The Try On
Marley Quinn
The Try On
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
The Try On
by Marley Quinn
© 2025 Marley Quinn
All rights reserved.
Author: Marley Quinn
Contact details: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Jen’s Bikinis
Coverage
The Greatest Gift
Hot
The Full Monty
My John
Also by Marley Quinn
Jen’s Bikinis
A Tuesday afternoon, and an overcast day, drizzling with light rain, is a fatal combination for a bikini shop.
Not that I mind, of course. I only took the job because my cousin Lisa used to work there and put in a good word with the owner. I get paid minimum wage regardless of how many customers are in the store, although I do make a 3% commission for every sale.
Working in a swimsuit shop a couple of blocks from the beach has its ups and downs. Sometimes you get some weird requests, like this one lady who came in one time and asked for the same swimsuit in five different colors so she could match whichever one fit her mood.
Other times it's a pretty boring job, such as when middle-aged ladies come in to browse around, but you can tell right away that they aren't going to buy anything.
One of the things that surprised me most about the job was how many tourists come in because they forgot to pack a suit. Like, who goes on vacation to the seaside and doesn't bring a swimming suit?
It's ridiculous. But I guess Jen knew what she was doing by opening a bikini shop right off the boardwalk because we got plenty of walk-ins.
Probably the worst is when a pack of young girls come in, either pre-teens or teenagers. They always finger the merchandise, pull things off the rack, and take a million pictures for their social media feeds.
Also, there was more than once when older guys would see them through the window and come in, hoping to get a peak at some underage boobies, and we'd be forced to chase them out.
So yeah, I'm glad to have the place all to myself on a slow, rainy day. With the tourists cooped up in their hotel rooms or partaking in indoor activities in town, I figure the chances of anyone walking into Jen's Bikinis today are virtually nil.
My plan was to nibble on some snacks and then catch up on my reading. I'd just discovered this app where you unlock chapters by watching ads or doing other things to earn coins, and there were some truly killer stories on there.
One was about this young woman who had been disinherited by her billionaire father and was threatening to tell the world his secret - that he was a werewolf - to get her position in the family restored, and the other was about this bad boy CEO who met his match when he got stuck in an elevator with a feisty waitress whom he'd been rude to earlier in a five-star restaurant.
On slow days, there was just one of us on duty, so I'm working all by myself. I don't mind, though, as it means that I can get some snacks and nibble on them during my shift without getting the stink eye from one of my colleagues or getting yelled at by the boss.
I had just gotten a hot chocolate and some homemade cookies from this place on the boardwalk and was just starting to get into my story when the bell tinkles and a man walks in.
He looks to be in his mid-30s or maybe early 40s. Most intriguingly, he is quite well-dressed, wearing a pair of business trousers and a white button-up shirt. Tourists walk into the shop all the time in flip-flops, Hawaiian shirts, and oversized shorts, so I could tell he was different right away.
He has thick, wavy hair and a rather handsome face. Well, it would've been handsome except that he looks incredibly forlorn, almost like my cousin Greg when his puppy that he got for his tenth birthday ran away and was never found.
In the bikini shop, we don't see too many guys come in on their own. Usually, they're with a wife or girlfriend, and they look like they'd rather be poked with a sharp stick than hang around a place selling garments for women.
Sometimes, they'll stand there and nod and pretend to be interested, but most of the time, they just post up in one spot and wait, often giving longing glances over at the door as they pray for their ordeal to be over.
I'd only been working at the bikini shop for a few months, but I'd seen more than once where the girlfriend or the wife knew full well that her man was suffering and yet she seemed to get some kind of sick pleasure out of it.
First, she'd make him carry her purse while she browsed around, and then later, she'd come out of the dressing room, forcing him to nod and smile and tell her how great she looked, knowing that he'd be attacked if he dared make a single negative comment.
Call it a power play, if you will, and it was fascinating to watch from a psychological perspective, even if it was a bit twisted.
