Jeans For Antonio

By Chrissy

I couldn't believe it! Gene was telling me I had the job! And WOW what a job it was! Working in a shop on prestigious Rodeo Drive!

I had always been star struck and would meander along Rodeo Drive craning my neck hoping to see a celebrity or two. So when I saw the sign in the shop window "full time position available" I raced home, fixed up both myself and my resume to Rodeo Drive standards and presented myself as an available candidate. The owner -Gene - looked me up and down and showed me a few photos of celebrities. I could name them all. I could name their latest film. I could name their latest CD. I could even name their latest tabloid expose. I am a natural born celebrity junkie.

Gene was very pleased with me. "You start next Monday." His eyes roved up and down my long legs. "We'll get you fixed up in a couple of pairs of my custom-made jeans and I want you to wear them every day you work my shop."

Gene's Jeans was neat store that supplied made-to-measure jeans to the celebrity elite. The shop was small by Rodeo Drive standards. But you couldn't walk by and not notice for the outside was painted denim blue with stitching and pockets just like a pair of jeans. It was real clever and eye-catching.

When I arrived on that first Monday morning, Gene took me through the process of measuring. The gizmo he used resembled a computer mouse, but it was more like a small plastic roller-ball attached by a cord to a computer. By measuring me for my own pair of jeans, Gene showed me how the gizmo could be rolled over the contours of the client's body in order that all the statistics could be taken. The most exact measurements were stored in the computer and then programmed into a cutting machine in the back room that sliced the denim to the specified proportions. The pieces of material were then moved by a conveyer to yet another room where they were stitched by robotic sewing machines to the precise proportions within a millimetre of perfection. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes. The jeans would fit like a glove, but they came at an expensive price. Still, the Rodeo Drive clientele had more money than sense and the driving need to look knock-out cool in a pair of jeans was worth the big bucks they paid.

I spent all day Monday watching Gene at work. He was a man in his late sixties and he was fighting old age with everything he had. But I liked him because we shared the same fixated fascination for celebrity.

I would never be allowed to run the roller-ball over famous bodies myself of course. No, I was there to meet and greet, to bring coffee or coke (no, not THAT kind of coke) and to help advise with regard to the selection of styles and materials.

That very first afternoon who should walk through the door but Britney Spears. She had no less than 6 bodyguards surrounding her. She was pleasant and very pleased with the jeans Gene created especially for her. She wore them low on her hips and they fit perfectly. During the following week we had a visit from non other than Tom Cruise. Tom is a major star, but despite the fact that he was surrounded by ten daunting henchmen, he was friendly and down to earth and he smiled that toothy smile of his while Gene fussed and fretted with his roller-ball.

I had worked at the store for about three weeks when Gene announced he would be visiting one of the textile suppliers for the morning.

"Nothing ever happens on a Tuesday anyway," he assured me. He could see I was a bit uneasy about being left alone. "I have no appointments scheduled, but if anyone should come into the shop - just ask if they mind coming back this afternoon."

"Okay," I said as I accompanied him to the door. I spent a couple of hours with the accounting books. I straightened the magazines in the waiting room and watered the numerous plants. I was just beginning to get bored when I heard someone enter the shop. I stepped into the reception area and nearly collapsed into a million little pieces when I saw who was standing there.

It was none other than Antonio Banderas!

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I remained rooted to the spot. I'd had a tremendous crush on Antonio Banderas ever since I'd seen the film Desperado. He was without the usual entourage that accompanied all other celebrities. He was without Melanie or the kids. He was alone. He stood with his back to me leaning over to pick up a magazine and my starry eyes gawked at his sweet little Mediterranean butt. I swallowed with a loud gulp that made him turn around to face me.

He smiled a warm, wide smile - and if I thought his butt had me mesmerized, well that smile which crinkled his eyes and radiated a warm open sensuality had me almost floored.

I guess he was used to this reaction from the female species (male species, too, probably) for he waited politely for a few seconds while I gathered my senses and sucked in the drool that threatened to spill onto my chin. I took long deep calming breaths and walked toward him, hoping I didn't trip or do anything stupid.

Antonio is such a charismatic presence that the air around him actually crackles with passion and excitement. Antonio could never walk unnoticed into a room. He is too much of an entity. Too much of a lure. I literally felt his magnetism as I approached.

