Mercedes,
I have visited your site several times and love it. I have been married for 20 years and
have yet to convince my wife to wear stockings out in public. The only time I have seen
her in stockings is the few times I have rolled them onto her legs during love making
(what a shame, she has such faboulous legs!). She loves to have her legs pampered,
just wish she could get past the pantyhose thing. Anyway, I spend alot of time in fantasy land, dreaming about her beautiful legs
wrapped in thigh highs.
This poem was written with her in mind but thought some of your visitors might enjoy it
also.
Your Favorite
Let me make love to your legs tonight,
I will caress and hold them tight
against my cheek.
My lips shall pass like a breeze
across their length
and I will warm them with
my breath.
I will cling to them,
as close as the sheerest of leggings,
and cradle them in my arms
as if they were a bushel of lilac.
Allow my finger to paint a seam
down your thigh to the round of your heel,
choosing only translucent colors
from my pallet.
And, as you desire,
my hands will wedge themselves against your feet,
as though a thousand pages
were being bound into a book.
I shall squeeze your toes
in the folds of a clinched fist, and
scrape my teeth along surface of your sole
until you breathlessly squeal and pull away.
And as we will lay head to foot
falling prey to slumber,
I'll find pleasure in leaving a single kiss
upon your arch ... without your knowing.
SUMMER by Dave NOVEMBER'S WINNER
It was a summer I would never forget. I was 17, and needed money, so I went down the road to the farm where I would meet the woman that I would loose my virginity to. I was an average kid, a little on the tall side, lanky looking, and horny as hell most of the time. Most of my friends had lost their virginity by now, but I had not been lucky enough to join that elite group just yet.
I knew that every summer the farmer down the road would hire kids to work on the farm, but since he had recently died, I was not sure what to expect. I walked up to the door and knocked. What I encountered next was beyond my wildest dreams. The door opened and I was face to face with Mercedes. Now a 17 year old boy seeing a tall blonde with big blue eyes, in tight jeans, cowboy boots and a form fitting blouse that showcases a pair of large, firm breasts can’t be expected to have much to say. I just stood there, speechless, helpless in her gaze. It seemed like an eternity before Mercedes finally broke the silence and said “Hello, can I help you?” I stuttered and stammered and finally got out that I was looking for summer work, and was wondering if she needed someone to work the farm.
Mercedes began to explain to me that things were tough on the farm right now since her husband had died, and that she already had hired two men to work the farm for her. I don’t know if she was messing with me, or if the disappointed look on my face changed her mind, but she finally said that while she didn’t need a “farm hand”, she could use someone to work around the house and barns. She explained that her plan was to keep the farm going, but only until she could sell it and move away. Excited about getting a job, and more excited about being able to work for such a beautiful woman I accepted and started for the door before she even told me what the job paid.
The work was tough. I mostly had to repair barns that were needing attention, paint, cut down trees, and general maintenance around the place, to make it presentable to potential buyers. All this hard work did have it’s rewards, and I’m not talking about money. Mercedes also worked around the place, and being able to see her every day was a huge lift to my spirits. And, being a 17 year old horny virgin, I found myself in an almost constant state of arousal when Mercedes was around. At first, I didn’t talk much to her, as I was busy trying to impress her with my work. I knew that she often caught me watching her. Every time I was caught checking her out, she would smile at me, and I’d turn dark red with embarrassment, and go back to my tasks. As the days got longer and warmer, my jobs became harder because I was finding it even harder to concentrate. Instead of the normal jeans, boots and blouse she would normally work in, she began wearing shorts, tying the bottom of her blouse around her mid section, exposing her wonderful cleavage, and going bare foot around the yard. I think she was also aware of what this was doing to me, and she began to enjoy it. I noticed that she was coming over to talk to me more, becoming more friendly with me, and even inviting me in for lemonade once in a while.
In mid July I became a man, in more ways than one. I turned 18. I had not thought much about it that day, only that I had big plans for the weekend. I had never even thought that Mercedes knew my birthday, but I guess when I gave her the information for my pay and taxes, my birthday was on the papers. Anyway, the day started out as normal, and Mercedes had me taking out an old tree that was close to the house. I had been working on it for about an hour when Mercedes made her morning appearance, and I got my morning hard-on. At that point, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, she was dressed in short shorts, blouse tied, cowboy hat and bare foot. Her long blonde hair shined in the sun, and her smile was wide. She came over to say good morning, just like she always did. We made some small talk, then she said that she had some errands to run, and that after lunch she had a different task that she needed me for. Then she drove off and I got back to work. As I worked, I kept remembering the wonderful smell of perfume. Mercedes did not usually wear any, but this morning there was the erotic aroma of some feminine perfume that only added to my normal fantasies about my boss. I don’t know when she returned, but I soon saw her truck back at the house and knew that she had returned. Soon it was lunch time, and I heard Mercedes call from the house to please come there when I got a chance. Well, of course I dropped everything and went to see what my lovely boss wanted. What happened next is the what a man remembers for the rest of his life.
I knocked on the door as I walked in. I don’t know why I knocked, probably out of habit. I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing there in the kitchen, holding a birthday cake was Mercedes. But not in what I had seen her in before. There in front of me was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth. Her long blonde hair fell about her shoulders, and her eyes were locked on mine. She had on ear rings that hung low from her ears on slender chains. She wore a white peasant blouse with short sleeves that were puffed at the shoulder, and the rest of the blouse stopped right under her large, round, ample breasts. She wore a blue jumper like skirt, that did not cover her mid section, but had two straps that went over her shoulders, and laid along the outside of her breasts. The skirt was short, short enough to see that she was wearing dark tan stockings. I could see the tops and the clasps of the black garter belt holding them in place. My eyes slowly moved down Mercedes long shapely legs to the bright red heels she was wearing and the gold ankle bracelet on her right ankle. Now I had been aroused before at the sight of a beautiful woman, but nothing like I was feeling at this moment. Time seemed to stand still as I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Those legs, clad in those snug, tan, silky stockings held my attention for what seemed like hours. All I could think of was touching them, caressing them, kissing them. I had known what it was to be horny, to want a woman, but I had never felt it so strong as I did now. My body was aching to have her, my mind was fixated on her, there was nothing else in this world that mattered at that moment.
I don’t know how long I stood there before I heard Mercedes say “Happy Birthday”. It was like I was slapped awake from a dream. I felt my face turning red again, and I felt a throbbing between my legs like never before. “Uh.. WOW, I mean Thank you” I stammered. I looked into Mercedes eyes, and saw a twinkle in them. She was smiling, a coy, sexy smile as she began to move toward me, reaching her hand out toward mine. “You didn’t think I’d let your 18th birthday go by without a little celebration now did you?” I was frozen, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. As Mercedes walked toward me, all I could hear was the sound that her stockings made as her legs brushed together. I felt her hand on my shoulder, and it sent waves of excitement crashing through my body. I was standing there in my work shoes, a pair of shorts, and nothing else. I had taken off my shirt earlier while working. Mercedes looked into my eyes and I could see a fire in them that I had never seen, or noticed before. I felt her long finger nails sliding down my arm, causing goose bumps on my arm, and more excitement racing through my body. She was speaking to me without saying a work. Her eyes were communicating to me, her touch was communicating to me, but I wasn’t sure just what she was saying. But I knew what I was praying she was saying to me. Her hand continued down my arm until it reached my hand. She took my hand in hers, and moved it to her breast. I felt my throbbing begin to turn into a pounding between my legs. I breathed in deeply, and almost felt light headed as my hand slid under her blouse to her bare breast. I felt something else, I felt her other hand now on my leg, sliding up, under my shorts. I let out a short gasp as I felt the cool touch of Mercedes finger reach my pounding member. I remember looking up into her eyes. It was as if she could see I had never done this before, and her look was that of “don’t worry, I’m going to take care of everything”. She led me to the kitchen table, where she sat me down in a chair. Next, Mercedes shapely, long stocking clad leg moved to the table beside me. I remember smelling her perfume again, then the smell of the stockings. I can’t explain that smell, but it is very erotic. I leaned forward, and began to kiss her leg. I started about the knee, and slowly kissed my way up to the top of the stocking. It was soft, smooth, seductive. I heard her moan just slightly as I reached the top. My hand slid along her other leg, caressing those silky stockings, pulling her closer. I couldn’t stop. I had to go further. Mercedes warm, soft flesh, just at the top of the stockings was heaven. My lips slowly kissed her inner thigh, my hands caressing her long legs, my body quivering with excitement. I knew I needed to do more, I knew I needed to feel those legs around me, I needed to kiss Mercedes, I needed to hold those wonderful breasts.
Yes, that day I became a man, and the rest of that summer I did a lot of “growing up”. I was never so disappointed for a summer to end in my life. I never saw Mercedes again after that summer, but the vision of her on my 18th birthday will forever be burned in my mind, and heart. I will forever remember those eyes, that smile, that perfume, and most of all, those legs that went on and on and on, covered by those silky stockings.
There
was no longer the stench of death in the air, there were no more air raid
sirens, no more smoke from the fires. Now
you could hear the birds singing, children playing, and people trying to get
back to their lives. The war was
over, only scorched towns and burned out buildings left to remind you of the
terror that filled the lives of the people of
Shortly
after I arrived in
After
a month or so of my patrols where I would somehow find Isabelle I finally worked
up the nerve to ask her if I could see her when I was free.
Her broken English with the heavy French accent seemed so romantic, and
when she agreed to see me one evening I felt like Humphrey Bogart, or some other
famous star in a romantic movie, getting ready to see the untouchable woman
staring in the same movie. Our
meeting was just in the town square, sitting on the side of the stone fountain
located in the center. That first
“date” wasn’t much, no special moments, no searing kisses, no passionate
love making. We just sat and
talked. And because of our language
barriers, we didn’t talk about much.
Isabelle was intrigued with
As it turned out, Isabelle’s parents allowed her to spend more time with me, but only after coming to their home and having dinner with them so that they too could meet this man who evidently had worked his way into their daughters’ heart. I remember how nervous I was at that meeting, but it went fine. I met her mother and father, and her younger sister. The meal was simply some soup and bread, with a glass of wine. I knew they had little, and that the wine was their way of accepting me, as the money spent on that little extravagance could have easily gone to food or clothes, or other household needs for the poor family trying to rebuild their lives. To this day I still can taste that sweet wine they shared with me, not because it was so unusually good, but because of the goodness with which it was offered and shared. And when I remember that wine, I remember looking across the table into Isabelle’s sparkling brown eyes.
Isabelle
and I spent many evenings together in that little town.
And when I got my orders that I was to ship out and go back to
Isabelle’s tears rolled down her face when I told her that I was being sent home. She didn’t want to go on the picnic, and I had to use every ounce of persuasion I could muster to get her to go. It was late afternoon when I arrived at her home, and by time the tears stopped and we walked through the nearly abandoned streets to a nearby meadow it was almost sunset. The field was on fire with the colors of the wildflowers blooming there. The sky was exploding with bright oranges, purples, blues as the sun began to move below the rolling hills just beyond the meadow. There were still some birds singing as they roosted in the nearby trees for the evening. One could not have painted a more perfect setting for a romantic tragedy to occur. I opened the wine and we shared the fruit of the vine together. No words were spoken between us as we sipped the sweet red wine. I gazed endlessly into Isabelle’s eyes, and she into mine. We were full of youth, life, love, and words could not express those intense feelings. Our shadows on the ground grew longer and longer as we savored the wine, savored the time together. Funny thing about love, we never did eat anything that I had prepared in that knapsack. We did finish off the wine, but the only other item to come from that faded green pack was the present I had brought for Isabelle.
She
looked at the thin yellow box with the lace white ribbon around it as it sat on
her lap. I told her it wasn’t
much, but it was from my heart, and something that she could hold on to when she
wanted to remember me. Before she
opened it, we kissed. It was like
no other kiss we had ever shared, and like no other kiss I would enjoy for the
rest of my life. It was soft, yet
passionate, and it made the earth stop spinning.
I remember my mind being flooded with thoughts of how to get out of going
home, as everything waiting for me in
Isabelle
must have gone on for 15 or 20 minutes with the stockings before she looked back
at me with a smile of a child on Christmas morning, a child that had just
received everything they ever wished for from Santa.
I was caught a little off guard when she lunged at me, throwing her arms
around my neck, knocking me backwards to the ground and kissing me deeply.
The feel of her body against mine was like heaven.
I could feel her heart pounding against my chest as her firm, round
breasts pressed against me. I could
feel the heat penetrating through her cotton blouse and skirt, through my
uniform and to my skin. My arms
around her seemed to fit perfectly as I held her tightly as we kissed.
Again, thoughts of
I
knew there would be trouble with my sergeant when I returned late, but I
didn’t care. Because it was
summer, the sun came up very early, and when Isabelle and I finally finished
making love in that meadow, the sky was beginning to turn that wonderful purple
and red that precedes the sunrise. Our
last kiss will burn in my heart for all eternity, the tears we shared, the
broken promises we made, everything will last forever as long as there is a
universe to hold them. I snuck back
to my bunk right before the bugle blew to wake us for another day in the army.
We were already packed, and as soon as we had breakfast, we were on a
plane on the long journey that would finally end for me weeks later in
A few weeks ago, after a lifetime of being apart, I received a call from an attorney. He told me that he needed to see me, that he had something for me. I was curious, but reluctantly agreed to meet him. It only took a few minutes for him to have me sign a paper to serve as proof that I had received the package and for him to turn it over to me. The box was a Federal Express package, and I had no idea what was in it, nor whom it was from. I sat there in the restaurant where I had met the attorney and opened the box. Inside, after the paper packing was removed I saw the real contents, and my heart stopped. I slowly removed a thin yellow box with a white lace bow tied around it. I instantly recognized it as the one I had given to Isabelle so many years ago. Between the ribbon and the box was an envelope with my name on it. I pulled the envelope out and opened the letter. It was of course from Isabelle. She had recently died, and per the instructions in her will, this was to be delivered to me. If I was not still of this earth, the box, letter and contents were to be destroyed, as nobody but I was ever to see it. The letter told me of her life after I left, about her husband and children. Then it went into what I meant to her, and how the pair of stockings I gave her stayed with her for her entire life. She never wore those stockings again for anyone else. She told me how she would put them on every so often when she was alone, how she would close her eyes and dream of our time together, and how her heart would ache for me while tears could roll slowly down her cheek. She said they were not tears of sadness, but tears of joy for having had met me, and sharing that small part of our lives together. She ended by telling me that she wanted me to have the stockings to remember her by. She said that if I held them to my cheek, as she had done when I gave them to her, that it would be as if she were kissing me there. Her final words to me in the letter were “I love you soldier boy”. I untied the white ribbon and opened the box. There, just as when I gave them to Isabelle were the stockings. I slowly removed them, held them to my face and let Isabelle kiss me as I inhaled the scent of her carried by the stockings.
JILL
It had been a very long time since Jill had been with a man. Her divorce was final several years ago, and the last part of her marriage was cold and unfulfilling. The nights lately seemed longer, colder, and more cruel than ever. Almost every night Jill would wake in the middle of the night longing to have someone to cuddle up to, to hold in her arms, to make her feel safe and wanted. Her friends told her that she needed to be patient, that the right man would enter her life soon. Jill was an attractive woman. Her closest friends knew she was 40, but she could easily pass for a woman 10 years younger. Her hair was dark, and shone brightly when the light hit it as it fell about her shoulders. Jill was slender, not overly endowed, yet well proportioned and in great physical shape. Her eyes were brown, very brown. Anyone seeing Jill for the first time would automatically be drawn to her beautiful dark eyes. They were the windows to her soul. You could see her laughter, her joy, her sadness, her pain, all just by looking into her large, beautiful eyes. She also had a smile that could light up the darkest room. And while Jill was very modest about her appearance, deep down she knew that her loneliness wasn’t because she was unattractive.
It was a Wednesday morning, one of those mornings that were all too common. A long night of sleeplessness and thinking about being alone. For some reason, this morning seemed different. There was just that feeling nagging at Jill, that feeling that something was going to happen, but who knew what it would be. Like every other morning, Jill took her usual shower, dried her hair, did her makeup and walked into her closet to figure out what to wear to work. As she turned on the light it all came rushing back to her… she had forgotten to pick up her dry cleaning the night before. “Damn” Jill said out loud as she scanned the closet for something appropriate to wear to the office. She knew a client was supposed to be in for a visit, so jeans were out. Even though the company had a very relaxed dress code, Jill still liked to dress nice for the office. Usually dress slacks and a nice blouse, and on occasion she’d even wear a business suit. But today, all the usual clothes were nowhere to be found. Back in the corner of the closet was a black dress. Jill looked at it for a while, wondering if it was business-like enough or if it was too dressy. Finally, after standing there for the longest time, Jill decided the black dress would have to do. It wasn’t that “little black dress” that women wear out to special occasions when they want to look their sexiest, but then again, this wasn’t just a black business dress. No, it was somewhere in between the two. It was above the knees, but not what would be considered short. Although it did have a little bit of a slit up one side that showed a little more leg than Jill would normally show. The neck was a little lower too than Jill normally wore to the office. Not that she was above showing off a little bit of cleavage now and then in the office, but this dress showed just a little bit more than she normally exposed.
