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i remember buying a pvc shirt
back in the day i liked to go to fetish clubs (who are you calling a pervert… oh me, probably right). ah the simple pleasure of the fetish clubs lovely ladies in rubber, pvc and leather – what is there not to like? well there are a few things wrong with them – generally the music played by the djs is shit, they are always far too hot and the dress code applies to all – which meant that i had to dress in something suitable.
i may not have told you this but i am a sweat monster – even the mildest summer has me dripping. so you can imagine what i was like.
my chosen outfit was a simple ensemble of rubber shorts and rubber t-shirt, i looked like a kinky version of the staypuff marshmallow man (who ya gonna call?) and i sweated as if i were in a sauna. not nice.
i hit upon a clever idea of getting myself a pvc shirt. i was pretty sure i could get one in extra large and with pockets. that would solve all my problems. i was a genius.
such a simple idea.
how could it go wrong?

first port of call was a shop called honour – they had exactly what i wanted. i made my way there. i was giddy with excitement. i found the top i wanted. i found the size i wanted: extra large. i am not a particularly big man, though i am carrying a few more pounds than i should. so i carry the shirt into a changing room. i strip off to the waist and i put the shirt on.
i should say: i try to put the shirt on.

i get my left arm in. i try to put my right arm in and i get it about half way into the sleeve and then i am stuck. i am trapped half in and half out of this pvc shirt. i feel a sense of dread beginning. i can’t get my right arm any further into the sleeve, but i can’t seem to extract it either. i feel nervous sweat break out. now i have the worry of ripping a shirt that i don’t want to buy because it is too small.
extra fucking large my fucking sweaty arsehole.
do i cry out for help? what do i do? i am stuck like a kinky houdini. i wriggle. i shake. i squirm. i am trying to escape from the pvc trap and i am having no luck.
don’t panic mr. pat.
somehow i begin to feel my right arm come out from the sleeve; inch by inch i free myself from it.
at last i get it off.
yes.
i couldn’t even get it over my shoulders, let alone try to button it up.
extra fucking large my fucking musky ball sack.

i am not one to give up. there are other places to try.

i next try a shop called rob. they didn’t have the type of shirt i wanted. the sales assistant decided that he would show me some alternatives. hey i’m game. first problem is that they have little that is extra large. he finds a leather waistcoat type thing. i give it ago. no problems with the arms and shoulders. so this time we are ahead of the game. ah the rotund belly is an issue. the assistant is giving up. he huffs and puffs and somehow manages to squeeze me into it and zip it up. i wasn’t too keen on the idea of spending an evening in something that was a cross between a corset and straightjacket. i declined the garment.
he suggested that i get something made to measure.
i wanted to suggest that they learn the definition of extra large.

i thought i would have more luck in expectations. it is a basement store that caters for a very active hardcore gay customer base. there is the heady smell of rubber and leather hanging over the place.
i find a heavy rubber hoodie. it might have fitted and it might have been nice – but it would have been my own personal sauna. they have a number of shirts in leather and rubber, but nothing in my size. i find a rubber vest. perhaps i will just go with the vest. yeah i know it isn’t what i wanted but it would be cooler than the t-shirt.
i’ll try it on. i’ll leave my t-shirt on. i get my head through the top; i get both arms in and then start pulling it down over my chest. it gets stuck. what the fuck. it hasn’t even gotten below my shoulders. c’mon. this is just taking the piss. hold on a moment i can’t get it back up either. so here i am in a basement surrounded by leather and rubber clothes and i am tangled up in a rubber vest. i am struggling to get the darned thing off. it seems to be getting tighter – i have an anaconda of a rubber vest on me. this is wrong.
oh fuck someone is coming. a couple of blokes are looking around. phew they don’t want clothes they want the toys.
need to get this off me. now.
i wrestle myself to the floor doing an impression of the taz the tasmanian devil trying to get this thing off of me. with some jiggery pokery i managed to get it off along with my t-shirt. success. it takes me another minute or so to free my t-shirt from the rubber vest.
as i returned the vest to its hanger i decided that i wouldn’t bother getting a new pvc shirt.

what did i learn from this?
that the fashion world has a misguided conception of what extra large is – for the fashionistas it seems to be little more than a bit bigger than medium.
i also learnt that in certain shops there were a number of very large sized toys, all with names like henry, albert and charles which just to look at made my eyes water quite what they would be like if you inserted them i have no idea. i am not going to try.

i never did get that pvc shirt. doesn’t matter now – my clubbing days are long behind me.