Much more rarely, the guy in question would be a lot older than the girl, and then he would genuinely be interested in seeing her try on some bikinis, which inevitably were the skimpier and more revealing models.
In those cases, it was obvious that he was wealthy and that she was his trophy wife or bimbo girlfriend, chosen for her good looks rather than her intellect.
About the only time I'd see a guy come into the bikini shop by himself was when a frantic wife was sending her husband in to make an emergency purchase. Perhaps she'd put on more weight than she realized before they left for vacation, or maybe they'd been overindulging at the buffet, but she would discover to her horror that her old suit didn't fit and so she needed a new one ASAP.
In those cases, he'd always have a list of some kind with her measurements. He'd be looking around, nervous and overwhelmed, terrified of making a mistake and being sent back to the shop. That made him easy pickings.
I'd float over to him with a smile on my face, asking if I could help, and he'd be so grateful for being rescued that he'd buy the most expensive suit in the store without hesitation, earning me a nice little commission.
So yeah, when that well-dressed guy came in looking sad, I was intrigued. He didn't have any of the hallmarks of a husband coming in to buy an emergency suit for his fat wife. He also didn't have a list in his hand. Instead, he was slowly walking around the shop, carefully examining the merchandise.
As I sat there behind the counter, my mind began to wander as I tried to guess his story. Had he come in looking for a swimsuit for himself, not realizing we only sold women's clothing? Or was he, perhaps, some powerful businessman looking to buy a gift for his sexy secretary, doing the shopping himself so that the purchase wouldn't appear on his bank statement and thus alert his wife?
None of those stories seemed to jive with what I was seeing, though. For one, when guys did occasionally come in and ask about swim trunks for men, they just asked right away instead of browsing through the merchandise. And secondly, guys buying bikinis for their mistresses didn't look sad, and this guy looked as miserable as the weather outside.
I continue to watch the guy for a while, my curiosity growing with every moment. Sometimes, he stops and takes one of the bikinis off the rack as if contemplating whether it was suitable or not, but then he puts it back. He seems quite focused on his mission, whatever it is, never once glancing over in my direction.
Finally, I can no longer contain myself, so I hop off my stool and walk over to him.
Coverage
“Hi there,” I say. “Looking for anything in particular?”
The man looks up at me, startled, as if he hadn’t known I was there. This is the first time I get a good look at his eyes, which are hazel. There was a strange light behind them, as if he’d been a million miles under the ocean before I jolted him out of his reverie.
“Huh?” he says.
“Let me see if I can help you,” I say, putting on a warm smile. “Are you buying a swimsuit for a particular occasion?”
“Occasion?” says the man, furrowing his forehead.
He doesn’t appear like he is dumb or anything, but yet it still feels almost like there is this lag going on in his head, as if he is translating what I am saying into another language or something.
“Yes,” I say. “Here, let me make it simple. Are you looking for a swimsuit for your girlfriend? Your wife? Your daughter perhaps?”
“Oh,” says the man, giving me a faint smile. “My wife, yes.”
“Excellent,” I say, relieved to have finally gotten through to him. “Okay, and what’s the occasion? LIke, is it for the beach? Are you going on a cruise, perhaps? Maybe she wants to visit the tanning booth?”
“Yes!” says the man, smiling from ear to ear. “A cruise. We’re going to the Caribbean. Three different islands in five days.”
“Ah, a cruise. That’s excellent. I hear those are wonderful,” I say, feeling a tiny bit jealous. “Okay, now my next question is going to sound a bit silly, but does your wife want this suit to swim in? Or is this more for laying out by the pool?”
“I... I don’t know,” says the man, retreating back into his confusion.
“You see, some of our suits are more robust. Perfect for activities like swimming and such,” I say. “But sometimes, a woman wants a suit just for laying out, so she can work on her tan and the like. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes... I think so,” says the man, although he appears lost again.
“So, which is it? For swimming?” I say, feeling a bit perplexed myself.
“I don’t know,” says the man with a sad sigh. “I never asked her.”