Jill found her black bra, and a pair of black panties. Just why she felt they had to match was a mystery that Jill often tried to analyze. Nobody would see them, so why did it matter? Yet every morning she was careful to select matching bra and panties for the day. Next she dug through her drawer to find a pair of black pantyhose. Normally there would be black pantyhose falling all over the floor when she opened the drawer, but just a few weeks before she had cleaned out the old ones and suddenly remembered she only had but one pair left. As she sat on the end of the bed and started to pull the pantyhose onto her long shapely legs, a sudden sinking feeling overtook Jill. It was that feeling every woman gets when they are in a hurry, and that last pair of pantyhose suddenly lets go, and the feeling of that “runner” makes its way up their leg. Jill just laid back on the bed, hands above her head. She didn’t even finish putting on the pantyhose.. she just laid there thinking “why me”. As she laid there her mind raced for a solution to her sudden problem of no pantyhose to wear. She could stop on the way to the office, but where? There was really no place convenient for here to stop for a quick pair of pantyhose and get to the office on time. She sat up and went back to the drawer. Surely there had to be one more pair somewhere in that mess. More disgusted than ever Jill sighed loudly as she realized it was useless. She looked at the black dress laying on the bed, waiting for her to put it on. Her mind raced for ideas of something else to wear. She turned back to the drawer and that was when she saw something black, pushed back in the corner of the drawer. She pulled them out only to find that they were a pair of black stockings, not pantyhose. Memories suddenly rushed into Jill’s head, remembering how she’d wear these stockings when she was feeling flirty, seductive, sexy. She remembered how they made her feel so feminine, so much more alluring. She remembered how they felt on her legs, how soft and silky they felt. She remembered the feel of the stockings on her legs as she would slowly cross them and the stockings would rub together. What she remembered most was the reaction she would get when her ex husband, or any of the dates she had would discover that she was wearing stockings. They seemed to be magical in how they would captivate whatever man she was with. Before Jill really knew what she was doing, the stockings were on her long, lean legs, and somewhere in all that early morning fantasizing she had found her black garter belt. It wasn’t but a few minutes more and Jill had the black dress on, some black heels, and her favorite matching earrings and necklace. As she turned out the bedroom light to go to work, she paused, then went back into the room. A quick look at herself in the mirror made her mind up for her. She reached to the dresser and put on a small touch of her favorite perfume, first to her wrists, which she touched to her neck, then, almost in a sassy manner, she touched the top of the perfume bottle to her cleavage. Jill almost felt embarrassed thinking how she was getting all dressed up in more of a sexy way for work than her normal business attire.
It was late morning when Jill’s assistant called and told her that the client had arrived. All morning long Jill was complemented on her dress and how she looked so special. She was feeling pretty good about herself by time the client arrived. When her assistant knocked on the door to show the client in, Jill stood and walked around the desk. She stopped dead in her tracks when the door opened and she saw who the client was. Jill was not prepared for this. She felt weak in the knees, felt flush, and a bit dizzy. Yet despite all this, she maintained her composure and extended her hand to the man who had just entered her office. Jill heard the door close as her assistant left. Bill smiled with that winning smile he had always had. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at Jill and told her how surprised he was, and how glad he was to see her. Bill had known Jill years before at another job. They had worked together for a short time, but had become close in that time. Jill had been in the early stages of the failing of her marriage when she met Bill. Nothing had ever happened between them, but he always seemed to be there for her when she needed him most. The shared their deepest secrets with each other and had become very close friends. Bill was transferred, and while they swore to each other they would keep in touch, it had been years.
Before either Bill or Jill realized it, the day was about done. The meeting seemed to fly by as they quickly got business out of the way and the conversation had turned to talking about old times, and catching up on recent developments. “How about dinner?” Bill asked. Jill hesitated a bit. “I totally understand if you don’t want to” Bill added, “I know it’s been a long time, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything”. Jill shook her head and told Bill that she’d love to have dinner with him. She apologized for her delayed response, but she couldn’t confess to him why she had paused. It had nothing to do with feeling awkward or uncomfortable with Bill. No, it was just the opposite. The feeling she had had earlier that morning suddenly made sense. Things happened for a reason, and Bill was that reason. How perfect that her dry cleaning wasn’t picked up so she had to wear a nice dress. How perfect that she had a run in her pantyhose and she had to wear the stockings. How perfect that she went back and put on the perfume. Bill didn’t know it, but Jill was so ready to give herself to him that night that he’d have to be dead not to know it.
Bill drove Jill to dinner, leaving her car at the office. Since he wasn’t familiar with the town, he asked Jill to choose a nice place where they could continue their talk. Jill jumped at he opportunity and picked a small bistro that was out of the way, quiet, and on the romantic side. There were candles on the tables, and the lights were dim in the tiny bistro. And, as fate would have it, the place was nearly empty when they arrived. The entire evening at the table Jill looked into Bill’s big blue eyes. She felt her body wanting him so badly that she could hardly stand it. She felt Bill’s eyes piercing into her soul as he stared deep into her big brown eyes. She felt his gaze heat her flesh as he looked at her. She felt him looking at her neck, at her shoulders at her breasts. She could almost feel his desire as his eyes would come back to meet her eyes. Jill could feel the stockings on her legs as she crossed them. The feel of the stockings rubbing against each other sent tingles of pleasure racing up Jill’s thighs. She imagined Bill’s hand caressing those wonderful black stockings as his warm lips would kiss her. The more she fantasized, the darker her eyes became, and the more they sparkled. Bill took Jill’s hand in his, and she felt like she was going to melt. “I hate that the night is coming to an end” Bill said as he looked deep into Jill’s eyes. Nobody noticed, or heard for that matter when Jill’s shoe fell from her foot. As Bill held her hand, Jill let her foot gently find Bill’s leg, and her stocking covered foot began to slowly slid along his ankle, under his pant leg and along his skin. Jill looked at Bill intently, looking for the response that he would have to her advances. Her heart pounded inside her chest, hoping beyond hope that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, hoping that she would not be rejected, hoping that she would finally know that feeling she had been missing for so long, the feeling of being with a man.
Bill responded like Jill had hoped, and it was only a short while before Jill felt his strong arms holding her tight as they kissed. The door to his hotel room closed as Jill melted in Bill’s arms. It had been so long since she had felt the arms of a man holding her tight, kissing her passionately, and wanting her so badly. Bill picked Jill up from the floor and carried her over to the bed. He gently laid her on the bed, and as he did her dress pulled up to reveal the stockings. Those magical stockings once again worked their charm. Bill gazed longingly at Jill as his hand gently slid along her long silky legs. She watched as he turned his head and just looked at her shapely, sexy legs as he caressed them. With every passing minute of Bill’s caresses, Jill got hotter and hotter. As Bill began to kiss Jill’s legs, the feel of his lips on the silk stockings filled her with desire and need. She was so wanting Bill at that moment, yet not wanting him to stop touching her stockings. It seemed they were not only working their magic on Bill, but also on Jill. She was in a trance as Bill touched and caressed her legs, gently running his hands along the softness of those black stockings.
In the early morning, in that time when Jill would wake up and feel so alone and empty on most days, she woke, and savored the feel of Bill’s arms holding her tight. She felt his chest expand and collapse as he slept cuddled up behind her. She felt the warmth of his skin on her skin, and wanted it to never end. As Jill slowly moved her leg along Bill’s leg, she realized that she was still wearing her stockings. She continued slowly moving her leg along Bill, an soon felt him waking, and wanting her again.
In spring a man's interests start turning toward the fairer sex. It was that way for me that one spring so long ago. College was over and I was back in the small town that I had grown up in all my life. Not that it was all that long ago, but back then it wasn't so unusual that a young man was still a virgin, at least that is what I always told myself. I had been home over the years I was away at college, but mostly over the holidays and even then the trips were too short and too rushed to really visit any friends or neighbors. Over the summers I usually stayed around campus working or picking up a class here and there. A few times I took a vacation, but that was never to my hometown. I dated a few girls at college, but I just never found anyone serious, and I wasn't really interested in one-night-stands and the party scene. So, that spring I returned home and finally was able to kick back and relax a little after having finished school a quarter early, my mind started to wander toward finding a girl, no a woman to start spending time with.
Becky was my neighbor growing up. She was almost my age, and we were more like brother and sister in our youth than anything else. We were close, but we also fought like siblings, so there was never a romantic thought about her in my head. We had kept in touch for the first year or two I was gone, but then, as is true in many childhood friendships, we grew apart and sort of lost tough with each other. The thought was always that someday I'd look her up again, catch up on old times, but deep down I guess I never really planned on following through with it. I would think of Becky every now and then, and remember how beautiful she was when we were in high school. Her hair was long and dark. Not black, but a very dark, silky, shinny chocolate brown. The sun used to shimmer off the long flowing strands as they laid softly on her shoulders. Becky's eyes were also brown, dark brown, the kind of deep dark eyes that poem and songs are written about. I could always tell what kind of mood Becky was in by just looking at her eyes. They sparkled like rare gemstones, revealing her every emotion. When she was angry, you could see the fire burning in them, and when you were hurting, you could see the caring and compassion. There were many nights right after I got to school that I'd go to sleep and see Becky's eyes in my dreams. Her smile glowed. When she would smile the whole world would become brighter. Becky could warm the coldest winter day with a smile. Looking back I've never been sure just why we never became involved with each other, but I guess it was for the best as we were there for each other through the trials and tribulations of the teen years without having the strains of a romantic relationship on tip of everything.
I had been home from college a couple of weeks before it happened. I was doing some work around the yard for my parents when I heard the voice behind me. "Travis, is that really you?" came a voice that was as sweet sounding as I could imagine any angel's voice. I turned and saw her, Becky, standing behind me. I was in shorts, tennis shoes and no shirt. I wasn't a bodybuilder by any stretch of the imagination, but at least my chest was bigger than my stomach, so I didn't look like a slob without my shirt on. I felt awkward, I started to extend my hand to Becky, then thought I should stretch out both arms to give her a hug, then I thought how dirty and sweaty I was. I think she picked up on my awkwardness, because as I stood there, arms moving, trying to figure out what to do she said "come here and give me a hug ", and she extended her arms and squeezed me tight. I think it was the moment before we hugged, that look in her eyes, that smile on her face that did it for me, but as we hugged I knew I no longer thought of Becky as just the "girl next door", but as a beautiful woman who I wanted to be with. Her looks hadn't changed much. Her figure was much more womanly than I had ever remembered. Maybe it was the short shorts and halter top she was wearing that was doing it, or maybe it really was that she had blossomed into a gorgeous, voluptuous woman. As we hugged I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest, I felt her hair, silky and soft blow up against my face as we embraced. It was a magical moment to say the least. I had never felt this way toward Becky in my life, but all of a sudden it felt wonderful to be with her. I never wanted that hug to end, and in my mind, it never has.
We sat in the grass beside the house talking for what seemed like hours. We talked about what we had been doing over the past several years, talked about old friends and what they were doing now, and we talked about how neither of us had really become interested in anyone over the past. As we talked, I just gazed endlessly into her big brown eyes and watched them sparkle as she talked. I was lost inside them, trapped, no way to escape. After talking for I don't know how long, my stomach let out a huge growling sound. Becky began to giggle, trying not to laugh too hard at the noises coming from my mid section, but unable to fully contain her amusement. "I guess I'm hungry" I said as I moved hoping to get my stomach to be quiet. "Me too" Becky said as she moved to her knees, "How about I fix us something to eat?" I told her I had a better idea, that I'd rather take her out to dinner. After all, it was getting late in the afternoon, and with a shower and some clean clothes, I could take her out and we could continue our conversation. It didn't take much to get Becky to accept, but she said it would take her much longer to get ready than it would for me, so we made a date for later that evening. She told me I was allowed to have a snack so that my noisy stomach would behave. Then she leaned over, gave me a little peck on the cheek and almost skipped off to her parents house and inside to get ready. I cleaned up my tools from the yard and went inside myself, feeling extremely happy about the idea of going on a "date" with Becky.
It was spring, still cool in the evenings and mornings, but beautiful with the colors and smells of the season. I walked across the yard to Becky's parents home to pick her up for our date. It was still very light outside, but the shadows were getting very long across the yard as the sun was moving lower and lower in the sky. The sky was starting to take on the pale colors of sunset that would soon ignite into a splendor of color streaking across the heavens. It was calm, quiet and still when I ran the doorbell. I noticed that the garage door was open, and that the car was gone, but I really didn't think much of it at the time. I rang a second time, then heard footsteps behind the red wooden door. As the door opened I was in awe. Becky stood before me, wearing a black and white skirt and a white button up blouse. She was the picture of beauty. I had anticipated our date since she went bounding off across the yard, but in my wildest dreams I never imagined she'd look like this. "Come on in Travis" she said smiling that smile that haunted my dreams for so long. She stuck out her hand and led me into the foyer. "What's wrong" she asked as she looked at me. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, and I couldn't bring myself to speak. She was a goddess standing there, hair draped over her shoulders, blouse unbuttoned enough to expose her ample cleavage, her brown eyes brimming with excitement. "WOW" was about all I could reply. A smile came to Becky's face, one that looked like she was truly pleased with the response she got from me. I realized she was still holding my hand, and I felt the warm flow of energy radiating from her body through mine as I stood there, my eyes locked on hers.
After what seemed to be ages, I finally asked Becky if she was ready to go. "Mom and Dad went to Aunt Denise's house for the weekend" she began, "I thought we might just spend some quite time here to catch up some more, if that's OK with you that is". I looked at her, from her brilliant sparkling eyes to her shapely, long legs. I began to say something when she interrupted, "I dressed up, in case you didn't want to stay in", then she paused, "and so that I'd look special for you tonight" she finished. My feelings for the girl next door sure changed at that moment. The friend I grew up with was no longer a nondescript friend of the opposite sex, she was now a gorgeous woman, one I no longer just wanted to sit and talk to, but one I wanted to hold in my arms, one I wanted to kiss, one I wanted to spend hour upon long hour making love to. Of course I agreed to stay in with her that fateful night.
We made our way into the family room where the TV was on, but to this day I don't recall what the show was. Becky made a detour for the kitchen before coming in and sitting next to me on the sofa. She offered me a beer, holding out the cold bottle covered with condensation, waiting for me to take it from her. My hand touched hers in the exchange, and again I felt a tingling warmth pulse through my body. Becky sat next to me, legs off the floor, folded up beneath her as we both sipped the cold beer. It was then that I noticed the stockings. Her skirt had pulled up just enough to expose the tops of the silky dreams. I later found out that the color of them was nude, but at that point in time, all I knew was that they were the sexiest things I had ever seen in my life. Oh, I'd seen pictures, but having the most beautiful woman you've known sitting inches away from you with stockings exposed just enough to let you know they are there, well, mortal words cannot describe that feeling. I wanted so badly to reach over and slowly run my fingers along them. My mind wandered and roamed about what that would feel like, and where it would lead to. I know I didn't speak a word, but when my eyes moved back up to look at Becky's face, she was grinning with a look on her face that told me she knew exactly what was going through my mind. I felt my face start to feel warm as I pictured it turning red with embarrassment. Becky leaned closer to me and put her hand on my leg, and in her sweet voice told me that it was OK, then she gave me a short kiss. With the end of that kiss, she turned so that her back was more toward me as she cuddled up against me. She straightened out her legs across the sofa. This movement caused her skirt to move even higher, exposing not only the tops of the stockings, but her bare flesh just above the tops, as well as the garters holding the stockings in place. As the two of us sipped our beers, I felt like the luckiest guy on the face of the earth. It was a long time before either of us spoke. We just sat there quietly for a long time, enjoying the feeling of being together as the light in the room went from color to color with the changes in the colors of the sky as the sun set. "Want another?" Becky asked, breaking the silence. I told her not to bother, and I got up and went to get a couple more beers. When I closed the refrigerator door and turned to go back to the living room I noticed a golden glow flickering from around the corner. When I reached the family room, there were several candles lit on the coffee table. I also arrived just in time to watch Becky's skirt seemingly floating down the length of her long, shapely legs. Her blouse was unbuttoned, but still on her slender, curvaceous torso. I almost dropped the two beers in my hands as Becky took a step toward me, stepping out of the skirt now laying on the floor at her feet. I know I was smiling as she continued walking toward me, removing her silky blouse as she approached. By time the two of us met in the family room, Becky was standing there in her heels, stockings, and a matching black garter, bra and panty set. I held out a bottle of beer for her, but she reached out and took both bottles from my hands. She sat them on a nearby end table, then turned toward me. I instinctively put my arms around her and we embraced, kissing long, slow, deep. It wasn't long before we left the family room and made our way to Becky's bedroom, where we spent the rest of the night.