"Hola," he smiled. His accent is rich and exotic, his voice made sexily husky by too many cigarettes. He is quite remarkably good-looking. But it's the inner Antonio that attracts me the most. So open and honest and valiant and decent. I admire and respect him totally. The world would be a far better place if more men were like Antonio. Melanie once said Antonio is not just beautiful on the outside -- he is beautiful on the inside too. I agree totally.

"Hello," I smiled back, my voice breathy with nerves. "How can I help you?"

He looked around. "I need jeans," he returned simply.

"Well, you've come to the right place." I felt myself beginning to relax.

"They are made to measure?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

My heart threatened to jump right out of my chest, but I plastered a professional smile on my lips. "Yes. A perfect fit guaranteed. A computer calculates your statistics and the jeans are stitched to the exact contours of your body." My voice shook a bit when I mentioned the 'contours of his body' and my eyes couldn't help but slide down the length of him.

"Well, I want a pair. But I want them to be comfortable."

"Oh, they will be," I assured. "Because they are made to measure. They are stitched to fit only you."

"How long does it take? I leave for Mexico tomorrow."

"Oh, not more than half an hour." My smile was confident. But my stomach was churning with nerves.

"So we can we do it now? Today?" He seemed very keen.

I was about to mention that the owner was away and that I was but a lowly shop assistant when something stopped me. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and my mouth went dry as I imagined rolling that little plastic ball all over his lower loins.

"I will have to take some background information first. Your address and credit card details. Things like that. But it's all kept completely confidential, of course. And then I'll take your measurements," I spoke quickly before I could chicken out. "It's all very simple and straightforward."

Gene would be furious with me. I'd be fired for sure. I was breaking all the rules. The celebrity was supposed to make a date for the measurement appointment and Gene was the only person allowed to roll the ball on anyone's body. After all, he had invented the whole process himself.

But I wasn't about to let handsome Antonio Banderas slip through my fingers and he was leaving the next day. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And I would be delivering a necessary service. I couldn't let a nice man like Antonio down, could I? And I knew what to do. I'd seen Gene perform the measuring process many times. It wasn't that difficult. The computer did all the real work.

"Okay," he smiled. "I'm all yours."

'Oh...I wish!" I thought to myself.

"Well, come with me," I said, ushering him into the back room, "and we'll look through some styles and materials". We sat down together on the sofa and I opened the books of material samples.

"What about leather?" I suggested, my mouth going dry at the thought of him clad in butter soft black leather. But he shook his head.

"Or...." I went on, holding a swish of light brown velvety suede. "What about suede? It's as soft as peach fuzz." It was similar to the material of the pants he wore in Zorro. For a few moments I was lost as my head filled with the vision of him doing pushups over the candle flame, his muscular body glistening with sweat. I struggled to regain possession of myself.

But he continued to shake his head. "I'm just a regular guy," he laughed, "Nothing fancy."

"Once we have your measurements," I went on eagerly, "the computer can work with any material we program in."

His warm amber eyes smiled at me. "I just want jeans - just regular blue jeans."

"Well, what about the style?"

"I don't care as long as it's comfortable," he grinned, "I hate it when jeans don't fit right."

"Oh, so do I," I agreed, my eyes roving down his body again. "So do I." It would be crime for that body to be in jeans that didn't fit right.

"Okay, then," I walked over to the keyboard attached to the monitor of the computer. "All I have to do is key in 'blue denim' and 'regular fit' and the computer will do the rest." I started tapping at the keys and then turned to him. "What colour thread do you want on the stitching?"

He laughed. "Oh, shit - I don't care," then he frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry!" He cut in quickly. "I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out."

"Hey - that's okay. I say that word myself at least ten times a day." I laughed. Wow, what a gentleman - worrying about a little word like 'shit'.

"Just regular thread for a regular guy, then?"

He nodded, "I guess."

"Well," I stood up from the keyboard, "Now I have to measure you."

This was it! The time had come! Would I be able to do it without making a complete and utter fool of myself?

"What do I have to do?" he asked, pushing back his hair which was long and curled onto his broad shoulders.

"Just stand there and look gorgeous," I responded and then quickly covered my mouth with my hand. Why did I have to say THAT?