“Okay, well let’s start with the basics then,” I say with a little chuckle. “Does your wife know how to swim?”
“I... I think so, yes. Wait, yes, she does!” says the man, his smile returning. “She told me she used to swim with her friends all the time at summer camp. I remember that now. She said she used to get so tan that her skin was the color of roasted hazelnut.”
“I see,” I say. “Well then, we know she can swim. But do you think you’ll do much swimming on your cruise?”
“Oh, probably not,” says the man, giving me a sly wink. “It’s our honeymoon, you see.”
“Ah, wonderful!” I say, relieved to have finally made some headway with this mysterious guy. “Then she probably wants something a bit slinkier then, eh?”
“Oh, wow. Yes, you’re probably right,” says the man, blushing.
Something about seeing that guilty smile and the color in his cheeks as he thinks about his wife wearing a sexy bikini on their honeymoon makes me instantly forgive him for his earlier obstreperousness. It’s been a long time since I've seen a guy get shy when thinking about his woman in that way, and I’m finding it impossibly charming.
“Great!” I say. “Okay, then let’s skip the one-piece suits, shall we? And move right onto the bikinis.”
The man dutifully follows me as I walked him over to some of our best-selling models. If a woman is willing to show off her curves, then we have all kinds of great options, including some so revealing that they are downright scandalous.
“Now, next question,” I say. “Do you know your wife’s measurements?”
“No,” says the man, hanging his head, his sadness returning.
“Hey, no problem,” I say, trying to cheer him up with a smile. “Let’s start with the basics, okay? Let’s talk body shape. Skinny? Athletic? Plump?”
“Oh,” says the man. “She’s not athletic or anything. I’d say she’s, hmm, regular. She says she wants to go to the gym to get more toned, but I keep telling her that she’s perfect just as she is.”
“Aww,” I say, the innocent way he keeps describing his wife really touching my heart. I figure maybe he’s one of those religious types or something who was a virgin when he got married. It’s really nice to see that kind of pure love in this day and age.
“Let’s say skinny. Yes, I think she’d like that,” says the man, nodding his head and smiling.
“Excellent,” I say, smiling pretty hard myself. “We’ve got lots of options for women like that. Now, next question. What about cup size?”
“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t know that,” says the man, his cheeks going deep red.
“It’s okay,” I say, giving him a little pat on the shoulder. “Every woman has a different bust, and it’s important when sizing a bikini. So, are we talking about big and juicy? Or small and firm?”
“Gosh,” said the man, continuing to blush so hard that I almost wanted to hug him.
“Hmm,” I say. “I can see you’re a little uncomfortable talking about this topic. What about... is she bigger than me or smaller?”
It feels a little weird to be asking a guy I’d just met to be looking at my chest like that, but with him, I just don’t know what else to do, so I stand sideways so he can get a good look at my tits through the fabric of my employee polo shirt.
“I’d say... just about like you,” says the man after giving it a moment of thought.
“Excellent!” I say, feeling a little color rise to my cheeks. “I’m a C cup, so that means your wife is pretty well-endowed.”
“Yeah, she’s beautiful,” says the man, giving me a sheepish smile. “I fell in love with her the moment I met her.”
“That’s great,” I say as I move over to a selection of bikinis for women with bigger busts. “Now, you said she was skinny, right? So, would you say she’s taller than me or shorter than me? Because there are different kinds of skinny, especially when it comes to how the bottoms showcase your legs.”
“Hmm,” says the man as he looks at me, and I get the feeling that he’s really looking at me for the first time since he walked into the shop. “She’s about your height, actually. Maybe an inch taller. No, make that half an inch.”
“Wow, okay,” I say, surprised at how pleased I feel to know that I match the description of his wife. “Ahem, so we’re making some headway here. I guess the last question is, how much coverage do you think she prefers?”
“Coverage?” says the man. “Oh gosh, I don’t know.”
“No problem,” I say, giving him another reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Let me choose a few items, and then you can tell me which one you think she’ll like best.”