I know that was the first time I had ever experienced a night like that. Waking up with Becky was one of the nicest feelings in the world. As the sun started to light up the room through the closed blinds, streams of light breaking the darkness, my thoughts were of the night I had just shared with Becky. I never wanted it to end, but I knew I had to get up and go to work. I gently kissed Becky on the cheek, and hugged her tightly to wake her and tell her that I had to leave. With the softest, most innocent, beautiful moan, Becky slowly stretched and turned toward me, putting her arms around me and kissing me. "I've got to go" I said quietly and with an obvious tone of remorse in my voice. She smiled and kissed me again… "miss me, please" We kissed again as I assured her I'd never forget her, and of course I'd miss her. I put on my clothes and with a last kiss, I walked out of Becky's bedroom. I didn't know it at the time, but that would be the last time I ever saw Becky.
I got home and got ready for work. As I tried to concentrate on work all that day all I could think about was Becky. Not just the wonderful night that we had shared, but about our friendship, all the years we had known each other, all the fun we had shared over our young lifetimes. The day seemed to drag on and on. I anticipated getting off work and calling her when I got home to see if we could maybe see each other again that night. I kept my promise to her… I missed her, I missed her bad. When the day finally ended and I got home, I figured it was time to do some laundry, and clean up before I called Becky. When I drove up to the house I had noticed that her car was not in her parents driveway, so I assumed she was out with friend, or shopping, or something to enjoy the day. I had the stereo on as I started to pick up the clothes laying all over my room (even though I was out of college, my room still had that "college student" look about it.. clothes everywhere) and sorting them so I could wash them, I came across the pants I was wearing the night before. As I slid my arm down the one leg that was inside-out I noticed that there was something in the pocket. Just as I pulled the pant leg out there was a knock at my bedroom door. "It's open" I called out. My mother walked in with tears streaming down her face. I immediately jumped up and went to her, asking her what was wrong. My mother lowered herself to the bed, face and eyes bright red from her crying. I stood there trying to figure out what had happened to cause her so much pain. She looked up at me and raised her hands to hold mine. I lowered myself to kneel in the floor beside her. "Becky's gone" she said… "there was an accident", then she started sobbing. I had a puzzled look on my face, and I knew I couldn't believe what was just said. "Travis, she's dead" my mother said, forcing the dreadful words from her lips. My ears suddenly felt like I was under water, the sounds of the world seemed so far off. My head was spinning… I knew this had to be an awful dream.
I don't know how long we sat there in disbelief, but it seemed like an eternity. When my mother finally left the room, I sat there alone, amazed at how cruel life could be. Just hours ago Becky and I were in each other's arms, together as one, nothing in the world could harm us. And now I was alone. Somewhere in all the thoughts running through my head, I had picked up the pants I was working on when my mother rocked my world with the horrid news. As I got ready to throw the pants into the pile of other clothes to wash, I heard the crinkling of paper. I reached in the pocket to see what I had left there, and that is when I found the gift. I pulled out a stocking, a soft, silky stocking with a note pinned to it. "Travis, keep this with you for when you miss me. Reach in your pocket and feel it, that will bring us together in spirit. I know how much you liked it on me. Love, Becky". I just stared at the note and clutched the stocking in my hands. That was the worst day in my life. They say time heals all wounds, but I can tell you, it doesn't get rid of the scars.
To this day, in a special box I keep in my dresser drawer, I still have that stocking, along with a picture of Becky. I quit carrying the stocking in my pocket many years ago, but not because I had forgotten about Becky, but so I could finally move on with life. But, to this day, on those mornings when I wake up and the world seems so big and lonely, I'll open that box and touch that stocking, and smile as I think of Becky and how she had changed my life. I look to the heavens and wink, and repeat those words I said to her that morning, "I could never forget you".
SPY GAMES - Part I
To make our married life more interesting, Megan and I experimented with fantasies, some for her and some for me. Her fantasies began to involve other “players” while mine focused on exhibitionism. My favorite fantasy on our weekends away was a mix of James Bond and La Femme Nakita. On this occasion, Megan agreed to play a “secret agent”, trying to locate her contact by following instructions that I wrote up and left for her to follow during an evening out on the town.
Saturday morning, I picked out Megan's outfits, choosing my favorite lingerie, casual outfit for the afternoon, and a sheer crimson velvet, button front dress for the evening. As Megan started getting ready, she asked what I had in mind. I gave her the letter, telling her to dress the way I wanted, flirt with me, and play my special game. She was to carefully follow her instructions and show off like never before.
Megan smiled as she donned her makeup, sheer white lace lingerie and stockings, and then dressed in the sheer white blouse and plaid skirt I had chosen for the afternoon. On the way to San Diego, Megan relaxed with a beer and actually pulled her skirt up to flash her nylons without my asking. She knew how I enjoyed watching her show off, and made a point of teasing the truckers we passed on the highway. At one point, she noticed a driver wave and slyly unbuttoned her blouse until her barely clad breasts flashed into view just before I accelerated away to leave him guessing.
It was a good start that carried me through a strange night ahead. We drifted through several bars during the afternoon and Megan showed off her stockings and began playing around. I enjoyed the flash of her nylons as she sat at the bar and her blouse opened up more than a bit, offering an enticing view of her sheer bra for anyone lucky enough to be standing nearby. Then it was time to get ready for our game.
We found a motel for the night, ending up with a room straight out onto the parking lot. Dropping our bags, we settled on a fresh drink from our cooler, I could see our car right out front through the filmy “modesty” curtains across our window. We talked about where to go, watching as other couples parked outside our room and checked in for the weekend. As the light faded, I turned on the lights. We couldn’t see out any longer and I realized that the situation was suddenly reversed. Anyone pulling into the lot or walking past the room could now see us instead of the other way round. And they’d have a great view if Megan was willing to dress in front of the window!
Megan was pretty drunk by now and I laid out her low cut velvet dress, black lingerie and nylons. She considered her outfit and asked if I really expected her to show off quite that much when we went out. My answer was obvious and then told her I’d go have a drink at the bar while she changed. I left the room, closing the door behind me. I casually strolled over to our car, lit a cigarette, and turned back to see Megan unbutton her blouse and step out of her skirt, not bothering to close the blinds.
I could see Megan clear as day through the sheer curtains as she ambled about the room in her lingerie. She was sexy as hell in her sheer bra and panties, trim garterbelt, and chocolate brown stockings. Megan held up the filmy black corset for a moment, shook her head, and then began to put on her makeup. Outside, I was enjoying the thrill of being a voyeur when a car pulled in next to me and three guys piled out of the car. Before I even had a chance to think, one of them saw Megan through the curtains and grinned at me.
“Hey, Man, nice view!” he said. “Mind if we join you?” he joked as his friends came around to stand next to us. Not knowing what to say, I just played dumb as they stared while Megan stood at the mirror. Then one of the guys passed me a beer and I leaned against my car to watch.
Finishing her makeup, Megan turned back toward the bed and reached back to unhook her bra. In an instant, her tits bounced free. Then she slipped out of her panties and stood naked in full view through the open curtains! She sat on the bed, demurely slipping off her garterbelt and nylons, and reached for her corset. Carefully hooking the back, she leaned forward and nestled her breast into the lacy half cups. Then she proceeded to put on a pair of sheer wide-banded black nylon stockings, carefully hitching them to the six elastic garters of her corset. Megan stood up and slipped into a pair of sheer black lace panties. We just stood in awe as she smoothed her taut black stockings about her slender thighs and finally slipped into her short crimson velvet dress.
Waiting until the others finally moved on, I went back inside. Megan didn’t have a clue as I told her how beautiful she looked and I changed to get ready for out night out!
SPY GAMES - Part II
We headed downtown to a show bar. It was still early enough to find room near the dance floor. Megan went solo to the bar and asked for a G&T, her favorite “pass out” drink. Then she settled at a table showing a wide expanse of nylon-clad thigh and it was time for the opening round to our game. I pretended to be a stranger in town, asking if she was alone. She said “maybe”, but offered me a seat next to her as she slid her exposed knees aside so I could slide in next to her.
We pretended to be strangers and I got around to giving her the “code”. Lady in Red was pretty corny, but fit her perfectly! Her crimson velvet dress was tight about her slim waist and short across her shapely legs. The dress buttoned all the way down the front and was excitingly low cut on top, offering a wide expanse of her full breasts. The dress barely hung about her shoulders and she left her top button undone, offering a teasing glimpse of cleavage when she leaned toward me!
Having given her the code, it was Megan’s turn. She was supposed to convince me she was my contact. Facing the crowd behind me, Megan slowly opened up her skirt and her nylons slid into view. I pretended not to notice, so she crossed her legs and slipped loosed the lowest button on her skirt. When that didn’t work, Megan asked me to dance to a slow song. The personal contact on the dance floor was quite exciting and when we sat down again, I noticed she had slipped a second button on the bodice of her dress.
We chatted and danced into the evening. Every so often, she slid her skirt just a bit higher, exposing more of her stockings or leaned forward, teasing me with her barely covered breasts! And the more I played hard to get, the harder she tried to seduce me! Her G&T’s started to catch up to her and the game became real. After a fast dance with her skirt floating ever higher about her thighs, we sat back down and she slid her skirt up right to mid-thigh exposing her stockings tops for my pleasure!
As time went on, it wasn't Megan who was showing off, but someone else! She ignored her dress and let my hand wander above her bared knees, gently caressing her legs. I managed to undo several more buttons of her skirt exposing more of her silky nylons! But as long as I pretended not to notice her increasing exposure, she simply didn't care! And up to now, noone else did either. The place was packed and noone paid us any attention.
The next time I asked her to dance, Megan's dress was half undone. As she slid against me on the dance floor with a sensual move, my hands dropped to her thighs. As we moved, I slowly began sliding her dress up to expose her nylons right on the dance floor! I barely managed to control my cock as I saw the surprised glances of the guys around us and we danced with her stockings visible for all to see and Megan didn't even notice!
Returning to our table, Megan snuggled close and I slid my hand between her legs, loosening another button and pushing her skirt even farther apart! Megan kissed me and sat casually back displaying her stockings and garters without a care. Then I noticed a guy standing near us begin to stare. He looked away, but nudged his buddy and whispered something to him. Soon they were both sneaking glances at Megan's nylons at every opportunity! For her part, Megan just ignored them and casually flaunted her stocking clad thighs without a care!
By this time, I was really starting to get turned on. Megan had never been so free with her dress and never before willingly showed off for strangers. She casually covered herself when the barmaid broughdrinks, but let me push her skirt apart again as soon as she left! Megan actually seemed to enjoy pretending she was someone else and casually flaunted her stockinged thighs. She let me pull her bare leg across my knee, flashing her nylons right to her garters!
My spy fantasy was going perfectly, but then I thought of another even more exciting. As one of the guys stared at Megan's exposed nylons, I whispered in her ear. Even as he stared, she looked right at him and smiled! Then a fast song came up and she pulled me out onto the dance floor. In no time, Megan spun about, teasing her skirt open for me. Her shiny stockings glinted in the bright light of the dance floor as she intentionally slid her skirt apart, flashing her taut garters nearly to her hips as the song ended.
As I ordered another G&T, sweet Megan crossed her legs and pulled my hand onto her skirt and I couldn’t resist. In a few moments, I slipped the last two buttons of her skirt free and pushed Megan's skirt apart right to her hips. She leaned back against the wall and her skirt fell completely away. Megan’s nylon clad legs were completely exposed, sheathed in her long sensuous black nylon stockings, the silvery clasps of her garters, and the taut lacy black suspenders of her corset!
SPYGAMES - PART III
The game was going better than I'd ever hoped. It was still early and Megan's skirt was unbuttoned nearly to her waist as she casually leaned back with her nylons and garters in full view. Doing her best to tease me, she even flashed her panties for the guys at the next table, crossing and uncrossing her legs with an ever more casual display of her stockings.
What allowed all this to go on was our ideal location in the very large and very crowded nightclub. The dance floor extended in back under an overhanging balcony and we were sitting in a dark corner, visible only to a couple of neighboring tables. Other than the half dozen guys in the corner table next to us watching Megan show off for me, noone else even knew what we were doing!
And after a number of similar outings, Megan didn’t mind an audience. But this was as far as she’d ever gone up to tonight and I tried to come up with something new to finally talk her into opening up her dress in public. So, I gave her an offer she “couldn’t refuse”! To win our game, I had to surrender our secret code. If I held out, I got a fully paid hunting trip to Colorado, but if I gave in, she got a week in Jamaica! Simple enough - except she knew that she would be watched the entire time!
Megan gave me an evil grin and slipped off her chair to visit the ladies room. On her return, she casually slipped her hand in mine as she sat down and crossed her legs, once again flashing her stockings and garter straps. I knew without even looking that I was holding her panties and somewhat nervously stuffed into my pocket.
I was so turned on by now that I asked her to try and get our friendly stranger to dance with her, but without asking him first. Megan reached to the low cut bodice of her velvet party dress. Ever so slowly, she absently toyed with the top button until it slipped open to reveal a wide expanse of cleavage above her corset as her dress parted.
After a bit, the guys started glancing over as often as they could without actually staring at her. Know she now had the full attention of her new found “friend”, she repeated the maneuver, undoing a second button. Megan turned away from the dance floor to face him. As he stared, she tugged gently and her bodice fell away, completely exposing her corseted breasts! Her hard nipples lay barely concealed, pressing against the wispy material of her black lace bra cups!
Then, while I watched with growing excitement, Megan leaned forward and coyly tugged on the sheer lace half cups and flashed her nipples for the benefit of our friendly stranger! Then she tucked her breasts demurely back into place and swiveled back facing the dance floor, leaving her corset fully exposed to her waist!
With her 36D breasts swelling against her bra and her skirt hanging by a thread, I was now hard as a rock. She was more than half undressed, hidden from the crowd only by my own body as she was tucked in against the wall. Then she snuggled up to me, I felt the electric shock of her soft fingers stroking my cock! I responded by sliding my hand between her stockinged thighs, allowing me to pull her short skirt farther open - right up past her glistening silver garters! Her eyes rolled back momentarily and she actually moaned softly as she pressed her hips against my hand.
Then Megan’s heard the opening guitar rip of her favorite oldie, “Dashboard Light” by Meatloaf. Megan looked over at the guy at the next table and ever so slightly tipped her head to the dance floor. I knew she was cheating, but didn’t really mind. He nervously glanced at me and I just grinned while Megan began to rebutton her dress back to some semblance of modesty.
The youngster almost fell over himself, stepping around the tables and arrived before she was quite ready. Her skirt was still half-undone and the top of her bodice hung loose, offering more than a casual view of her corseted breasts! “What the Hell!” she whispered and stepped out onto the dance floor with her escort.
If you know the song, you’ll remember the line about “doubly blessed” and “barely dressed”! Well, that was Megan. Dancing in the far corner of the crowded dance floor by our table, she let loose. Her soft velvet dress floated as she moved about, revealing ever more of her thinly veiled breasts and long legs sheathed in glistening black nylons! It was more of a turn on for me to watch her than to dance with her. And judging by the guys standing around, I wasn’t the only one who thought the same.
Totally drunk by now, Megan never bothered to pay attention to her dress. The first to go was a button halfway up her skirt, exposing her wide banded stocking tops and shiny garters. As she spun around a bit to fast, her tight bodice popped open. Her full breasts, already barely contained by the lacy black corset, flashed into view! Her skimpy dress now held together only by one at her waist and one more just below. Her stockings and garters were totally displayed and her cleavage lay revealed to the crowd.
What followed was talked about long after we were gone. Megan became lost in the dance and very shortly lost her dress as well! Megan leaned forward and her breasts spilled out into the open over the half cups of her bra! The guys around me roared their approval as the song thundered to a close.
Dimly aware of her display, she tried to pull her dress back together and only succeeded in ripping open the last of her buttons! As her dress melted away, Megan just froze, standing before them. She was more than naked! Her dark pink nipples jutted out in full view over the half-cups of her bra. Her long sexy legs were highlighted by her jet-black stockings. Lastly, without her panties, the taut black straps of her garters only accented the erotic display of her fully exposed cunt.
Megan blushed crimson, but coolly pulled her dress together and stepped off the dance floor into my waiting arms. We were walled off protectively by our friends from the neighboring table as Megan partially rebuttoned her dress. Then her dance partner, Jonathon by name, appeared with drinks, offering them with a flushed smile. After sipping her drink for a bit, Megan began coming back to life and smiled up at me.
Taking my hand, she stepped around to the other side of our table. She hopped up onto a chair and proceeded to thanks the boys for their courtesy. It was obvious they were quite taken with Megan and she was increasingly flattered by their attention. Actually, far more flattered than I expected! It wasn’t long before her modesty began to slip once again, but this time, it had nothing to do with me.
We learned they were young sailors off the naval base, out sightseeing on their first hitch. They joked about spending the day, taking pictures wherever they went, and laughing about ending up with little else but lions, elephants, and seals. Then Jonathon asked if Megan would allow him to have his picture taken with her She agreed without the slightest hesitation!
It started, innocently enough, when someone pulled out a pocket camera and Jonathon stepped timidly alongside Megan. Then she playfully reached around his waist and pulled his arm about her shoulder. He actually blushed as she impishly crossed her legs, flashing a wide expanse of her stockinged thigh. Obviously enjoying herself, Megan suggested another and slid up onto the tabletop. She deliberately undid several buttons of her skirt and offered them a classic pin-up pose, legs daintily extended outward and skirt split wide open above her thighs with her stockings and garters in full view!
