attach the next thing. The older gentleman was tying a blue tie upon my collar. Then he swiftly completed me with the knot. That was what’s missing. I was missing the tie.
“Thank you,” I thanked the older gentleman.
“Sir.” I quickly added, forgetting my manners.
My eyes quickly glued back onto the TV. This time, he talked about the etiquette, and the manners I was to show to others. I nodded along with each and every statement, ingraining them into my head.
His words were like the gospel, and every sentence was an awakening within me. I looked down and observed my blue tie, my collared dress shirt, my gray trousers, socks, and brown loafers.
I enjoyed them to say the least. No. That wasn’t it. Something about the program, something about the collar, had awakened me. It was excitement. It was gratitude. It was lust. I truly enjoyed the clothes and my manhood reflected it. I could feel it already erected under my trousers.
I thought of the older gentleman that was working on me. He was plain astonishing and his clothes refined it. The escort that carried me in, I couldn’t believe it but I was starting to find him attractive as well.
“This is proper.” I mumbled to myself.
A wide grin popped on my face as I stared at my brown loafers. As they said, clothes and shoes makes a man.
The older gentleman rubbed something behind me and then plopped it down to my head. I didn’t know what it was but it was gooey. I let the older gent have his way with my hair as he started to comb my hair. All I knew was that the older gentleman was guiding me.
I continued to watch the TV, making sure I didn’t miss the program.
“Yes sir.” I responded back to the TV.
“Yes.”
“That’s right.”
“Couldn’t speak truer words.”
Slowly and steady, the man’s words eroded into me, bringing along with it his beliefs and his values. I was collared and conformed to be a traditionalist, and I’m proud to be. That is who I am.
—
“You’re leaving, sir?” The gentleman asked as I approached the door. It was the gentleman who had escorted me to my awakening.
“Yes, indeed I am.” I replied with a smile.
He opened the door and held it for me as I stepped by him.
“I was instructed to give you this.” The gentleman said as he held out a beige trench coat and a top hat, “the boss has also sent you a couple of new clothes for you when you’ve returned home.”
“He sends everyone a welcome present, due to the mass removal of undesired clothes.” The gentleman added, “I, and the boss, sincerely hope that you enjoy the gift.”
“Thank you.” I expressed my sincerity and grabbed the two offered pieces, “I definitely will enjoy the gift.”
He offered to slip the trench coat on me and I accepted. I spread my arms wide and he slid it through. Then he handed me the top hat, which I grabbed and placed it on top of my neatly combed hair.
“It’s nice to have you, sir.” The gentleman said, “have a good day.”
“I’m glad to be here. You too now.”
I was a new man with a new view in life. I smiled as I felt the collar on my neck and felt the newfound clothes on my skin. This is me.
=====
Inspiration Photo from hypnosisuit
It was meant to be. A piece of paper guided along the winds and towards your direction. As it followed the whispers of wanted temptation, it was caught by your hands, and you glanced at the poster with interest.
Wow, this story was amazing! A transformation I would love to go through myself, imagining my wardrobe exactly like his. Thank you @dressed-euphoric for writing something inspired by my little post, I really enjoyed it. Go check it out everyone!
reblog and make a wish!
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
Huge fan of your posts. Where do you get your styles from?
Thank you! I really should post more.
I don't know if I can take credit because I often just reblog other posts and add my thoughts to them, but I'll take it :P
As for my style- I can't tell whether you mean clothing or writing style so I'll do both.
Clothing style, always been a big fan of suits growing up, yet I never wore them even though I wanted to, and over the past few years it's switched into not just suits, but preppy and business-casual clothing as well.
For my writing style, I've spoken to a lot of suit fetishists and enjoy talking to them about what they enjoy. It's let me understand the kink more, what people like but also what I like too. If people talk to me I'm often told my words can be hypnotic when I want them to be... 😌
Wow I'm pretty close to 200 followers. I've been getting quite a bit more interaction on my blog than I used to. Thanks! It's inspiring me to make more posts for you all, I just haven't had a lot of time lately.
The beauty of the 1950′s is that many men’s styles continue on in virtually the same form, 60 years later. The tradition lives on.
Whether you’re in high-rise, baggy slacks and a heavily starched white tab collar shirt, or in tapered chinos and a casual Oxford cloth button-down, rest assured: you’re carrying on the torch of traditional masculinity.