"Oh - now it's my turn to apologize!" I cried, "I 'm sorry. I know you hate it when people zero in on your looks. I know you're a classically trained actor and all...and, oh, I'm so sorry..."

But he was laughing at me. "Hey, come on. Let's relax here. You can say anything to me. I keep telling you I'm a..."

"Regular guy!" I finished for him with a grin.

"Exactly," he grinned, snapping his thumb and finger. "Now about those measurements...."

"You'll have to remove your jeans," I said. I felt my cheeks suddenly burn red at the thought.

But he didn't seem particularly reserved or shy. Maybe Antonio doesn't fully comprehend how attractive he is. He thinks he's just regular, when he's not regular at all. Or maybe he's used to changing in and out of clothes on movie sets and thinks nothing of it.

I stood back and my mesmerized eyes watched as he sat down and pulled off his suede cowboy boots. He flung them aside and then he stood up and unbuckled the colourful belt he wore around his slim waist. I looked demurely away as I heard him unzip the zipper in his blue jeans. He let them drop to the ground and I couldn't help but turn back to check him out. My startled eyes widened in surprise.

He saw my expression and looked down at himself with a groan. "Oh My God!" he said with dismay and embarrassment. "I forgot I'd put these on today."

"Very patriotic," I commented with a teasing smile.

He laughed. "Well, maybe - but some people might think it an insult to wear my country's flag as underwear. Melanie had a dozen of them made for me for fun as a birthday gift."

His cotton briefs were in the colours of Spain's flag -- red, yellow, red, complete with the coat of arms. I have to say he cut quite a dashing figure. I think Spain would've been proud of its favourite son.

"Well, I think they are very nice," I stuttered, not knowing what else to say. "Well, shall we get started?"

The gizmo shook in my clammy hand as I moved in closer.

"What do you call that thing...?" he asked as I settled myself on my knees before him.

"Well, it's like a ... roller..." I was about to say the word 'ball', but stopped just in time as my eyes encountered the mound of his genitals inches from my face, and I realized that it would be incredibly inappropriate. "...Gizmo" I finished weakly, feeling hot all of a sudden. "It's connected to the computer."

"Oh, okay, go ahead." He stood straight, legs apart hands on hips as I kneeled before him, nose to nose with his groin.

He's married. He's married. He's happily married. The chant ran through my head as I began with the roller-ball, moving it up his outer leg to his hip.

Antonio's legs are well shaped and muscular, even the calves. And they are hairy, but not too hairy. The level of hairiness is perfect, actually. Nice knees, nice thighs - my eyes strayed up to the lump between his legs. Ahh - he was inclined to fall to the left. I looked away quickly. It didn't pay to stare at THAT part of his body for too long, no matter how delightful, but the statistic would be keyed into the program.

The roller-ball clicked and clacked and the computer whirred and ticked as the information was taken and stored. I zig-zagged the plastic ball over and around, up and down. I knew my cheeks flamed with the nearness of him, but I kept my mind on my work. Now to the front of his thighs - now up to his hip bone - now down his leg. He suddenly laughed and jerked away.

"Sorry - but it tickles like hell."

I stopped. "Well, I'm almost finished this bit - but I have to take measurements again with you sitting down and ..." - a loud gulp as I sucked a painfully large swallow of air - "lying down."

"It's quite an intricate process, eh?" he smiled. My heart thumped faster at the way he said 'intricate'. Oh - that husky, honeyed accent of his. It could melt hearts and end wars.

I chewed on my lip. The most awkward part was coming up. I'd have to run the ball several times over his genitals. I coughed a small nervous cough as the gizmo in my hot fingers sailed across THAT part of him and then back again. I knew he jolted a bit. I'm sure it felt pleasant for him. It's only natural. He is a man after all, and an exceedingly sensuous man I would think. Click, click, click. The ball rolled back across him again. Was he a fraction bigger this time? Oh God! I hoped things wouldn't get embarrassing. I'd die! I'd just die!

I breathed with relief as I finished the genital part of the measurement. I asked him to turn around. Now came the fun part - rolling the gizmo all over that cute Spanish ass. I probably measured this part of him to excess, but I couldn't help it. He has the finest little butt in Beverly Hills. Move over Tom Cruise! Take a hike, Brad Pitt!