After the picture, she stayed where she was, carelessly allowing her skirt to slide ever higher, past her stockings until her long trim garter straps were constantly exposed, but pretending not to notice! It wasn’t long, before she turned the conversation to her dress, tipsily complaining how it just wouldn’t stay together! She reached up to adjust her bodice and the top button popped loose! She giggled as if to say, “See what I mean?”
I couldn’t help but play along. Suggesting she might pose for another picture or two, I casually slipped another button of her skirt. Slapping my hand, she announced that they wouldn’t want that kind of picture, would they? It was a question that needed an answer and their suddenly expectant faces told here everything she wanted to know.
She teased them with her skirt, tugging it higher past her nylons and toying with the silvery clips of her garters. Then she reached up and unfastened the top button of her bodice. Her cleavage reappeared, even more enticing than before, and she posed for a picture.
Megan was now over the edge and there were no more questions. Her face glowed as she slowly reached up and undid the next button. The reason for her stunning cleavage became obvious as her bare breasts suddenly spilled into the open! The flash caught her by surprise and she observed that she wasn’t ready yet! With her back to the dance floor, she threw her shoulders back and thrust out her fabulous tits. Then, pinching her nipples, she cupped her breasts for the next shot (several actually)!
Totally turned on by now, Megan recklessly proceeded to unbutton her dress from top to bottom, flaunting her tits and her stocking clad legs until she loosed the last button. With a gentle tug, she lifted the veil of her soft red velvet party dress and spread her legs wide to display her totally naked body, framed in black lingerie and nylons!
Monopoly!
JANUARY'S WINNER!
By: K
Steve was working on preparing our traditional New Year’s Eve Steak and Lobster dinner and the kids were at Grandma’s. My only assignment for
the afternoon was to make myself look as good as I possibly could. Steve had made all the arrangements for this also. He arranged for me
to spend the morning in a day spa, where my hair, nails and face were all made up to perfection. Next, I was off to the mall where I had a
gift certificate, also provided by Steve for some lingerie. I choose a
matching black lace leopard print bra, panties and garter belt. The stockings were the old fashioned kind, made of nylon and had a
Cuban heel and seams all the way up to the welt. When I arrived home Steve sent me to the bedroom to change and informed me that dinner would be
ready in 10 minutes. He looked great. Last year, Steve had set a goal of getting to the gym every day and getting back in shape. Like most
middle-age men, Steve had gotten a little pudgy around the middle, I had
just had our third and last child a year ago, and Steve and I had challenged each other to get back in shape. This past year had done the
trick. He stood there in the kitchen looking very GQ, wearing a pair of tan slacks, a black shirt and gold tie. A camel hair sport coat was
hung over a chair and would soon take the place of his apron. I quickly did as I was told and I went to my dressing room where a sexy new
black cocktail dress hung. It was a Bill Blass tank style with a layer of
black mesh below the chest. I quickly changed out of my cotton panties and bra and snapped my new lace bra over my firm but modest breast.
Next I pulled on the matching garter and unrolled those gorgeous stockings over my long muscular legs and clipped them into place. I
finished with my lace panties, a leopard print slip, and pair of black
stiletto slides so my freshly painted red toenails could be seen under my black stockings. I straightened the seams and slipped into the
dress. It was a size smaller than I would have gotten for myself and it fit snugly, but it did fit. A quick check in the mirror, and a sprits
of his favorite perfume and I was ready for dinner.
When I arrived in our dinning room the smell was heavenly. Steve had prepared a wonderful
candle light dinner complete with a roaring fire and my favorite wine. After dinner, Steve pulled out Monopoly, our favorite board game. I
looked at him rather puzzled, this was usually the point in the evening where he carried me back to the bedroom and ravaged me. We sat down on
the floor in front of the fire and he proceeded to hand out the money.
He stopped at $700, and so I again gave him a puzzled look. “Here’s the new rules for tonight” he explained. Your dress is worth $400, your
slip, $200, your brassiere $200. My sport coat is worth $100, Shirt and tie $100, Slacks $100, undershirt $100, and my boxers $400. All of
these items can and will be used as tender. Once an item enters the
bank, it can be purchased from the bank as property. Once you have lost all of your eligible clothing, the game is over and I think you know the
rest”. I liked the idea of stripping Steve right down to nothing, because I always beat him at Monopoly. The game began and I began to
get moist at the idea of this handsome hunk of a husband losing all of his clothing and becoming my sex slave. The game began and both of us
went right into our property acquisition mode. All was going bad for me and good for Steve. He picked up property all the way around and I
ended up on Chance, Community Chest, Income tax, and finally, Jail. I rolled to get out all while Steve swooped up property. He had already
sold his sport coat, shirt and tie but he owned most of the properties on the board and was very close to a monopoly in several areas. I on
the other hand hit his properties and began paying him rent only to land in Jail again. Steve hit “Free Parking” and then garnered his first
monopoly in the Pacific-Pennsylvania. He was buying houses and I was sitting in Jail. I had little cash left from buying what property I had
bought, and now had no chance for a monopoly. By the time I got out of
Jail, Steve had a monopoly on KY-IL Ave. and had houses on each of his two monopolies. My first roll depleted my cash when I landed on Short
Line and handed over my last $50. Next I hit Indiana Ave. and Steve beamed. The property had two houses and that put the rent at $250. I
stood up and reached behind my back and brought the zipper of my dress down its short journey, and allowed it to fall to the floor. Stepping
out with one foot I used the other to lift it up and present it to my
grinning husband, who gladly gave me my $150 change. He quickly cashed out my dress from the bank and used the money to put another house on
Pacific Pennsylvania Ave. He only had to wait two turns to get his next prize. I landed on Pacific and with out even asking I stood up again.
This time I turned around so that my back was to Steve. I placed my thumbs into the waistband on my slip and slowly lowered it to the ground
giving Steve a nice view of the lines of my stockings leading right up to my tight little ass. I now turned to my husband wearing only my
lingerie and my stilettos. I am sure he could see the wetness in my panties and I could tell by the bulge in his pants that he was
impressed. Even the $200 for passing “GO” would not keep this game
going much longer. He used his cash and even sold his under shirt and trousers to put hotels on his two monopolies. I made it once around the
board with my brassiere still on but that too would soon go to the victor. I landed on Pennsylvania Ave that now had 3 houses in place.
Rent, $1000. I reached around my back to unclip my brasserie, and Steve
looked very happy. We both stood up as I held out to him my one remaining fluid asset, and we embraced. By now my panties were soaked and Steve
was rock hard. He knelt down in front of me and lowered my panties slowly down my long stocking-clad legs and allowed them to fall and
grabbing my bare ass he eased me back to the floor and spent the next ten
minutes giving me the best licking I had ever received. He completed
the game by entering a very horny and well-satisfied Monopoly loser. As he climaxed I opened my eyes and saw the pleasure in his face, I looked
up and saw my beautiful stockinged legs and my shiny stiletto slides pointing to the ceiling. What a great way to start the year!
THE SPARK November's
Winner!
By Mike A
How did we rediscover that spark?
What unknown force put the idea
Into her head like a lamp in the dark
To throw new light on old lost dreams
Of stockings, garter hooks and seams
And yes she looked just fabulous
Cute figure with great looking legs
Slim ankles, high heels set to dazzle
Left me incredulous, like a loon as she moved
In that sensuous half light of our bedroom
She rolled on chocolate brown stockings
Slowly, lovingly, erotically charged invitation
To ask, beg, demand to feel her nylon thighs as she
Checked seams and pointed heel
Fixing them to a black net basque
And I salivated with expectation
Should we act our age she asked
But our age is stockings and soft lace
An age of grace and favour, not unforgiving pace
Nor practical pantyhose nor dysfunctional farce
But instead on our bed with tender love
Let me kiss your breasts, your face
And your stockings and seams
Slip away those lace panties
Let my manhood rise above
It all and sail us both to a fabled place
The Wonder Bra is a miracle,
surely a dream come true.
It's bound to please wives,
and their poor husbands too.
I would be happy with,
all my wife's clothes.
If she would quit wearing,
those dumb Panty Hose.
She would make me happier,
than I've ever felt.
If she would wear Stocking,
and a lovely Garter Belt.
Please don't think I am crazy,
All my male friends agree.
They are the most alluring women's clothing
our eyes could ever see.
Ever since I was little,
barely able to speak.
I would grab me a catalog,
and sneek me a peek.
At the women's underwear section,
I'll never be the same.
I dreamed of having a wife dressed like that,
as I played life's game.
Now, I never thought, I was bad,
or being mean.
It's just that Stockings and Garters,
are the loveliest things I've seen.
Yes, I know women hate them,
my wife tells me as we shop.
And sadly shake my head no,
as she suggest Thi-Tops.
If ever there was something I could change,
and hate with a passion.
Number one on my list,
would be the current legwear fashion.
Panty Hose may be comfortable,
and look smooth under your clothes.
But, they will never be sexy,
as any man knows.
Lady why don't you listen,
as you giggle, snarl and scoff.
At last you know why your man,
is more interested in golf.
I will keep on dreaming about when,
men were men and everything was grand.
And women dressed oh so beautifully,
not like Peter Pan.
Ken
Beckoned
With her eyes
she beckoned.
And not until
she knew my gaze
was fixed upon
the whole of her,
did she smile
that coy smile,
the kind that
melts a man.
Then the trap was set.
With ease and grace,
she slid across
the table bench,
her shapely legs
in nylons glistening,
pulling her along
in fluid movements,
making her bottom rise,
then settling.
Careful, all the while,
to be lady like in every move,
until such time
she thought best.
And then, had I looked away,
I would have missed
what men strain to see.
She swung her leg
and let the sunlight
from the window
race between her open thighs.
And for a moment,
she paused and looked my way.
Her eyes told me
that she knew.
That I could see
where her stockings
hugged her sensuous legs,
and how in raw display
two white garter straps
strained to hold them up.
She knew I could see
the soft, excited flesh
that quivered just beyond.
And at another glance
I saw unhindered,
soft, silken panties,
bunched up between
her naked thighs.
She faked embarrassment,
then looked away,
smiling all the while.
JW
From Ken
In the summer of 1967 I attended the United States Army Drill Sergeant School at Fort
Knox, KY. It was a grueling six week course, of over one hundred men enrolled, only 36
graduated. The first day we were there, the instructors told us to look down at the
stripes on our arms-----and forget about them----they were only good for pay
purposes. This school was harder than Basic Training, why? Because all of us were a lot
older than when we had went through Basic Training, not to mention the fact that
we were supposed to be the “cream of the crop”, hand picked to attend this course
and were expected to not “pull” the little stunts, new recruits did. The Army had just
started their Drill Sgt. Program and the instructors were the original ones who had
graduated from the Marine Corp’s Drill Sgt. Program at Parris Island, SC. The days were
long and hard, usually starting around 5:00AM every morning and ended at 9:00PM.
The day consisted of a lot of class work and “field work”, marching, rifle range and
etc. The first thing every morning was a inspection, I don’t mean just an inspection
but, nit picking inspection, I was told one morning that I had “excessive” hair in my
nose.
Through all of this, we finally managed to find a “bright spot” of the day. Each
afternoon we were dismissed around 4:30PM to go eat chow at a Mess Hall which
was just down the street from our class room, the draw back was at 5:00PM,
“Retreat” sounded. Everything came to a halt, if you were outside, you were
supposed to come to “Parade Rest” (this is a modified position of “Attention”) and
face in the direction of where the “Bugle” was sounding. Even Army personnel in
automobiles were supposed to stop and get out of their cars and do the same,
needless to say, traffic came to a complete halt because all the Army Personnel
would stop right in the middle of the street. We all tried to time ourselves so we would
not get caught outside and have to “Stand Retreat”. We would either hurry up and
eat or take our time so we would still be in the Mess Hall, so we wouldn’t get caught
going back to the class room when Retreat sounded. Somehow, someone happened
to be at the right place at the right time and noticed this “Civilian” woman that
worked in Battalion Headquarters, which happened to be behind the “Mess Hall”
where we ate. She got off from work at 5:00PM and would get caught in the stopped
traffic. She always wore dresses or a skirt and apparently when she got into her car,
she would pull the dress or skirt up to her waist and low and behold---she wore
stockings and a garter belt. From that day on, we timed ourselves to be along the
street to stand Retreat, right beside this woman’s car, so we could look at this
wonderful sight. It was sort of funny to see us try to figure out the exact spot where she
would stop and often times would sort of “fudge” to be in that position. I am surprised
that an officer didn’t notice us moving after the Bugle sounded to get beside her car
but, no one ever said anything. She didn’t seem to mind us looking, she would just sit
there as we gazed at those beautiful legs and the wonderful sight of her stockings
and garters and the exposed bare leg above the stocking tops. The days didn’t seem
to long or hard after that, we went back to class with a big smile on our faces and
looked forward everyday to seeing that lovely sight again. Of course the instructors
about went crazy trying to figure out what changed out attitudes.
THE PARTY
By Mike A.
The lady laughing with those men
has yet to catch my eye
hoping not to have to fend
off some chatty individual keen to divert me
as I drink in the seams and pointed heel
of sultry black stockings barely hiding
the gilt anklet that nestles so seductively
almost inviting me to boldly feel
stockings all held
in stilettos that send her legs
to the sky
Her little black dress is A line above the knee
and I wonder when she turns will the dress flow free
for us to enjoy her stockings, garter belt and
fine black silk panties
But I sense she has not the time for me
for did not this lady say 'stay cool, everything's fine
do not force a river from its course'
just a few hours ago when just for me
she put on black seams and we made love
as husbands and wives so often do
But now we are at The Party and her stockings
are for other men to adore, their hesitant fingers
ready to explore and linger to enjoy
the sensual tactility of the secrets of
stocking tops and seams
that snake to naked skin
unlocking the torrid promise within
loosely sealed without conviction
by flimsy panties that beg removal
by the young buck male
who's just secured her approval
September's Winner
A LETTER from JOHN
Dear Mercedes:
I thought I’d write and remind you of an event that occurred when I first
began teaching at a small college near your home, and you enrolled in my
creative writing class. While I’m sure you don’t recall, it's a nice
exhibitionist memory for me (although very embarrassing at the time) and
might provide a little insight into the manifestations of the stocking
fetish among men (at least, this man).
I volunteered to teach a creative writing class during the summer, even
though I would have rather been just about anywhere else. Typically, summer
classes were populated by nerdy type students who had absolutely nothing
else to do but take all the classes they could, just for the pleasure of it.
So these classes were extremely dull. And I imagined this one would be
the same, until you walked through the door of my classroom.
Now, as a young teacher, I had learned while attending teachers college that
I must condition myself to not notice the lovely young girls that would
continually pass in and out of my line of vision, during the course of a
school day. I knew it served no purpose to glare and stare, other than to
spark some nascent longing that I could not fulfill, at least not in the way
I wanted. I was taught that I must maintain my professional demeanor and
distance; and of course, when a girl knows that she’s been noticed, she also
knows she has the upper hand.
So when you did cross that threshold from the open empty hallway into Room
471, my eyes quickly went from you to the clock above the door: 4:45 it
read, and that explained the silence and emptiness behind you, as you
stopped, looked back, and closed the door. An unusual gesture, I thought,
but I just looked down at some papers I was grading…primarily to resist my
sudden, almost irresistible urge to gaze at you. No other students had
reported.
Don’t think for a moment that if a man quickly glances at a woman, and then
turns his eyes elsewhere, he hasn’t completely, with lightning speed,
completely checked her out. Even with my years of conditioning, I had
catalogued each and every detail of you, and you were completely--
hot. I couldn’t BELIEVE how you perfectly matched my every fantasy of a
girl, along with all the subtle accouterments that set off my fetishistic
imagination.
I first noticed that you looked at me and gave me a completely
innocent and the prettiest of smiles. Blond hair neatly parted in the
middle, shoulder length; shapely shoulders squared and toned under a tight
white nylon blouse with long sleeves, pulled so tightly across your breasts
that I could easily see the shadow of a dark-colored bra underneath. Then to
your skirt: above-the-knee hemline, and pleated like a cheerleader’s skirt,
but a thinner material. Tight-fitting at the waist and hips, then flaring
outward. It was a gorgeous pastel blue. Then to your legs: dark tan hose,
and of obvious high quality. Your high heels were the same pastel blue as
the skirt.
As I said, I didn’t dare watch you as you walked towards me, passed within a
few feet of my desk, and sat down. Without looking up, I noted that you sat
right in front (most students sit as far in the back as possible), and at
the head of a row of desks where the first two were missing for some reason,
so you were sitting far enough away from my desk that I had a completely
unobstructed view, from the top of your head to the narrow tapered heel of
you shoes. I didn’t DARE look up now.
“Aaaahem.” You cleared your throat. “Damn!” I thought, “I have to look up
now!” and did so quickly, and my eyes met yours (I looked only at your eyes,
still trying to fight with my desire to take in the rest of you). “Yes?” I
asked. “I really think I’ve written a great short story, and I was hoping
that you’d critique it for me. Will you help?” Oooooh, could I ever help!
