Some time after, the car swung off the highway, through a gate and onto a narrower, but immaculately tarmac-ed side road. Three or four minutes of gentle climbing through dense woodland and Alex brought it to a stop next to what looked like a small lodge house.

"Okay we're here". Stepping out of the car Alex headed towards a door on the nearside of the cabin. Following closely, Buck walked into what appeared to be a changing room of sorts, with rows of neatly stacked metal lockers, and, viewed through an alcove, a series of showers.

"Strip, shower", Alex said with gentle affirmation as he removed his own clothes. Several of the locker doors were open and Buck noticed the name tags had been filled in on each. There appeared to be designated lockers for both of them.

There was a smell Buck had encountered from the time they walked in, in counterbalance to the aroma of pine forest and wood shack – it was a chemical smell but a pleasant earthy one, the undertone of a leather bar if it wasn't overpowered by cigarette smoke, sweat and spilled beer. He caught it again – the smell of a sidewalk shoe-shine, like Cherry Blossom (the black stuff in tins, that is); a smell like polished boots. Rows and rows of polished boots…

"We're expected?", Buck surmised aloud.

"Yes, anticipated"; a naked Alex was on his way into the showers.

Alex was soon in with him, and Alex turned to him. Finding a bar to hand, he firmly soaped Buck all over, then himself, then both rinsed in silence. The procedure was perfunctory, unsexual – preliminary. Towelled and dried, Buck retrieved a set of clippers from his bag and plugged them in.

"This weekend you're going short as me". Alex removed the guard from the clippers and deftly cropped Alex's head of its last remaining half-inch of hair. Alex didn't know exactly how he would look after this operation, but he was hard with anticipation as the friction of the clippers signified the closest cut possible.

Both stowed their clothes in the tagged lockers.

"Right", Buck saw Alex had retrieved 2 keys from his bag, and turned to an identical row of lockers on the opposite wall. Buck noted that the same names were tagged on this set, while Alex unlocked the doors.

"This explains the lack of need for luggage". Alex beckoned. Buck reached into the locker and retrieved a hanger so heavy it caught him unaware. It was laden with dense, shining, unworn leather.

"How do you know these-";

"I measured you when you were asleep".

Buck retrieved a heavy black leather uniform shirt as the outermost layer of the hanger, its sheen glowing under the lights. He slipped it on and snapped the matt black fasteners up to the second last button. The fit was incredible, hugging his body and gently pressing under the shoulder, the collar caressed his neck and the back contoured to his body, cultivating a straightened posture. Somewhere inside, Buck felt an unprecendented surge.

Hanging from the hanger were a set of pristine breeches, the stiff balloons, glowing with the memory of a recent polish, defined by an inch-think strip of snow-white leather, curving around their edge and disappearing down to the zip fastening. He slipped them over his legs and pulled until the seam was hard against the skin behind his balls. Buck felt his the saddle of his ass held, caressed like two broad gloved hands, and his entire pelvis cradled in the thick, smooth black leather.

Two zips pulled at the end of the tapered legs completed the sensation of legs encased invincibly in leather. Alex, himself, shirted and in breeches, retrieved two sets of riding-style boots from the respective lockers, for himself and Buck. Inside were laundered white boot socks, and both set to pulling them over the breeches.

Alex's spoke softly, "these boots are a special design – our design – refined over several years. You will never find a boot that fits you better".

Buck stood poised, his breeched leg over the left boot. As he lowered it soft creaks issued and he felt the subtle resistence of the stiff boot and his leg, as the air was forced between the leg and the boot. For a moment it seemed destined to be too narrow, and then there was a final creak and the boot shifted into place, from toe through ankle, calf and a seamless edge with the breeches, just below the knee. With both on, he pulled his breeches and fastened them.

"You'll be able to earn your spurs this weekend, " said Alex, "literally".

More regalia was assembled. A glowing, thick dress belt with inch-thick Sam Browne. After looping, it, Buck threaded it through his shirt epaulette and fastened it. A black leather tie flaring slightly to be of standard uniform width, hung from the hanger, discovered to be of the softest, shiniest hide. Buck no longer needed direction to fasten his collar and tie it, instinctively in an officer's half-windsor.

At that point he was aware of himself in a full length mirror, adjacent to the shower. The sight of himself aroused him. It was fifteen minutes since he stepped out of the car, and already he felt irrevocably changed.

Alex was almost in sync with his dressing, and after straightening his necktie, reached into both lockers to retrieve additional items. He handed Buck a visor cap, into which were two immaculate gloves, and for Buck there was no question that they would fit skin-to-skin as they did. He next took the cap, and fixed it, holding the back and bill with each hand over his newly cropped head. His scalp felt the rim of cap fit into place, snugly an inch above his ear, the rim of the bill on the very level of his gaze. He swivelled to a capped and gloved Alex, who was reaching out for his tie. Gently, Alex affixed a small shiny silver object through the tie and threaded the chain through the shirt, so it was held firmly in place, regardless of movement. Without looking down, Buck thought there was every chance the motif of this silver regalia pinned on his chest would be identical to that which he saw in front of him on Alex's breast: the eagle, on a globe and shield, a bundle of rods in each claw and four letters: BLUF.

He swayed, the whole experience begin to overpowering him, the sight of Alex before him being one of further revelation. With every layer his mysterious comrade put on, the deeper inside him Buck seemed to see.

Again, his thoughts seemed to be read: "Don't look at me," was the gentle directive, "look inside yourself".

So Buck turned to the full length mirror, to walk towards it, transfixed on the breeched leather figure facing him. He took his first step to approach the figure, and movement, full proper movement was added to the sensory battery.

New experience – the movement, the support, the resistance, the flow of walking in full uniformed leather, rushed over him – like moving on air and wading through treacle at one and the same time – like armour, but plated on his inside – like honour, but honour made flesh.

The step started in the boot, and the boot rippled the breeches, which tightened on the arse, which gently pulled at the belt, which stiffened the sam browne cross-strap against Buck's chest, gently folding his tie, so the bottom half angled out from his shirt. Another step.

More steps and he was standing in front of himself in full focus, his companion a shadowy, breeched and cap outline some yards back.

"Do you see?".

Buck saw. He saw how he was at once a semblance of fetishes, meticulously arranged, each of which tugged at his sexual psyche and kept his cock rigid against the breech-hide. Each one; the badged cap, the sam browne, his immaculate uniformed torso, the glinting miniscule tie-tac and above all his breeches and boots, each of these opened a portal into an unwindowed, all-leathered interior. One which had always been there, always been waiting for its unsuspecting occupant.

But as his eye ranged, the individuals fused into a one, which was more than just the buzz of an erotic kink. It felt, not like the flame of immediate desire, but the background radiation: it was a feeling with new meaning, and its heat slowly began to penetrate through the front of his brain, his cock, behind his eyes simultaneously.

That heat, that epiphany, was not sex, but beauty. The beauty of leather, distinct from its wearer, but embodied by its wearer, and now Buck was immersed, encased in that beauty, from his epauletted shoulders to his buckled waist and his visored forehead.

And then the feeling defused and he once more focussed on the individual detail. His tie-tac…Bluf? And now, his cap badge, again the same symbols used in the motif but now with a legend outlining the shield:

TERGUS PRIMUM, SEMPER AMICUS

"It's latin-",
"Leather first, Comrades always: One does not work without the other, but leather always, always first".

"And what is B-L-U-F?", said Buck, looking for an explanation for the mysterious letters.

"If I thinking I am seeing things right, BLUF is your future."