“Okay,” says the man, looking relieved to have me take charge of the situation.
I quickly select a few options from the racks, including one with full coverage and one that’s barely more than dental floss. That way he’ll see the full range of what we have in the store, and hopefully, he’ll be able to guess which one his wife would prefer.
As I’m gathering the various bikinis, a distant part of me starts to wonder why his wife isn’t in the shop with him. What kind of woman wouldn’t prefer to buy her own bikini, especially for a honeymoon cruise?
But then I dismiss that thought. There could be a million reasons why, including her being just as innocent and naive as he is and being too shy to do it herself.
The Greatest Gift
“All right,” I say, holding up the full-coverage one, which is orange and pink. “What about this one?”
“Hmm,” says the man, thinking about it like it’s the final question on an important exam.
“Or maybe this one?” I say, holding up one that’s black and white, a little racier in design but still quite conservative.
“Gosh, I don’t know,” says the man, looking overwhelmed.
“Or what about this one?” I say, showing him the slinkiest one, which is fire engine red.
I know guys are often clueless when it comes to clothes, but surely, he’s got to be able to see there’s a huge difference between the first one and the last one.
“I just don’t know,” says the man, looking so forlorn that I almost think he’s about to start crying. “I just know that she wanted to be beautiful. And to me, she is, you know? I don’t care what she’s wearing. I just never paid attention to clothes too much, and now I wish I had.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I say, giving him a little pat on the upper forearm. “We’ll get you one that she’ll love, I promise. Okay?”
“Okay,” says the man, nodding.
And that’s when the idea hits me. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, and it’s not even something that would normally even have come into my mind.
But I just felt so sorry for this guy and want to make him feel better that the words come out of my mouth almost before I realize what I’m saying.
“Look, I have an idea,” I say, my pulse racing. “Since you said we’re about the same size, how about I try them on for you? And then that way you’ll know which one is most suitable.”
For a long time, the man just looks at me, making me immediately regret my offer. But then I see that strange light in his eyes again, and I can feel that something deeper is going on.
I’m not quite sure what, but there’s something weighing on this guy that’s more than just buying a swimsuit for his wife for their honeymoon.
“Thank you,” says the man, giving me such a forlorn look that I almost start to cry. “That would mean the world to me.”
“Sure, sure,” I say as a shiver runs down my spine, but then I shrug it off.
I lead him over to the dressing room and pull out the chair that we keep precisely for moments like this. I gesture for him to sit down, which he does, looking grateful to be able to get off his feet.
“Okay, you stay right there. I’ll be right back,” I say as I step into the dressing room and draw the curtain.
What I’m doing is insane. I know that. But the guy just looks so helpless, and anyway, it’s not like there are any other customers about. I tell myself that I’m only doing it to get a commission, but I know that’s a lie.
Still, what’s it going to hurt if I try on a bikini or two? I am selling them, after all, and who knows? Maybe I’ll find one for myself.
I strip off my work clothes and put on the full-coverage bikini. I look at myself in the mirror, not altogether pleased with the way the orange and pink makes my skin look a bit washed out. Perhaps if I had a tan, it’d be all right, but I’ve been spending all my time working in the shop instead of laying out, which is a shame.
“All right, what do you think?” I say as I draw back the curtain.
The man looks up at me, but there’s no spark in his eyes whatsoever. I know I’m not the prettiest woman who ever lived or something, but still, his total lack of reaction has me feeling crushed.
“No?” I say, wiggling my hips a little bit in a futile attempt to entice some excitement from him.
“No,” says the man, his face completely expressionless.
“Fine,” I say, whirling around and going back into the dressing room.
As I change out of the first bikini and into the second one, a black and white number that shows off a bit more skin, I’m surprised at how deflated I feel.
No girl, no matter what she looks like, wants to be completely ignored when she shows up in a bikini. Nonetheless, I force myself to get it together, reminding myself that he’s just a customer.
After adjusting the top to give myself maximum cleavage, I step out of the dressing room with a flourish.