But who would help me continue my self-control?
Let me explain my problem: I always was fascinated by girls wearing just
the type of pleated skirts you were wearing. I once dated a girl who
regularly dressed in such skirts, and also wore stockings instead of
pantyhose. The most erotic and exciting thing I remember when I dated her
was sitting on the couch in her apartment, and we’d start to neck. I’d
place my hand on her knee, feeling her sheer silky nylons with my fingers
and palm, and slowly attempting to work my hand farther up from that knee.
If she was in the mood (and she often was), she would let me reach that
benchmark moment when my hand touched the very top of the stocking, and I
would feel the warm bare inner thigh above the luscious nylon, and if I was
truly lucky, the nylons would come up so high on her thigh that her panties
were just above, so I had the pleasure of three distinct sensations at one
time: fingers and palm feeling silky stockings and bare skin at the same
time, and the thumb rubbing gently on tight panties, feeling the warmth
underneath. A certain moist sensation at that point made the moment…perfect.
I lived for those moments; and being a very modest girl otherwise, she kept
me satisfied while saving her virginity by letting me explore the nylon
sensations under her skirt, while she’d caress and work me lovingly with her
hand, until I found satisfaction. I came close to marrying that girl, and
often regretted I didn’t.
So this experience came crashing back to me when I first saw you, and knew
if I didn’t completely resist the temptation that was the sight of you, I
could lose control, and be at your mercy.
“Yes, and your name is…?” I asked. “Mercedes,” you said, and smiled again,
and shifted yourself in your seat, causing me to again check you out. A
purposeful move on your part? “Well, yes, I will help you—go ahead and work
on your story, and when you need my assistance, just ask.”
I had said that without a bit of quiver in my voice. I was cool. I
immediately glanced down at whatever papers I was grading, and
remained silent for what seemed hours. You scribbled on a piece of paper for
a while, and then I caught you moving out of your seat, and approach my
desk. You walked up boldly to the front of it, placed a folded note on my
desk, and casually strolled back to your seat.
I still refused to look at you, and so merely picked up the note and
unfolded it, some moments of hesitation. What I read amazed me:
Dear Mr. D---e:
I know you want to look at me. Go right ahead—I won’t mind. Actually, I love
the attention. Enjoy!
Mercedes
PS: If you like my outfit for today, you ought to see what I’m wearing
underneath!
I was simply thunderstruck. I had just been given permission to do the
one thing I wanted to do! Should I? Could I? I looked at you, and you
looked back, chewed the end of your pen a bit, gave me that great innocent
grin, and began writing. Your legs were crossed, and you began shaking one a
bit, contentedly.
To hell with it! I abandoned any pretext of control, and just began to
stare. I focused on your legs, and admired the sheer quality of your
nylons, how they shimmered in the light, and how at the knees, where the
nylon was stretched tightest, they reflected light like star sapphires. I
enjoyed the contrast between the dark stockings and the light pastel blue
shoes—such a look shouted out “look at me!” and was so mysteriously naughty.
I noted how your skirt rode up a bit as you sat, and exposed more than a few
inches of your upper legs. I tried to look up your skirt, to see what you
were “wearing underneath,” but with no luck. I began to get hard.
How quickly men can find themselves in such a state, and I recalled, in that
classroom setting, the many times as a student that I had, without any
stimulation whatsoever, become so completely hard that I couldn’t begin to
fathom what had come over me, and when that hard-on would not relax
itself(“itself” because it truly had a mind somewhere in that head, of its
own)when the bell rang, and I would have to jam my left hand into my pants
pocket to cover my inexplicable arousal, and curse my plight under my breath
as I walked to my next class.
Now many years later, and I had such a similar problem. Except that I knew
the source, who now sat in front of me, looking right at me, smiling.
“Mr. D---e,” you then said, “Could you possibly come over here and
look my…paper?” Ah, why me! And just like all those times, when the bell
rang, I jammed my hand into my pocket, stood up, and walked slowly over
to the source of my stimulation.
Carefully, I stood next and a bit behind you, looking down at your paper, as
you pointed out to a particular sentence was giving you trouble. Trying to
pay attention to your writing, my erection had just began to subside as I
talked to you about how to improve the syntax of a sentence in question,
when you placed your hand somewhere under the laminated desk panel holding
your paper, and began to move your skirt up the leg that crossed over the
other, revealing by increments more of your leg, until I could see two
inches of stocking (!) top, with a garter clasp neatly pulling at the top
(the welt?) just a bit.
OH MY MY, YOU WAS WEARING STOCKINGS AND A GARTER BELT! My chest suddenly
pounded, my head began to spin, and I grasped the back of your seat with one
hand and the edge of the desktop with the other. My erection
resurrected itself at that moment, pushing itself prominently against my
slacks.
At that very moment, you looked up, stared directly at my protrusion
so close to the very level of your eyes, smiled, and said: “Looks like you
have a problem there. Maybe you better sit down.” And with that, you
purposely flipped the end of your pen at the very head of my erection,
giving it a smart tap.
I was melting. I don’t know how I did it, but the next thing I recall
Was sitting back at my desk, face undoubtedly flushed, staring once again at
your legs as you continued to write. Now, you was sitting with your legs
uncrossed, and they were sufficiently parted that I could see up your skirt,
where I drank in the images of your stockings riding high up on your thigh,
with just a bit of that white inner thigh showing, and then the pinkest of
nylon panties.
I squeezed my legs together under my desk to contain my excitement, and then
spread them apart so the material of my pants would rub against my throbbing
erection, and then pressed them together again. I couldn’t help but grab
myself through my pants and squeeze and pull, staring at this irresistible
sight.
Squeeze and pull, squeeze and…oh MON DIEU, and totally
out of control now. So I grabbed again, since
the whole scene was hopeless, milking as much enjoyment out of the moment,
looking squarely at you as you looked squarely at me.
Then I was numb, limp, wasted, and spent. I now sat gazing blindly at
nothing. I had totally lost my composure that I had been taught to maintain.
What now? Once gone, could I ever regain it? How long I had lapsed into
reverie, I don’t know, but I sensed movement in front of me, and before I
could look up, pair of pink full-bottom panties were spread in front of me,
their lace trim ascending up the sides and along the waistline.
“I gotta go—you might need these to clean yourself up a bit,” I heard
somewhere far off. With that, you walked out of my room. Slowly sauntered
out, a walk that intimated your sense of complete…victory.
I left teaching that day, and never returned.
Fiona's Fashions by Peter
It was obvious that Fiona loved fine lingerie, she obviously adored the way
that it felt against her body, and she knew how much it could turn on men as
well. Fiona was an extrovert and she was not afraid to occasionally
discretely reveal some of her finery at the office where we both worked.
Being a willing voyeur for Fiona was one of my favorite extra-curricular
activities at the office. Often she wore a skimpy lingerie-style lace bra
under a sheer blouse or shirt. The sheerness of the blouse or shirt was not
total but sheer enough to get a good idea of her lovely lace covered
breasts. On quite a few occasions Fiona had seen that I was getting a good
look at her breasts and had flashed a quick grin my way as she took a deep
breath and thrust her breasts forward so that I could get a much better look
at her finery. She would hold this pose for a short while and smile again
as her nipples became aroused and thrust out against the constraints of the
lace bra. Her body was quickly aroused during these lovely little
exhibitions. Over a period of time it became quite obvious that she had an
extensive collection of fine lingerie as I rarely saw the same bra very
often. Fiona was a great addition to our office I can assure you and it was
a voyeuristic delight to be included in her exhibitionism.
One day Fiona sat in my office as we discussed some new procedures to be
implemented in some changes in the way our organization operated. She was
beautifully dressed as usual and somewhat more friendly than usual. We
relaxed and chatted for a short while and then she asked me this question,
"I'm going to a ball with a friend soon and I have to get some new things to
wear. I was wondering if you might like to help me choose some of them as I
know that you seem to have a fine eye for fashion."
My instantaneous answer was "Yes; I'd love to help in any way that I can.
Just tell me what you want me to do Fiona." Fiona smiled and replied,
"Great, I had hoped that you would. How about meeting me after work and
we'll start today." I could barely contain my excitement all day as I dealt
with all of the mundane things that regularly pass across my desk. My
excitement level was so high that I was able to achieve far better than
normal productivity all day.
After work we went to the local mall and straight away headed for a hosiery
store. This sort of place was heavenly for a lingeri- lover like me. Fiona
walked straight over to a rack that displayed a large range of top quality
stockings. She told me that only two manufacturers made the ones she
preferred to wear. She showed me the two brands and asked which I thought
would look good with her new black dress and an older blue dress. I
selected some very sheer black stockings and some light tan ones as well. I
suggested to Fiona that she get the ones with lace tops, as they are so
elegantly feminine. Fiona picked out two of each, she then went to a rack
of garter belts and picked out a sheer black one and a very pale blue
satin-trimmed one as well. She smiled at me and said, "Let's go home and
try these on." I was beside myself with excitement as we took a streetcar
back to her city fringe apartment.
Fiona rushed into her bedroom when we reached her apartment and changed into
another outfit, then she came into the sitting room where I was anxiously
waiting for her appearance. She had changed into a very soft pale blue
evening dress that clung to her beautiful body. It was so tight that I
thought that it was almost like a second skin. I could see the shape of her
panties, garter belt and stocking tops outlined by the tight fabric of the
dress. Fiona slowly lifted up the hem of the dress so that I could see the
new light tan stockings that she had just purchased. When I could see the
tops of the stockings she moved over closer and asked if I could adjust the
garter clips for her, as they were not quite straight. How beautiful her
firm thighs felt as I carefully and lovingly adjusted the clips. How smooth
and shiny the stockings were as they too clung tightly to her legs. As I
was adjusting the garter clips Fiona lifted the dress higher so that I could
better see the pale blue silky garter straps. They were so shiny and smooth
and I can still recall how wonderful they felt as I let my hands caress her
thighs. One of my hands moved closer to her pale blue panties. They too
felt so incredibly soft and smooth as I casually let my hand run across
them. Fiona smiled and told me that I could maybe touch but that would be
all. I had some other aims I can tell you! Then Fiona tried on her new black
stockings and I had the opportunity of adjusting them as well.
So that I could make a better judgment of which stockings were the best I
asked Fiona to model them again for me. But this time I told her that the
dress was getting in the way of really being able to determine which were
the best stockings. She smiled and left the room. When she came back she
explained that she had changed into a very, very short black slip so that I
could better see the stockings. I really think that the short slip was
really a long camisole. She came close to me and asked me to take a good
look at the black stockings. I ran my hand down her silky hip and she
shuddered slightly as I did so. Pretty soon I was running my hands all over
her slip as she stood in front of me. In what seemed just a minute or two
we ended up in her bedroom with her lying on the bed with me beside her
running my hands all over her........
Fiona's fashions are an absolute delight!
Dental Appointment by Rusty
It's Friday, a day that I've long waited for. Her last appointment was six months ago --
a semiannual checkup and teeth cleaning. She should be in any time now. I wonder
what Sherry will be wearing for today's appointment? The last time she was here, I
had just started as a dental assistant. My job is to help with basic teeth cleaning and
general prepping before the dentist takes over. Usually, I'm stationed alongside the
dental technician and make sure all the proper tools are available, as well as make
sure the patient is comfortable.
My memory of Sherry is still very fresh. She's Chinese, about 28, 5'8" tall, slender with
gorgeous legs. I still remember what Sherry wore the last time -- a nice navy blue
business suit (for a business meeting she came from), 3-inch slingback heels, and super
sheer taupe hose. I was new then, so I was mostly observing from the end of the chair.
After she had seated herself and the chair was reclined to a horizontal position, her
knees were slightly raised. The edge of her short skirt had edged up a few inches. I
couldn't believe my eyes! Was I seeing the dark welt of stocking tops? No, it couldn't
be!
A few minutes later, she tried to get more comfortable and asked me to remove her
shoes. I obliged with anticipation. I slipped off her left shoe first and discovered that
she was wearing RHT stockings! I deliberately brushed my hand against her nyloned
heel. Oh, heaven! Then I took off her right shoe and again, slid my fingers against her
sole and heel. I was feeling a little light-headed already. There she was, bare nyloned
feet in RHT stockings -- a rare sight nowadays. I could see that she was wearing
high-quality 15 denier nylons -- not the cheap, stretchy nylons with coarse texture. As
she squirmed throughout her checkup, her dress rode up a little higher and I could
occasionally see the glitter of her metal garter clasps , as well as the tops of her
stockings. But that was about it. Before I knew it, the appointment was over -- much
too soon. I didn't know it, but she had been watching me off and on. When she
smiled mischievously as she got off the chair, I sensed that !
she actually enjoyed showing off her legs and nylons. As she left last time, she said,
"See you next time." Well, she should be showing up any minute.
The front door swung open. In stepped Sherry. Wow! She had grown her silken black
hair out and now had beautiful hair down to the middle of her back. This time, she
looked like she was going out to dinner after her appointment. Instead of a business
suit, she wore a light beige linen dress that ended mid-thigh. It looked pretty thin and
cool. She had open-toed 3" heels with sling-back, and -- oh, God -- tan-colored
nylons. One quick look at her exposed feet and I could see she was wearing RHT
stockings. Boy, she sure likes to tease! Under her light-colored dress, I could readily see
that she was probably wearing Hanes stockings, the classic ones with the
light-colored band at the top! There was a characteristic light line crossing her thighs,
way up, and slight garter bumps. I barely managed to say, "Hi Sherry, long time no
see." She replied, "Yes, it's been a while. Can you help me into the chair?"
As she got on the chair and swung her legs over, I couldn't help but notice that her
hem was already halfway up her thighs. The dark stocking band was already starting
to show. With the bright lights above, the glint of shiny garter clasps showed through
the thin linen material. No slip! The dental technician entered and prepared to check
Sherry's teeth against the dental charts. Kim, the technician, was absorbed in her
work and didn't pay any attention to me at the foot of the chair. Sherry faced up
and was slightly occupied with a drain tube in her wide open mouth. Done with the
cursory check of Sherry's teeth, Kim worked for the next 15 minutes cleaning and
scraping. Meanwhile, Sherry's legs were splayed open, providing a nice view up her
legs, past the stocking tops and garter clasps, up her white garter straps, and to her
sheer panties. There was just enough ambient light so I could see a dark, moist patch.
The scraping of her teeth made her squirm and adjust her position!
on the chair, sometimes causing her to raise her knees a bit.
As Kim began polishing her teeth, Sherry looked over to me for a moment with a slight
smile, practically inviting me to take in the leg show. As Kim polished, Sherry played
with her legs by opening them up, almost a foot apart at her knees. Kim had no idea
what was happening since she was facing Sherry's head as she worked. I took the
bait and reached down to her legs and touched her nylon-covered ankle. She didn't
withdraw, so I started from her ankles and worked my way up to her knees, up her
thighs, and...
Wait, was there anyone else in the office who could walk in? I had to stop for a
moment. No, it was just Kim, Sherry and me because the others had stepped out. The
dentist was out also because he didn't need to see Sherry this time. If Kim didn't know,
it was just fine. Whew! I ventured higher, right behind Kim's back as she totally focused
on Sherry's teeth. I had just reached the zone above the stocking tops along the
garter straps when Sherry let out a slight moan, "Mmmmmm." Kim interrupted her
cleaning and asked, "Are you OK?" Sherry replied, "Yes, I'm fine. You just hit a sensitive
spot." If Kim had turned around that moment, she would have caught me with my
hands in the cookie jar! Kim returned to her work and, in a slight sweat, I returned to
mine. Kim said, "I'm almost done. Should be another few minutes."
My hand immediately reached the ultimate prize and stroked the incredibly smooth
sheer panties, feeling the wet gash just below the surface. Sherry was clearly aroused,
but tried to maintain her composure. She squeezed her legs together and let out a
long breath as quietly as she could through her gaping mouth crowded with a tube
and Kim's instruments. My hand was trapped for a moment, but she slowly released
the pressure. I slipped my hand out, just as Kim announced that she was done. I had
enough presence of mind to pull down Sherry's skirt hem and hand over a paper cup
with water to her so she could rinse out her mouth.
Kim looked over her job and seemed satisfied. She asked me to clean up and left the
room. I raised the chair so Sherry could get up. Sherry spit out her rinse water and
looked over my way. "You did a nice job, too." With that, she slowly got off the chair,
raised the hem of her skirt all the way to her hips, and pulled off her sheer white
panties. "Here, keep this until the next visit. I can hardly wait."
I can't either.
A LADY MUSES WHILST DRAWING ON HER STOCKINGS
-Anonymous-
“Sitting at my vanity, warm from my bath, I pick up my stockings,
His favorites - delicate as fog, black as a raven’s wing.
I shape one into a cup and gently slip the filmy sheath over my toes.
Suddenly, I see Him in my mind’s eye, gently rolling it off
my thigh as I moan in desire, pressing Him to sheathe Himself in me!
Thus will begin our sexual waltz that will end much, much later
in panting, gasping spasms of bliss the French call
Le petite mort - “ the little death.”