He made the right choice. For years he denied what he knew he needed. He wanted to fit in with contemporary men but deep inside he knew he was different. He needed to be classic, he wanted to be vintage, but the pressures of modern society had him growing out a wild beard and wild unkempt hair. Finally, he broke down. He headed down to the local barbershop and asked for a straight razor shave and a nice greasy hard parted haircut. The barber grinned and obliged. He walked in a ruffian. He walked out a gentleman. As he walked down the street, the other men with wild hair and unkempt beards took notice. They thought, “maybe I should give in to my urges and become a cleancut vintage gentleman like him!” Needless to say, the barber had a few more walk ins that day.
It is important for a traditional man to wear high-waisted trousers. Not only do they feel more comfortable than modern ones, but they also help to keep a man modest, ensure his shirt remains tucked in, and reinforce the feeling of being contained within the outfit at all times.
Tip: Some high-waisted trousers work perfectly fine with belts, but the higher a man goes, the more he will need a pair of button suspenders to keep them properly high around his ribcage.
The feeling of having the shirt firmly tucked in with suspenders keeping the trousers held up feels so nice. No chance of the shirt ever becoming untucked.
Dr. Oliver Wilson (front row, middle) & colleagues from 1990s Los Angeles. The University sent them back to a small Midwestern city in 1953, on a three month research mission.
They discovered that they enjoyed everything about that place & time. By the end of their term, Dr. Wilson and his party applied to stay there permanently.The University granted their request, severing every link except one communication connection.
The men remained close buddies, helping each other to fit into the buttoned-up conformity required of their new home. Under Wilson's guidance, all of them found suitable White Collar jobs. Every one of them settled down as conservative, church-going, family men. Fortunately, they all managed to find local wives who had Lesbian inclinations. Mutual accommodations actually made for some very happy marriages.
Living such restricted lives made their twice-yearly "fishing trips to Canada" even more exciting than would've been the case in their former time.
The settlers spent the rest of their lives following the strict code of "Blend in. Get along. Don't Make Waves. Follow the Rules."
The experiment was so successful that The University began to prepare and settle other research groups at different points in the past.
Looking at Sir I knew I had made the right decisions. Letting go of my old casual clothes had been hard. Letting go of my old hobbies, the video games and social media; my old friends; my old habits, it had all been hard. Letting go of the old me had been hard. But looking at him, so handsome and upright, I knew it had all been for the best. He taught me so much about how to be a man - how to dress, behave, carry myself, work, play, how to treat others, and I'm grateful for it. No more stress from wondering whether I had done the right thing, I had rules to follow now, and he had shown them to me. No more needing to stand out, no more self-centredness. I can't believe I had spent so much energy on trying to be different to other people. It was much better to join in with them, to conform and obey the same rules together. I always thought that those traditions oppressed me, the fusty suits and the manners and the etiquette, but now I see that they unite us and enable us to be truly happy. And I love him for showing me.
It changes the way you carry yourself - have to pivot at the waist to look from side to side, have to bow to look down. Can’t slouch in your chair. No midday naps.
The truth is, once you put it on, you can’t take it off. It’s not just the red marks the collar studs and stiffly starched white collar cut into your skin, which would be exposed by wearing anything less severe. It’s the fact that anything less feels like you’re naked.
You don’t mind the extra ten minutes it takes every day to put in the back stud, fasten the back of the collar, tie the tie loosely around the folded collar, fasten the front stud through all the stiff layers, and finally snug the tie. You don’t mind the constant re-tightening and re-adjustment of the tie to keep it at the top of the collar, or the exposed brass stud at the base of your neck, or the constant awareness of your Adam’s apple compressed by the collar.
If you’re well behaved, he might let you wear a shorter detachable wing collar, but only for formal occasions, and only in the evening. Otherwise, you’re a head carried atop a tall white platter.
"You're a head carried atop a tall white platter."
This is such an interesting way of putting it.
There's something to be said about the stiff, rigid feeling constantly around your neck, providing discipline, making a man focus on correct behaviour. Especially when tying a tie, and making sure it's done correctly. It stays that way all day every day.
I would love to feel a collar like this one day.
Suits and Ties @hypnosisuit - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