“How about this one?” I say, all smiles in anticipation of a more enthusiastic response.
But the man just stares at me. I see maybe a tiny quiver of his lips, as if I’d almost pressed his buttons, but then there’s nothing. He might as well be watching TV rather than looking at a young woman going out of her way to please a customer by trying on bikinis for him.
“Fine,” I say, storming back into the dressing room.
At this point, I’m fuming mad, but then I catch myself. Why am I being so dramatic? The whole reason we carry a wide range of bikinis in the store is because everyone has different tastes and preferences. Maybe black and white isn’t his thing - or his wife’s thing, excuse me - or maybe the suit isn’t as flattering on me as I’d like to think.
In fact, as I turn and twist in front of the mirror, I see that my butt cheeks are being squeezed by the suit, making it look almost like I’m wearing a diaper. Perhaps the guy is right, and this isn’t the bikini for me. I kind of want to give up at that point, but since there’s only one left, I decide to finish what I started.
The third and final bikini is red and one of the slinkiest numbers we carry in the shop. The front triangles can be slid over so you can cover your tits as little or as much as you want, but the bottoms have just a thin strip running up the back, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Determined to at least get some kind of reaction out of the guy, I slide the front panels to their most revealing setting, leaving only my nipples and areolae covered.
It is, by far, the most daring swimsuit I’ve ever put on in my life, and I get a little tingle as I examine myself in the mirror. If the guy doesn’t like it, then I’m going to buy it for myself and wear it on the beach, because I’m damned sure it will definitely get me plenty of attention.
“All right, what about this one?” I say as I step out of the dressing room.
This time, he sits up immediately, his eyes going wide as he looks me up and down. Something about the intensity of his gaze lights a little fire deep in my belly. Without any doubt whatsoever, I can tell he likes this one, and something about that turns me on a little.
“Oh, Alexis,” he gushes. “You’re so beautiful!”
My name is Rylie. It’s a good name, and I’ve always liked it. I felt it was a tough name, suitable for a chick like me. But the thing is, my mother originally wanted to name me Alexis after her grandmother, so when the guy says that name, it’s like I hear a bell going off somewhere in the back of my mind.
“You like it?” I say, doing a slow twirl, savoring his attention.
“My god, I’ve missed you so much, darling!” cries the man, and then he reaches out to grab me by the waist to pull me towards him.
I’m so startled that I land in his lap before I realize that he’s gone way over the deep end. He starts kissing me, his hands roaming all over my body, and I have to struggle to break free of his grasp.
“Hey!” I shout, my chest heaving from all the adrenaline. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, man?”
“Oh my god! Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” says the man, leaning forward to bury his head in his hands.
He then starts sobbing, which takes me aback. I just can’t figure out this guy! One minute, he has his hands all over me, and the next minute he’s crying? Is he having some kind of mental breakdown or what?
Nonetheless, the fact that he’s crying immediately dissipates my anger. As I stand there and watch him, a part of me can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It’s been a long time since anyone touched me that way, and my traitorous body is regretting that he stopped.
“Are you okay?” I say.
“I’m sorry,” says the man, sitting up to look at me through tear-stained eyes. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“That’s okay,” I say, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It happens. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“My wife, Alexis... for a moment, I thought she’d come back to me,” says the man. “I’m sorry. I know you must think I’m some kind of freak.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I say, crouching down so I’m eye level with him. “If I upset you, I’m sorry.”
“Upset me?” says the man, looking incredulous. “No. You gave me the greatest gift possible.”
“I did?” I say, surprised to discover how flattered I feel.
“Sometimes... I get a little mixed up,” says the man. “I walked in here thinking about our upcoming cruise. And then, I don’t know, it’s like I forgot all about what happened.”
“What do you mean?” I say, resting one hand on his shoulder to keep my balance.
There’s something about him that’s just so intriguing, but I can’t put my finger on it. All I know is that I want to scoop him up in my arms and comfort him, which is pretty crazy, since I don’t even know his name.