I shiver with lust as I fasten the stocking to my garters, feeling it tauten
into a smooth, nylon cylinder closely clasping my leg as my Lover
will clasp me - desire pulling Him tightly against my body as my flexing garters pulls the stocking tightly against my thigh.
Now, the next.
Another cup of midnight mist - moving over my toes, warming to my heat,
an ebony nylon shadow, clothing my leg in black, translucent witchery.
As I fasten my garters, I imagine His hands on the stockings,
Stroking them, moving upward to caress my heated center.
I begin to pant in anticipation, yearning for that touch and the sound
of His hands hissing on the nylon, then slipping into my liquid core!
There. Finished.
The nylons have turned my legs into gleaming black seductions.
He is at the door!
I jump up and hurry to Him, flushed with desire, running to embrace yet another of Love’s ‘little deaths!’”
August 2000
THE SINGER by Dave MAY'S WINNER
Thunder shook the earth. The streets and
sidewalks were wet from the passing
storm and reflected the brilliant explosions of the last remnants of the
lightening. I walked quickly, taking time to inhale and smell the fresh
smell
of the spring rain before entering the club. I shook the moisture from my
overcoat and handed it to the coatroom attendant. As I turned a nice
looking
girl, barely old enough to be in such a place, approached me with her tray of
smokes. "Cigarette Mister" she asked with her obvious Jersey
accent. I pulled
a cigarette from my pocket and gave the girl a wink. She walked off,
unaffected
by not being able to sell me, on to the next guy that might buy her wares and
give her a tip. "Cute kid" I thought to myself as I watched her
walk away. She
was wearing high heels and dark stockings with seams going up the backs of her
long legs. I noticed that the seam on her left leg wasn't straight, and
imagined helping her straighten it. Her short skirt swayed back and forth
as
she glided away from me. In the background, I heard the piano.
I walked into the bar, pausing at the doorway to check out who might be there.
The piano bar was off to my left, a couple of guys in suits with their ties
loosened were sitting around as the nameless piano player worked his magic on
the keys. At the bar were several regulars all engaged in conversations
while
some out of towners sat in the black leather booths to my right. Sam the
bartender saw me standing in the door, waved at me, and began to mix my martini.
A couple of the regulars looked my way, smiled and lifted their glasses as if
offering a "welcome" toast to me. I smiled back and tipped my
hand to my head,
and then walked toward the piano. Sam sent my drink over to me after I sat
down. The bar maid made change for me and I gave her a big tip, just so
she
would keep the drinks coming on a regular basis. The rest of the change I
stuffed into the tip jar on the piano and got a smile from the guy tickling the
ivories. A quick check of my watch told me that I didn't have long to
wait, so
I sipped my martini, loosened my tie and rested my elbow on the rail around the
black piano.
I hadn't been there long when I felt the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder.
I could smell her flowery perfume even over the cigarette smoke that filled the
room. I turned on my stool to face her. As I turned she didn't let
her hand
leave my shoulder, but instead let it ride so that her arm was not around me,
pulling her face close to mine. Her big green eyes caught mine, and her
smile
hypnotized my thoughts. "Hi babe" I said just before she leaned
in and touched
her velvety warm lips to mine. Jenny's kisses filled me with warmth and
desire
every time she shared them with me. The feel of her touch on my body sent
waves
of pleasure crashing through me. Feeling her feminine curves caress my
hands as
I held her made me glad to be a man. "I'm glad you showed up
Sonny" Jenny said
in her deep seductive voice, "It is always better when you are here".
I smiled
and winked at Jenny while I admired her bright smile and deep green eyes.
Her
hair was long, but when she performed Jenny would pull it up and secure it,
exposing her long, lean neck. I often fantasized about slowly kissing my
way up
her long arms, over her round shoulder and up that luscious neck. Jenny
had
skin that just made you want to touch her, to experience her, to hold her.
She
could tell you anything with her eyes, read you a novel without speaking a word,
all by looking at you. I knew I loved her, but for some reason, I had
never
told her that. With another short kiss, Jenny started to walk away,
holding my
hand until the last possible moment as she walked behind the piano player.
Unlike the cigarette girl, Jenny's stocking seams were perfectly straight.
As
she walked away from me I couldn't help but watch her glamorous legs. She
wore
black pump heels with a thin strap around her ankle. Her long gown was
slit
both up the front and back. As she walked, her leg would slide out from
under
the sequins covered dress, exposing just a hint of the tops of her
stockings.
The stockings themselves were very sheer, almost neutral in color with tiny
specks of sparkles in them. Jenny's tan, shapely legs stretched the sheer
silky
stockings tightly around her flesh, leaving no wrinkles on those perfect legs.
I also fantasized about someday being with Jenny, feeling those wonderful
stockings as I slowly caressed my way up her leg. Jenny was beautiful, not
just
when she was all dolled up to perform, but anytime you saw her. She was
petite
with curves that would cause any man caution. Her breasts were ample and
round,
firm and high. The dress tonight showed them off perfectly, holding them
tightly together and exposing a large cleavage. I wondered how the tiny
spaghetti straps at the top of her gown kept from snapping under the load of
Jenny's enormous breasts. Her body slimmed down to her waist then back out
to
her shapely hips and ass. I knew I wasn't the only man in the room that
lusted
for Jenny, but I knew I was the one she would be sitting with later tonight
between her shows.
Jenny pulled up a stool, picked up her microphone, then sat. I felt a
yearning
inside me and an aching between my legs as I watched Jenny sit. As she
adjusted
herself on the stool, she slowly crossed one leg over the other, her gown
falling open at the slit down the front and her long leg exposing itself all the
way to her thigh. The light above her sparkled on her stockings, drawing
your
eyes to them. She placed her one foot on the rung of the stool, the heel
sliding down behind it while the front of her foot hung over the front.
The leg
that she crossed over top gently rocked as she began to sing. Jenny's
soulful
voice filled the room with "A kiss is just a kiss", and everyone
listened and
watched. Jenny would look around the room as she sang, but when her eyes
came
to me, they stopped. She could tell that I was in her power, her eyes told
me
so. I listened and watched her leg while it seduced me. I could see
the top of
her stocking and somehow I knew that tonight was going to be much different than
any night before. I don't know if it was because I could read it in
Jenny's
eyes, or if my body was urging me on, but tonight I would have Jenny to myself
I would know what those long legs would feel like to my caress, to my kiss.
By
the end of the evening, Jenny would know that I loved her.
After her first set, Jenny came over and sat next to me. I felt her
stocking
slid against my trousers as she pulled her stool up close to mine. I
handed her
the drink I had Sam get while she was performing, we toasted and then began to
talk. Tie seemed to stand still, yet fly by quickly. Jenny and I
talked, but I
wasn't comprehending anything she said. My eyes were locked onto hers.
It was
like we were making love, but yet just sitting there in the bar. Our eyes
and
souls were connected, yet our bodies were making small talk. At midnight
Jenny
got up to perform her last set. Again I watched those luxurious legs as
they
carried her to her stage. I wanted to touch those stockings so bad that I
almost hurt. I wanted to feel her lips on mine, her body pressed against
me,
her arms around me. The thoughts of being with Jenny arouse me more and
more as
I watched that long sparkling leg slowly bounce as she sang. What seemed
like
hours, soon passed and Jenny was done, and she returned to her spot next to me.
Without a word, I put my arm around Jenny and urged her closer to me. I
looked
deep into her big green eyes and then I kissed her. I felt the energy race
through my body, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up with
excitement. Jenny's lips were warm, soft, inviting. I could feel her
melting
in my arms as we kissed. Our tongues touched, gently at first, then with
more
intensity. I could feel Jenny's breathing getting deeper and faster as our
kiss
continued. I don't know how long we sat there listening to the piano play
while
we kissed, it seemed like an eternity, yet it ended too soon. I looked
into
Jenny's eyes as we parted our lips, looking for direction, for a clue, for
something that would tell me she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I felt
her
hand touch mine, then I felt something hard in my palm. I looked down and
saw a
key, then looked up and saw her smile. "I'll be in my dressing room,
give me a
few minutes" Jenny said, then stood and walked away. I felt my
manhood pulsing
and my imagination running wild. I looked back at Jenny just in time to
see her
disappear around the corner, her hand touching the doorway and slowly sliding
around it, her index finger almost motioning me to follow. I turned
back to
the piano and picked up my martini. I finished off the last drink and
listened
as the slow, smoky jazz song the piano man was playing faded and ended. I
waited a minute or two more, then rose from my stool and walked toward the door.
I paused briefly at Jenny's dressing room, wondering if I should knock, or just
use the key and enter. I looked down at the key, then at the door,
pondering my
next move. I raised the key to the door, inserted it into the lock and
turned.
I looked left, then right to see if anyone was watching, then slowly opened
Jenny's door. The lights in the room were mostly off, only a dim lamp on
her
dressing table was on. Jenny was standing by the dressing table, and I
froze in
my tracks. Her gown was in a ball on the floor. She moved her hand
to the back
of her head and magically her hair fell to her shoulders. The little bit
of
light from the lamp danced in the glow of her long brown hair. Jenny was
standing there before me, naked, except for her heels, stockings and garter.
My
eyes moved slowly down her body, then back up. She was more beautiful than
I
had ever fantasized about. Her eyes invited me closer, so I stepped toward
my
goddess. Her arms reached for mine, and we embraced. Her lips found
mine and
we kissed passionately. I drew her closer to me, her bare breasts pressing
against me, her hips pressed against my aching manhood. I felt her long
leg,
that silky stocking, wrap around me and begin to slowly slide along the back of
my leg. We continued kissing, embracing, caressing. My hand slid
down and
touched her leg. I felt something race through me that seemed to
supercharge my
desires. The feel of her nylon stocking to my fingers sent fire racing
through
my body, making me want her more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.
I
continued caressing her leg, feeling the silky softness of her stockings and the
warm tender flesh of her thigh at the top. Jenny began to moan softly as
we
stood there entwined together. I picked her up and carried her to the sofa
across the room. I lowered her there, knelt before her and began to kiss
her
entire body. I began at her foot, holding it gently and letting my warm
lips
move their way up her long, shapely leg. The feel of her stockings on my
lips
aroused me until I could no longer stand it. I looked into Jenny's eyes
and saw
she was also needing more.
As we lay there on the floor, embraced after making love, kissing and cuddling,
we heard the silence that filled the building. The piano was no longer
playing,
the sound of the crowd was now absent. In the distance we heard a
banging.. the
sound of chairs being lifted from the floor and placed upside down on top of the
tables. Closing time. I looked into Jenny's eyes, longing to stay
with her,
yearning not to leave her. "How about a drink at my place?"
Jenny questioned.
I smiled and shook my head affirmatively. Soon we were sneaking out the
back
door and walking down the now dry street to Jenny's apartment.
July's winner
THE NYMPH, JUNIOR GRADE: A MODEN FABLE
By LFP
Tom listlessly picked up his Evian Water and dry bagel from the counterman and ambled to the first outdoor table in the shade to do a little girl watching on his morning break from his Wall Street office.
Girl watching was usually pretty exciting in New York, but recent fashion fads - namely the female gender’s predilection for going barelegged, even when wearing high fashion dress-for-success power suits and $500 sexy shoes - had taken a lot of the joy out of the sport if you were a man like Tom, a man in his early thirties who liked women and who liked to see them wearing stockings.
He plopped down at the table and stared at a bevy of bare-legged women nattering away as they strode along the busy sidewalk, their white, waxy legs looking as naked as the yellow shins of a plucked White Leghorn hen - and about as appetizing.
That was when a brisk wind started blowing, whirling up a cloud of dust and debris - a constant presence on New York streets - forcing Tom to close his eyes to protect them from the wind-driven grit. Just before his eyes clamped shut, he thought he saw a puffy faced cloud blowing a whirling figure in his direction.
Split seconds later he heard the other chair at his table rattle and bang into his table, followed by a sprightly “Thanks for the ride, Aeolus!,’’ in a definitely female voice. He forced his eyes open to behold a young woman sitting across from him, rubbing her shin through her stocking. “Bumped my leg when I landed,” she explained.
Her stocking! She was wearing full-fashioned nylons in a smoky taupe shade and black high-heeled mules of the late 1950s Betty Page pinup era, along with a 1950s shirtwaist dress in navy, billowy crinoline petticoats and a perky little hat. A hat! No woman wore a hat anymore, and crinolines went out with the poodle skirt!
The young woman looked up at him. She had classical features, but they were overly made up and her dark hair was pulled into a chignon, with curls escaping to frame her smooth forehead.
“Who-who are you?,” Tom croaked.
“I’m the nymph Daphne. I literally just blew into town - Aeolus, the god of the winds, gave me a ride from Mount Olympus. Is that the right way to say that? Zeus cut short our American slang lesson to get us aboard Aeolus’s next whirlwind shuttle down here to Earth.”
“Wha-a-who are you?” He repeated.
“I just told you, my name is Daphne, I was one of Hebe the Cup Bearer’s assistants, carrying cups of nectar around to the gods and goddess on Mount Olympus, but I got tired of getting pinched by Vulcan. He’s the god who makes lightning bolts for the Chief to throw at people he’s mad at. Vulcan is strong as an ox and a pinch from him leaves a girl’s bottom bruised for a month. So, I volunteered to return to Earth and give another nymph in Limbo a chance to get her hiney pinched.
“Am I dressed all right?,” she continued. “All Athena had in her library as a reference for earth fashions was an August 1959 Harper’s Bazaar and I copied this outfit from an article she found in it on how to dress fashionably for work.
“I’ll have to say that getting used to all that underwear was a little tough, we don’t wear much if anything under those Olypian toga thingies, you know and these dam’ petticoats really scratch; but I like the sheer glove-like things I’m wearing on my legs - and the shoes, although it was a bit tough learning to walk in them. And those pointy things your women wear their breasts in are really uncomfortable.”
“You look fine, but just a little out of style,” Tom said dazedly but graciously. (“I’ve GOT to call my sis Arethusa about this!” Tom thought.) “I know somebody who can fix that,” he said as Daphne watched the other women striding by. They stared back at her in her in retro fifties fashions and sniffed at her pre-Betty Friedan, stay-at-home-little-woman garb.
“I don’t look like them at all,” she said musingly. They look nice, but sorta like the Chief’s soldiers - you know, the ones who sprang up full grown from dragon’s teeth? - you don’t ever want to mess with them!”
Twenty minutes later, Tom and Daphne were in Arethusa’s apartment and she and Daphne were instant friends. They blathered about the various Olympian personalities as Arethusa showed Daphne how to smooth on a light foundation, tastefully apply lipstick and subtly emphasize her huge, beautiful black eyes.
As a cupbearer - read waitress - Daphne had the gods and goddesses taped. Venus was a slut (“beautiful, but a little large in the stern, if you take my meaning. That masterpiece of her rising from the ocean in a sea shell was all it took to push her over from slimness to Ruebensque proportions.’’)
Athena was smart but standoffish and had a thing for Mercury but was too shy to flirt with him and he was nothing but a heartless seducer anyway (“He has those wings on his heels for a reason,” she sniffed. “To fly away at the first hint of commitment!”
Vulcan was o.k. except that he always smelled of hot iron and thunderbolts, and of course, had a passion for giving iron-hard pinches. (“I don’t know about you Arethusa, but when a guy pinches my sit-upon hard enough to leave a blood blister, my well of passion dries right up!” Arethusa allowed she felt the same way.)
She also artfully extracted basic intelligence about Tom from Arethusa. Was he married or spoken for, what did he like in food, in girls, in sports - all the important questions. And, she seemed satisfied with the answers. Arethusa privately felt that if Daphne really was a nymph, and she took an interest in Tom, then Tom’s days as carefree bachelor were numbered.
Nymphs, her research had shown her, were famous for their ability to charm everything from poisonous snakes to randy satyrs. Tom would be a push over.
Next, the two women worked on a suitable wardrobe for Daphne. Behind the closed bedroom door, Daphne shed her dress and shoes and stood before Arethusa dressed in her 1950s lingerie borrowed from the old magazine: full-fashioned stockings, pointy Maidenform bra, lacy white Gossard garter belt and white Gossard nylon briefs.
The two rifled through Arethusa’s lingerie drawer and came up with the more comfortable modern equivalents.
“This breast plate thingy is more comfortable than that other one,” Daphne said as Arethusa hooked the back strap of the sheer, light weight bra for her. “It is almost like being back in my favorite off-duty toga! And, I’ll bet you can run in this thing and not be bounced to death.”
“The fashion these days is to not wear stockings or pantyhose except for very dressy occasions, and sometimes, not even then,” Arethusa said. “But, if you decide to wear hose, then your garter-belt and briefs are fine.”
I want to keep the - what did you call them ‘full fashioned stockings?’’’ Daphne said. “We didn’t have anything like them on Olympus and I like the way they feel - so smooth and cool on my legs. And, (giggling) I like the way Tom blushes when he looks at my legs in them and his eyes sorta follow their seams up the back of my legs, almost as if he can see everything. It makes me feel sexy, not dirty the way I used to feel when Vulcan would stare at my legs.”