Finally I stood to my feet and went across to the computer. I tapped on the keys. "Now we have to do you sitting down, Antonio. If you don't mind can you just sit on this chair? I have to roll it up and down the curvature of your legs."

"Are we almost finished," he asked as he sat down. I wondered if he was feeling a bit embarrassed too.

"Yes, just a few more minutes and then we're done."

I did him sitting and then I had to ask him to lie on the padded table. I ran the ball all around him, up and down, across and over as he lay prostrate before me. It was extremely erotic but I was proud of myself. I kept my concentration on the task at hand. My knees didn't buckle, my breath didn't quicken or anything.

"We're finished!" I said finally. I tapped the computer keys and the cutting machine in the back could be heard as it cranked into action.

"You can watch through the window," I said as Antonio pulled on his jeans and boots. "It's quite a thing to see the robotics as they cut the material to size. It's like those robots that put cars together on the assembly line,"

He stood close to me at the window. He smelled delicious. I wondered if he wore his very own cologne - Mediterraneo.

"Would you like a coffee or something?" I asked after a while.

"Sure," he smiled. "And I need a cigarette. Can I smoke in here or do I have to go outside?"

Of course you need a cigarette, I thought to myself. Having a little plastic ball rolled all over your body would make anyone crave some calming nicotine. That's why people smoke after sex.

"You can smoke here," I grinned as I left to get the coffee. "How do you take it?"

"Black, please," He stood up to pull cigarettes from a back pocket of his jeans. I smiled smugly to myself. I'd noticed the bulk of the packet in his jeans when he first came into the store. I had programmed it into Gene's jean machine and it now would accommodate a slightly larger pocket on that side to hold Antonio's cigarettes. Antonio would be pleased with this little feature.

I poured a coffee for myself as well and brought the cups back into the room. Together we sat on the sofa.

"What's the movie you're making in Mexico?" I asked.

"It's the sequel to Desperado. Robert's calling it 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico.'"

"Oh," my heart beat faster. "So you'll be the mariachi again?"

"Yeah," he brushed back his curly hair, "That's why I'm letting my hair grow long."

"Do you wear the same mariachi outfit," my mouth salivated at the thought.

"Yeah,"

"With the chains...on the pants...those pants...?"

"Yeah," he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Have you seen Desperado?"

"Oh, only about a thousand times," I breathed before realizing what I'd said.

I gulped a huge swig of coffee only to have it choke me. My eyes watering I started blabbering words to cover my discomfort. "Well, I love the movies of Robert Rodriguez, you see" I prattled, "I've seen them all..."

"From Dusk Till Dawn?" he asked, "How many times have you seen that one?"

I turned brilliant red, "Well, only once, I guess..." I took a deep breath, "You see, Desperado is my favourite, that's why I've seen it so many times. But I was exaggerating. I guess I've seen it three or four times, that's all." Fuck! What an all out lie!!!! I'd worn out two videos before getting the DVD.

"Oh," he pulled on his cigarette and we fell silent for a moment. I daren't look at him. What must he be thinking? I didn't want him to know what a crazy fan I was. It would only embarrass him.

"Is Salma in the movie with you again this time?" I asked to fill in the silence. I finally felt brave enough to look him in the eye and to my relief I saw that he was totally relaxed. He probably hadn't even noticed my foolish nervousness.

"Yeah, and Johnny Depp,"

"Oh, I like Johnny Depp," I nodded.

"You like him too? So how many times have you seen Edward Scissorhands, then?" he teased.

I grinned; I might as well admit my admiration, "Actually only once. But your films, Antonio, well I watch then over and over again. I don't want to embarrass you - but I'm quite the fan. Ask me anything about your career. Anything! I've seen all your films. My favourite is La Blanca Paloma. About the end of that film, Antonio?  I've never really understood why you set the fire while she's in the house...?"

There was a sudden loud grinding clunk from the back room. "What's that? Is everything okay?" he asked in alarm.

"The material has moved to the stitching computer, that's all. Your jeans are being stitched as we speak."

His beautiful lips smiled and he tapped ash from his cigarette and put it to his mouth.

"I can't remember that film," he went on, smoke coming from his lips. "It was such a long time ago." He crunched out his cigarette.