And then, thoughtfully: “Tom doesn’t pinch girls hard, I mean really hard, does he?”
“I understand from some of his former girlfriends that Tom is a very gentlemanly pincher, if he pinches at all,” Arethusa said with a smile. “I am sure that if you tell him how you like to be pinched, he will be glad to pinch you that way to your heart’s content.”
“Really?’’ Daphne said thoughtfully, with an increasingly interested and knowing look in her jet-black, glowing eyes.
“Oh Tom,” Arethusa thought to herself. “You, my man, are a dead duck!”
“O.K., Daphne,” why don’t you pick out some of my underwear, a couple of pairs of shoes and a dress or two from my closet and I’ll go put on a pot of tea. By the way, women now usually wear mid to high-heel pumps like these (showing a pair to Daphne) for every day wear or to work in and save their lovely high-heeled sandals or mules like you had on for evenings out and dress up occasions.
“Oh,” Daphne said. “I understand, its like when Juno wants us to wear our gold wrap-around sandals when we serve an Olympian banquet instead of our day-to-day leather ones. I’ll change now,” and as Arethusa went out the door, Daphne stepped into the stylish, three-inch heeled pumps and then began rummaging through the drawer, intent on her treasure hunt.
Arethusa asked Tom to join her in the kitchen. As she prepared the tea, she said “What do you know about nymphs, Tom?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Isn’t that what they call a May fly the trout fishermen all tie their flies to look like?’’
“Yes, that is one sort of nymph,” his sister replied, ‘‘but according to mythology, Daphne’s the sort of nymph that is immortal. Nymphs like her were put in charge of the things of the earth, like the animals, fire, water and so on.
“They were the ones who made things grow, like flowers, grains and fruit, and by reason of those gifts, were very powerful beings. That is what Daphne is, Tom. She is thousands of years old and has great power until she surrenders it to be a mortal. She is taken with you, probably because you were nice to her and are kind but she is an immortal, unless she willingly surrenders that power.
“Be very, very careful here Tom, she is like an infant in our world, but with powers that can be awesome when unleashed. Treat her as a woman, but be kind and gentle and you will never again have an experience like the one you can have with her. Mistreat her and she could destroy you and the world we live in.
“And by the way, be careful how you pinch her. In fact, you’d better ask her how she likes to be pinched before trying it!”
Tom was silent as he tried to grasp the import of what Arethusa had told him. An immortal? Great! Just his luck! A beautiful young girl in full fashioned stockings literally blows into him in a whirlwind and she’s an immortal and he’s as mortal as they come! And what was that about pinching?
Daphne, wearing an above-the-knee navy blue slip dress, pumps and the killer stockings entered the kitchen. Her softly made up face and luminous black eyes literally glowed with joy as she gave him a big hug.
“Thank you for bringing me to Arethusa. I knew her namesake on Olympus. We all cheered when she turned herself into a spring to escape old Alphaeus, the River God. I never liked him, the old wet drip!
“And even after she was a spring, Arethusa was delightful and helpful just like your sister! She was always there for us nymphs to swim in or enjoy a foot bath after a tough day bearing cups or currycombing the satyrs.
“Now, she is going to teach me to dress properly and live down here on Earth,” she bubbled.
Tom, luxuriating in the feel of the warm softness of immortal girl flesh pressed against him, could only gulp in voiceless wonder.
“Do you have any money, Daphne,” Arethusa asked as she poured tea for herself, a hefty dollop of 18 year old Glenmorange single malt for Tom and a bottle of fancy French water for Daphne. (“This is how you used to taste back in the old days,” Daphne told Arethusa after taking a long sip. “All bubbly and tingly on the tongue.” Tom grinned and snorted and Arethusa blushed a deep red.)
“Yes, I’ve got some money, let me show you,” Daphne said, springing to her feet and dashing into the living and coming back with her 1950s style clutch purse. “See!” she said, dumping out a flood of roughly minted gold coins onto the table.
Arethusa picked up one. “My God, Tom!” she said. “These are Greek gold drachmas and they are antiquities! There is no telling what each one is worth!”
“How many do you have,” Tom asked Daphne, who had insinuated herself between Arethusa and Tom and her warm girl-flesh pressed against his side was setting off fire alarms in his system.
“Oh, as many as I need,” Daphne said airily. “Every time I spend one, a new one takes its place. I haven’t spent any yet. Did anybody ever tell you you have lovely eyes,” she whispered to Tom. “No, they didn’t,” he said in a strangled voice, as Daphne’s slender fingers tenderly brushed a lock of his hair off his forehead. “Well, you do. Aphrodite would eat you up with a spoon!”
Arethusa grabbed up one of the coins and ran into her study and buried herself in her reference works. While she was gone, Daphne sat down on the table and crossed her long, shapely legs with that muted hissing rasp of her nylons that brings a stocking-loving man to full alert. Her eyes seemed to fill the room with rapturous light and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him and all the previous women he had kissed, or been kissed by, vanished from his mind forever.
“Umm,” Daphne whispered as he struggled to get his breath back, “You are mine, bucko, and if I catch you even looking at that old Aphrodite and I’ll turn you into a tree frog!”
Arethusa’s reappearance put the tender scene on hold for a few moments. She was obviously shaken.
“The best I can determine,’’ she said shakily, is “that each of the coins is about 2,000 years old and on today’s market would be worth a king’s ransom. But, how you would sell one, Daphne, I have no idea. They would touch off alarm bells in the worlds of numismatics and museums the first time one surfaces.”
“How many do we need to sell, do you think?” Daphne asked. “That’s up to you, honey,” Tom said. “They’re your coins.” “Well, I would want enough to buy my own little island in the Aegean Sea and to give you and Arethusa all the money you would ever need to do anything you would ever want. But, if I see that old, fat Aphrodite sniffing around you, Tom, its Tap City for you, son!”
And Tom took her hands in his and figuratively leaping into the pools of her snapping black eyes, said “Daphne, there is no other woman in the world for me but you, immortal or not. I want to stay with you and love you for as long as I live!”
Daphne gave a satisfied little smile and covered his lips with hers. “You said exactly the right thing lover. I will take you to my contact in New York - he was a mess cook in Olympus and retired, then opened a Greek restaurant in Tribeca - and he will sell the coins for us after Arethusa leaves the room and you let me show you where, and just how hard I like to be pinched.”
And that is what happened. Arethusa left the kitchen blushing and after a delightful half-hour of stocking stroking, passionate kisses and warmly given and warmly received pinches, she joined Tom and Daphne and the trio repaired to the Greek restaurant.
Months later, Arethusa was settling into her new home in Athens with its library that was the envy of many universities and Tom and Daphne were getting things organized on the Isle of Omnos, a tiny speck in the Aegean sea.
And one night, as Tom was gently divesting Daphne’s perfect, round left leg of its midnight black stocking, kissing his way down her thigh and giving her luscious behind the gentle little pinches she loved, she whispered in his ear: “Darling Tom, I have turned in my paperwork to be mortal and my discharge should be in the mail soon. Soooo, don’t you think it is about time we start having kids? Particularly now that I won’t be living forever!”
And that is exactly what happened in the fullness of time.
Mimi
Years ago, in my college days, as staff photographer for the school paper,
I had the fortune of having many opportunities to cover beauty contests. On
one occasion, I was taking candids of the contestants and scouting for
possible models in private shoots off campus. A freshman from Korea, Mimi
was petite -- about 5'1", 95 lbs., with short, but slender legs. Her
parents
were well off, working for the local embassy. After the campus event was
over, I caught Mimi as she was leaving. She was willing to sit for some
informal modeling and we exchanged phone numbers. I called her to arrange
for a shooting date the following week.
I picked Mimi up in my snug VW bug at her home in a nice part of town. She
was eager to take pictures as she had never had professional portraits done.
Mimi came dressed for the occasion with a knit dress, knee length, with
suntan colored hose and tan flats. We chatted as we drove to a nearby stream
where I knew we'd have some privacy and nice backgrounds. As I glanced over,
my heart began racing as I realized that she was wearing something special.
On her lap, I notice what looked like garter clasp bumps mid-thigh. Her tan
nylons reflected a sheen that looked familiar--perhaps Hanes sheers, the old
non-stretch type. We finally arrived at the stream and got out of the car.
To get to the streambed, we had to walk down a slightly steep bank. I went
down first to give her a hand. As she gamely scrambled down across some
rocks and through light brush, her hem rode up just enough to show her
stocking tops. I could hardly wait to begin the shoot.
For the next couple of hours, we had the place to ourselves. I had her
sitting on rounded boulders in the streambed. To get to the boulders, she
had to remove her shoes and wade in her nylons. Something about wet nylons
-- they were stimulating. In addition, her nylons were the old reinforced
heel and toe type -- adding to the eroticism. Sitting on the boulders, she
was oblivious to her dress hem riding up, especially when I had her lying
back on her elbows. Slowly, but surely, her hem began to reveal her stocking
tops which now were fully exposed. The light-colored band at the stocking
tops were in open sight, along with the metal garter clasps. I made slight
changes in her pose so as to not lose her revealing position, but to help
raise the hem even further. Hunching down for a lower angle, I was getting
open shots into her crotch -- not hard to do since her stockings were really
long and extended just shy of her light-colored, nearly transparent panties.
This was one of the most challenging and difficult shoots I ever did. How to
continue shooting without passing out from the excitement....
Suddenly it began to rain buckets. We needed to get out of the rain
immediately or risk being soaked. Scrambling to the stream bank, she had to
run through the water, soaking her lower legs and nylons. I followed right
behind up to the bank where she led the way up the steep incline. Being only
a couple of feet behind her, I had an incredible view up her legs, right up
to the completely exposed ass, just barely covered with the sheerest panties
I had ever seen. The slit in her ass was plainly visible. The only thing I
regret was that I didn't have the presence to get a few extra shots of her
behind during those precious few seconds. Anyway, we managed to get back
into the car without being totally soaked, although she was pretty wet. I
gave her a towel to wipe her hair, but she left her wet nylons alone. We
decided to call it a day, and I drove her straight home -- but not without
my enjoying the final views of her wet nylons glistening in the sun that had
emerged from the passing rain clouds.
SAN FRANCISCO, OPEN YOUR GOLDEN GATE
Dragging their suitcases and turning their heads to catch one last
glance at the aircraft, Mercedes and tom started up the final ramp and
pushed on into SFO passenger lounge.
A genie out of a bottle?--why such a crazy thought?--filtered down
through Mercedes" excited imagination as the Armani-tailored, dapper
concierge began grabbing away at their bags and bundles and passing them
on the three Skycaps efficiently piling them onto their handcarts.
"Hey, not my cameras!"..."Hey, not my cosmetic bag!" the
couple
shouted in unison. And Mercedes' bags went flying through the air to be
safely stowed away, Tom holding his own in a life-and-death struggle
over the cameras in a spirited tug-of-war with two of the baggage
handlers.
But with the presentation of affidavits, letterheads, room keys,
vouchers, hotel stationary, American Express cards and the like the
capable guide assured them everything was perfectly safe, that he just
wanted their immediate and total immersion into the City, straightaway
into the heart of the City. Certainly suitcases and bags could hardly be
acceptable in the fashionable sports bars, designer's salons, exclusive
off-the-street cocktails lounges, coffeehouses (the Mayor always spent
these very hours a the Trieste). So the visitors agreed--except Tom who
grimly held on to his two cameras saying he didn't give a damn if he did
look like a tourist, he was going to keep his cameras himself., like it
or lump it.
Alaska Airlines, Quantas Airways, Virgin Atlantic Airways--plenty of
turned heads at Mercedes' feminine 15 denier seamed nylons--China
Airlines, Air France Airlines, Aeroflot Russian International
Airlines--heads popping out of newspapers at the click-click-click of
the Fetish Gucci Steel heel stilettos...looky there on the left...a
perfect pyramid of East Indians surrounded by their burlap bundles tied
with rope.
"He walks like a banty hen," Tom whispered to Mercedes, who
whispered back, "You know when I first saw him, just when we got in the
passenger area, I thought he looked like a whirling dir----no, we're not
tired, we're a little stiff from those four on the plane."
Yes, the stretch-limo was theirs...naturally, it was black. The
skycaps were piling in the luggage, a respectful but friendly driver in
chauffeur clothes was holding open the door.
"My Gawd, Mercedes, it's got a sauna in it!!"
"Yes, this is the Palm Springs Model and as Mr. Patrono specified
the very best for, well, a celebrated model from the East, and well,
pardon me, (taking a fast but comprehensive examination at Mercedes'
VERY SEXY black patent one-strap sandals) well, I must say, begging your
pardon, I can easily tell, that you are, er..., a ve-ry special model.
And absolutely hypnotized, he just couldn't take his eyes from
Mercedes' bare nylon instep, the pointed toe, the ankle chain (or all
three), in a daze, he closed the door accompanied by an involuntary sad,
plaintive sigh.
"Remember...keep the Romance Alive," whispered Mercedes, relaxing
back in the leather upholstery, at the same time, noticing their
escort's expressive face was beginning to turn backwards towards them.
"Let me introduce myself. I am Giovanni Patrono--my Italian friends
call be 'Giovanni,' but my American friends call me 'Zjohnny.' You may
call me 'Zjohnny,' or 'Mr. Patrono,' whatever your pleasure."
Lounging and pointing out the window..."San Francisco Bay, big regatta
today...Oakland in the distance, also Treasure Island...oh! You can just
catch the east section of the Bay Bridge...Candlestick Park, although
the Giants play there no longer, but the 49's do, but they're supposed
to be getting a new stadium, too...
"Oh, and I forgot to ask you if you wanted to take a sauna. Traffic
gets a little heavy between here and downtown...plenty of time...towels,
curtains, everything all provided...No? don't care to? Well, why, when
the sum is shining so gloriously outside. ..
"...off on Caesar Chavez Boulevard, garment district on your
right...marvelous bargains...time allowing, some afternoon we'll take
Madame down here...shop all day, newest styles, right off Milanese
designers' drawing boards...all for peanuts.
"... new Giants' ball park--PacBell--coming up...no further, beyond
that big, black bridge--in the distance, on your right. Isn't the
traffic horrible? Here's it's not a traffic jam unless there's a
four-hour wait. No joke up there on those windy bridges for four
hours...nothing to do but wait--talk on your cell phone, run out of gas.
And the black, ponderous, pachyderm threaded it's way up 3rd Street
through the bloated, choked traffic past Mosconi Center (all the
convention-dermatologists cavorting on the balconies and terraces), past
the Museum of Modern Art (La Goulue the exotic model in black stockings
kicking high on a Lautrec poster), The Hearst Building (no, that's not
patty there in the entrance) anchoring the center of San Francisco, 3rd
and market. And, into Montgomery Street, home of the three-piece suits,
gray felt hats, black leather shoes, AND big-bucks center for the West
Coast, Silicon Valley, China, Japan, Indonesia, go ahead, your turn to
reel off all those pacific Rim trading venues.
"Oh! I've seen that a million times before!..." screamed Mercedes,
"we just saw it two nights ago on TV, didn't we, "chimed in her
partner.
"It looks just like it does in the movies."
CHINATOWN! Yes, the gates of CHINATOWN, three deadly serious city
drivers each determined to get that 1" of fender space assuring them
access to that center lane, guaranteeing them entrance into Chinatown.
Tourists to right of them, tourists to left of them, tourist in the van,
tourists aft volleyed and thundered away at them, (limo + dark windows=
movie star in SF), front, back, all the while, stone lions gaze on
impassively over the heads of the throngs down Grant Street. And the
City.
" wanta' get out, oh, I wanta' get out!" screamed Mercedes, working
away at the door handle. "Every since I was a little girl I've dreamed
about shopping in Chinatown. Open this door, I just gotta get out! Just
look at that beaded dress--just like the flappers in the'20's--only lots
more beads.
"Open this door, I said!"
"Easy, easy, Mercedes" soothed Tom; "you can't get out when the
car
is moving." (Actually, it was hardly moving at all.) The limo moved in
five-to-ten-foot spurts, each pause, tourists putting cupped hands to
the blue glass, sensing celebrities, wanting to tell the folks back in
Ashtabula they saw a movie star--it was a slow-motion carnival
"We'll be back, don't you worry, Mercedes," assured Giovanni
soothingly, re-assuringly, "we'll be back and we'll get you that very
dress, right off the mannequin, or a better still, a more expensive one.
"Why, the sweat shops of China work night and day just for you,
Mercedes. Silks and satins, sew and embroider, just to stock Chinatown,
Union Street, Saks 5th Avenue with any gown your little heart may
desire. San Francisco wasn't built in a day, you know. Shopping is very
much on the schedule.
"But right now my body, and I'm sure Tom's is, craving sustenance.
It's the Greci, the second-best coffeehouse in San Francisco, in the
United States, I could easily say. It's just up the street, in "North-a
Beech-a," the Italian section, the most irresistible, charming part of
all San Francisco! Can't you just see Joe DiMaggio shagging flies in
that church playground? Francis Coppola with heavy lead pencil slicing
away at the script of The Godfather? Ginsburg sweating out "Howl"?