"Well, I loved it ..."I breathed. I sought for something else to say. I had a million questions, but I didn't want the poor guy to think I was interrogating him.

"I saw you on TV at the Andrew Lloyd Webber Celebration. You were fantastic." I said brightly.

He smiled, "I was scared to death. I've never sang in front of a live audience before."

"You should do it more often; you have a really good voice."

"Thanks, but I think I'll leave the singing to Ricky Martin. Still, I'm glad it all went well for Andrew. I was a bit worried because I had a bad cold that night. But somehow I got through it."

We fell silent again for a few seconds. The chinking of the sewing machine could be heard as it methodically stitched the pieces together.

"Only a few more minutes..." I smiled.

"Time for another cigarette?" he asked. "Of course," I replied. I loved watching him smoke. Everything Antonio does just drips sex.

I asked him a few more questions about his career and his family. He was open and friendly and even interested in me and my life. I think I fell even more in love with him. "DIVORCE MELANIE - MARRY ME!" I wanted to yell. But, of course, I didn't.

He was just crushing out his second cigarette when there was loud buzzing sound from the back room.

"You jeans are finished!" I cried. I stood and went to the door to the back room. The jeans were sitting there waiting to be picked up. I took them and handed them to him.

"There you go, hot off the press."

"Wow, you're not kidding. They're quite warm."

"Actually, there's one final stage, Antonio." I grabbed the flat plastic spatula. "You must put them on while they're still hot and I rub this thingamajig all over you to set the shape. The jeans will then be molded on you. It takes seconds, but - sorry - you'll have to expose the Spanish flag once more."

He laughed out loud and removed his jeans. He pulled the new jeans onto his body. They fitted with such flawless perfection they didn't really need the spatula rubdown. Nevertheless, I rubbed the tool all over him as the denim cooled and bonded to every delectable contour.

He was visibly pleased. "They're so comfortable - l don't have to break them in or anything. It's usually a whole year before jeans become this comfortable."

I continued with my spatula, melding the material to him. I was so involved in enjoying myself, I didn't hear the bell tinkle as the outer door opened.

Gene's angry voice sounded from the other room, "Tina, phone the police!" he yelled. "Some idiot's parked his Harley-Davidson right outside the door. I want it towed this minute."

As he spoke the words Gene entered the room and I saw his startled look as he encountered Antonio and myself. He frowned in sudden displeasure as his eyes flicked from me to Antonio and then to the jeans Antonio wore.

"What is going on?" He snapped.

I stood to my feet quickly as Antonio strode across to Gene. "I'm sorry, that's my bike. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to park there."

But Gene held up his hand, all apologies, his face like a smarmy fawning toad. "Oh, that's perfectly alright, Mr. Banderas." he wheedled. "I didn't know it was YOUR bike. We have such a problem here with parking..." his words drifted off as he stared at the jeans again.

"Are those...?"

"Yes, yes" Antonio broke in eagerly. "Tina has been very helpful. I am extremely pleased."

Gene's toady eyes slid across to me and then back to Antonio. "Unfortunately my assistant is just that - an assistant." His voice was dry and nasty. "She is not permitted to touch any of my equipment and she knows it. Please allow me to re-measure you, Mr. Banderas, and I will offer you a free pair of my special jeans. I do apologize for this. I hope she hasn't wasted too much of your time."

My face flushed hot with humiliation, but Antonio spoke up quickly. "There's no apology needed. I am extremely pleased. In fact," he turned to me, "I think I will order another dozen pairs. "Plus," he looked back to Gene, whose mouth had dropped to the floor, "I will take Tina up on her suggestion of black leather and tan suede. Your assistant has been extremely helpful and cooperative, senor."

"Well... um... well," Gene was at a total loss for words.

Antonio threaded his colourful belt through the loops and shoved his cigarette package into his back pocket. Everything fit perfectly of course. He strode toward the door and then turned back,

"I'll return again when I'm finished the shoot in Mexico," he said to me, pointedly ignoring poor Gene who was mumbling to himself. "And I'll bring Melanie with me. She'll love this place. Thanks again, Tina, for all your help."

He was about to walk through the door, but I called after him. "Antonio! Your jeans. You've left your old jeans."

"They're yours. Keep them," he laughed.

And I did! I sleep with them every night.