BROADWAY! "Big Al's"..."Bimbos"..."Barbary
Coast"...brilliant blue
skies, bright California sunlight neutralized the bulbs and neon.
"Now right there's the oldest coffeehouse in North Beach, in San
Francisco, maybe in the United States," pointed Giovanni entirely
ignoring the honky-tonk Broadway Gulch, The Trieste. Poetry composed,
operas written, celebrities congregate. he wagged his finger at the
camera crew occupying the entrance, patrons entering and departing
weaving between cameramen and script girls.
Mercedes and Tom's looked at each other and then at the coffee shop,
the rows of motorcycles, roller bladders, college profs, foreigners,
customers sprawled with their feet on chairs and tables, the mangy dogs,
a string quartet in impeccable tuxedos sawing away at a Schubert
number...
"...but we're patronizing the second-best coffeehouse, "The
Greco",
and here we are."
The stretch-limo eased to an illegal double park in front of a row
of magnolia trees, occupied and empty tables, and a gilt door announcing
"The Greco". Rectangular floor-to-ceiling glass windows slid wide
open,
the patrons inside sitting right over the heads of the outdoor tables
and enthusiastic tourists trudging to and from Fisherman's Wharf...the
parked cars and motorcycles, and the impatient auto traffic on Columbus.
Up two steps, and into a magical room of San Franciscan and
Europeans posters, Giovanni darted a quick right to claim an empty table
right over the shoulders of the street crowds.
Returning. "Mercedes, a distinguished fashion model from the East
Coast," bowed their guide, "Michaeli," nodding towards the
elegant
waiter in black coat and long white apron."
Michaeli bowed, Giovanni continued, "Michaeli is from Ca pri..."
Mercedes leaned slightly forward, "...Ca pri...yes, Ca pri...this is
Tom, a distinguished fashion photographer from...from...Grand
Rapids--Minnesota" and she bowed.
"Two expressos--and a latte--for myself," ordered the escort.
""Hey, just a minute," protested Tom, "don't I get to order
something for myself? I'm starving. i haven't had a thing to eat since
that lousy airplane fare..." But a penetrating blow from Mercedes sharp
shoe tip brought his hand down to his calf and he followed the two to
the table before the open window.
....worse than expected--much worse. michaeli set down two minute
Illi coffee cups, tiny puddles of black mud barely covering the bottom
of the cups.
"How's for some cream?" inquired Tom, congratulating himself on
conceding even to accepting such a vile mixture.
Giovanni reacted by extending each hand over each of the midget
cups. "No foam...in Italia...no foam."
"No foam," parroted Mercedes, "no foam..."
But look at him," said Tom, "he's got three-fourths of a glass of
cream...foam."
"But this is a latte, lots of cream in a latte...that's why it's
latte."
And then the expresso...or the fog working its way through the
Golden Gate...or the secret magic of san Francisco began slowly
filtering itself down through the center of his nervous system. Tom
looked across the table into the eyes of Mercedes...Mercedes dreamily
looked back into the eyes of Tom...Tom's eyes floated and commingled
with Mercedes' expanding irises...Mercedes' eyes replied..."yes,
yes...yes, yes yes..."
Tom, rocketed off the chair like a madman, bolted out the door,
abruptly shoved and pushed aside both tables and bewildered patrons,
creating a mayhem in the parking spaces, kicking aside bikes, scooters,
and adopting his site, began adjusting his camera.
Mercedes, the Valkyrie, the supreme blonde goddess, the
awe-inspiring model, the patroness of garter belts and slips, perfectly
framed in the open window, assumed a divine pose, indolently lounging in
the chair, silken knees, ankles crossed, high heels dangling over the
sill, out of the window, into the street...
"No, up just a little...a little more thigh--about half the welt--no, no
garter, that's too much, no, no slip, straighten just a bit more...sort
of pre-occupied gaze into the street...look right at that sign La Boheme
Hotel to you right..."
And the audience, breathless and entranced, both inside and outside
the Trieste panted and loved it.
"Greta Garbo!..."
"Don't be crazy, Garbo never had legs like that--Marlene
Dietrich!..."
"Look at those delicious pink panties!"
"They're not pink, they're orange!"
"Oh, she's spreading...oh, soo-o wide"
"I told you they were pink..."
"We're talking about the panties not the stockings..."
"Look at that tittie...it's practically bursting its way out of the
bra..."
And the newcomers.
"They're shooting a movie!" "I'll bet that's the star right there
right in the window," "Isn't she gorgeous? Must be a bedroom scene.
Such
exquisite lingerie!" could be heard from all sides of the rapidly
expanding circle.
One of San Francisco's Best, sauntering his beat up Columbus, slowly
approached the expanding crowd, and good-naturedly hassled them.
"Keep out of the lanes...can't block motor traffic, give the
cameraman some room" and took a long, leisurely, appreciative inventory
up and down Mercedes' glistening full-fashioned legs.
So it'll be a long time before North Beach ever again sees such an
esthetic, erotic captivating display of legs, stockings, and
garters--slip, too. The hem ruffle on the DiCaprio silk chiffon dress
nestled, rustled and writhed its way up and down Mercedes' lithe body
inviting visions displaying ample knees, thighs, lacy welts, nylon
chevrons, twinkling snaps and adjusters, but only for and instant, just
time enough to snap that invincible shutter. When at the end, she let on
bare sandal dangle tantalizingingly over the sidewalk--dark seam, heel,
instep and toe--more than a North beach special treat, the whole crowd,
if not totally paralyzed, gazed open-mouthed, awestruck...
...only to rub their eyes and see this proper, demure, charming lady
accompanied by her tourist husband with the tow cameras, sophisticatedly
sipping expressos and looking out and over the crowds at la strata.
"And now, " directed their genial guide at their elbow, "for some
lunch."
"...at an intimate Italian cachania, I hope," said Mercedes.
"...at a Burger king," injected Tom, at the very same instant.
"Neither--let's join the parade of other holiday spirits out taking
their promenade towards Fisherman's Warf.
VICTORIA PASTRY CO.--"Since the gold Rush Days"-- Oldest Restaurant
in San Francisco
The counter-after-counter of delicacies and sweets raised Mercedes'
eyebrows to perfect arches, while the corresponding fire in Tom's eyes
flickered lower and lower.
"It is allowable," whispered Giovanni to Tom,"--the restaurant
part
is in the back."
The trio seated at a small, round marble table, on one side, two old
Italians sipping their expressos, and on the other, two North Beach
housewives enjoying their afternoon coffee.
In between Giovanni was whispering, "calamari?" (Tom, shaking his
head, emphatically "no"), "Caesar's salad?" (no),"pizza," (well,
maybe...nope, no smoked chicken and leeks), "Moose--"That's it!",
a
Mooseburger with moose flown in from Willow AK"--that's for me."
"...zuccotto...chocolate roulade...crushed almond macaroons...Oh!
I've found it, tiramisu!...that's for me. Oh, dear! What a dessert
menu..."All baked this very day" it says right here."
Then Mercedes sat back in her chair, pulled back her hair, and
looking around, was met by the warmest of smiles from the Italian ladies
at the next table.
"Yes, and we got here only three hours ago. We're from Minnesota,
Grand Rapids. Already we've lost our hearts in San Francisco."
"Minnesota! You must be Norwegian. Oh, isn't it too bad Mrs.
Swanson isn't here. She usually is. We call her the only Norski in North
Beach. When we sing O Solo Mia she breaks into "My name is Yon Yonson/ I
come from Visconsin"/ you see she's really not from Wisconsin, she's
from...let's see Yankton, South Dakota.'
"Well, we're not from Wisconsin either and we're not
Norwegian, either, we're Swedish, or a least our ancestors were. But
we're just in love with San Francisco--Northern Beach, too. Isn't that
where we are?"
"Oh, wouldn't I just love to get to Minnesota...things do happen in
Minnesota--like real snow. Riverboat rides down the Mississippi, skiing
down those mountains, going to town by dogsled. Here it's nothing but
traffic, fire sirens, and rude tourists--present company excepted, of
course.'
"We love the Mississippi, too, in fact, we live right on it. But
snow, well after shoveling or snow blowing out your drove day after day,
well, this gorgeous view of the Bay you have sounds more than inviting.
"Pss-t," whispered Giovanni, "I'll go get the car. Meet you in
front
of the Greco...don't take too long. Big events this evening a Nob Hill.
See ya'."
After Tom found out how to cut napoleons, drink expresso properly
(very, very slowly) and the subtle differences between cappuccino and
caffe latte, Mercedes and Tom got up from their table. Then inviting the
two ladies to visit them in Grand Rapids and promising them bobsled
rides (which the second lady confused with dogsled rides), the couple
took one fond look at the Victoria pastry Company and started for the
door.
"Oh, I could never stand to have those poor little puppies pulling
me, and besides we'll never get to Wisconsin, we don't ever get over to
Berkeley."
"And do say hello to all you relatives in Minnesota and tell them to
stop in a the Victoria if they ever get to San Francisco. And what did
you two say your business was?"
"We didn't," said Tom, "but Mercedes' a fashion model and I'm a
fashion photographer. Ta-ta."
"...a fashion model...indeed! Didn't I say I saw her someplace
before--on the cover of Vogue, and he's..." and their voices died out as
Mercedes and Tom stepped out on to Vallejo Street.
"Right or left?" asked Mercedes wiggling her finger from side to
side.
"Right. look. You can see the front of the limo right over
there...or you could just before that delivery truck drove up and cut
off our view."
CALIFORNIA SHELL FISH
MOSS BEACH CAL
Down Vallejo, another breath-taking view of the Bay, left on
Columbus, through the parked cars, around CALIFORNIA SHELL FISH,
and...and...
"...you Tom and Mercedes?" a crude, carelessly dressed cabby leaned
against the fender of a battered cab, a cigarette dangling from his
mouth, a grimy piece of paper folded in his fingers.
Mercedes and Tom looked at each other's faces, then at the dirty
cabby, then back at each other. Not a sign of the Continental.
"Well, no, we're Tom and Mercedes, but we're looking..."
"O.K .OK., don't want your life history. Gotta chit here to take a
T.& M. to the Holiday Inn on Mission...get in..."
"now, just a minute...we're supposed to be going to the Mark
Hopkins--in a limo (tom was checking the paper in his pocket) and we had
a..."
"Sure, sure everybody in San Francisco charters limos and goes to
the mark. but my chit right says right here Inn on Mission, and that's
where you're goin'."
"That's where we're not going," cut in Tom. "You're taking us to
the
mark Hopkins on...let me see, here," fumbling again with his paper,
"California Street."
"With me you're goin' to Mission or you aint goin' at all..."
Again Tom and Mercedes looked at each other.
"Wait a minute, can't you take us to the Mark Hopkins?...we'll pay
any extra fare."
"I tol' ya' and I tol' ya I'm takin' you to the Holiday Inn or
nowhere. Can't ya' understand English?"
"Alright," muttered Mercedes, "how do we get another cab?"
"Lady, I tol' ya, I'm a cab driver not a dispatcher...get your cab
like everyone does, off the street...look, this is costin' me time,
gabbin' wit' you..."
"Off the street?" puzzled Tom. "Off the street?" echoed
Mercedes.
The cabman was opening the driver's door....
"Just a minute, just a minute," hailed Tom, "we'll go to the
Holiday
Inn." And then nodding to Mercedes, "we can always call for a cab from
there."
"Get in." And as he pulled down the meter lever, he turned his head
slightly, "you're within walkin' distance of the Soni
Metreon--twenty-eight movies under one roof."
Straight on Columbus..."...look at that big pyramid!"
Right on Vallejo..."there's the Victoria.'
Left into Stockton....L G S ...
"Tom...look! look! Carved right into the rock..." gasped Mercedes.
"... deep into solid rock..."
Wonder of wonders. The cabdriver, his features contorted and
twisted, was beginning to change...an old leather helmet with goggles
was replacing his cabby's cap his head leaned forward, his jaw projected
out, his foot was bearing down on the gas pedal, the circular
temperature gauge on the radiator cap was directed right at LGS, right
at the solid rock of Nob Hill.
"He's a demon!" shrieked Mercedes.
"He's Barney Oldfield", echoed Tom.
The San Francisco annals of folklore and myth are rife with the
final accounts of the ultimate fate of this nationally known model and
her talented photographer. In the interest of brevity I shall limit my
account to three, all three, thoroughly investigated and documented.
The morning edition of The San Francisco Chronicle lead pic (and
article) show Mercedes receiving a two-dozen red rose bouquet from the
Manager of the mark Hopkins, a smiling Mayor Willie Brown standing at
her side. In the background are her photographer, Tom, and a nattily
dressed concierge directing a host of underlings handling mountains of
luggage. A faithful perusing of following Chronicles disclose not a
single item of this popular model, nor is there a single line about a
taxi accident at the northern entrance to the Stockton Tunnel. A search
of Cab Company records reveal no cab involved in a collision at the
Stockton Tunnel.
A second account traces its authenticity to The Bay Area Guardian
Whose story, complete with picture, testify to Mercedes, Steven
Spielberg, and George Lucas in a private salon off the lobby of the
Ritz-Carlton accompanied by a phalanx of attorneys signing papers for
the star-to-be's first Hollywood picture. Another Marilyn Monroe they're
saying.. True only Spielberg's right elbow can be seen and Lucas's
profile is blocked our by a Martini shaker, and the picture in general
is blurred and grainy. As the mark Hopkins account, no follow-up
appeared in the Guardian or the Chronicle.
That day a seething mass of Asian grocery shoppers, plus the
written testimony of the proprietors and clerks of the Billy Hop Sun
Celestial Emporium all attest to a massive shifting of the stone base of
Nob Hill (many thought it was an earthquake, at least 5.5 or more on the
Richter Scale) that fateful afternoon. The Report was concise: a taxicab
starting to enter the northern end of the Stockton Tunnel just at the
start of the rumble, swerved to the left to avoid the cascading rocks
suddenly confronting the opening of a large cave. No choice. The cab
spurted into the opening, which, miraculously closed as speedily as it
had opened.
And at the very same second, passengers on the southern end of
the Tunnel, waiting for the 45 Muni bus, were blinded and deafened by a
highly polished aluminum rocket hissing and sputtering its way south,
made two graceful loops over Union Square, headed south to the Airport
where at a reputed ten thousand feet or so, veered left and rapidly
gaining altitude over the arriving and departing aircraft, set a swift
east by northeast course.
The sky was shower of silver the wind was in the trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
The stars wove a halo of magic...
...and still on a winter's night they say...
a jaded sherry drinker at the Top of the Mark idly rubs the back
of his hand against the cold window to peer out over the lights of San
Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, and through the churning fog......a
lone, pre-occupied walker on the beach of lake Pokegama stares up
through the clear night air, up past the very stars, and they both
see...they both see...slipping its way out of the very clearest and
bluest spaces of the Milky Way...steadily flickering...
LGS M & T ... LGS M & T ... LGs...M&t...Lgs..m&t...lgs.....
JENNY by DAVE
While driving home the other evening, just about sunset I passed a car along side the road with it’s hood raised. Normally I pass right past something like this and hardly notice, but this time was different. It was on a rural road so there wasn’t any traffic, and I wasn’t flying low at 70 miles per hour either. As I approached the car I saw a young lady step from the front of the car where she had been hidden by the raised hood. She appeared to be a lovely young woman, mid 20’s maybe, dressed in what looked like a business suit less the jacket. She had on a light colored blouse, dark skirt, hose and heels. What hit me most about this scene wasn’t the damsel in distress, but the memories it caused to come crashing back into my mind. They (whoever “they” are) always say you never forget your first time, well, “they” were right.
I was a young, brash, inexperienced teen, driving my 1974 Chevy Nova late one summer afternoon. My parents lived on a farm, so I really didn’t know the neighbors other than to recognize them to say “hey”. I was a senior at the time, had a fast car, no cares in the world, and ready to conquer it all. Funny how I remember it like it was yesterday. I was speeding down county road 3 when I saw a car half blocking the narrow road, tail lights flashing, hood up. To see another car on the road to my house was rare, so to see one broken down was even more odd. As I got closer to the car I downshifted to slow… and as any teenage boy knows, to announce my arrival on the scene. I didn’t recognize the car, and at first I didn’t see anyone around. With another downshift I began to pull over and in behind the mid sized blue car, a Ford of some kind if I remember correctly. I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt as I opened the door and got out. Just as I took my first step toward the front of the car in front of me I saw her for the first time. Jenny’s head looked around the side of the lifted hood. My first glance at her was her long blonde hair, her big green eyes, and a look of utter frustration on her face. Even in that scenario she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and that was all from just her face. Her eyes, that first sight of her burned a lasting image in my mind, and heart, that still causes me to smile when I think of it. I didn’t recognize this stranger stranded along the road, but I knew I sure was going to do my damnedest to impress her. “Car trouble” I asked as I walked closer. Still a stranger to me, Jenny took a step back from the car, a small stream of sweat running down the side of her face, a look on her face that caused me to think she was close to tears. She was older than I was, mid to late 20’s I guessed. As I reached the front of the car where she was standing I got my first full look at the most beautiful woman I had even seen in my life. “I don’t know what is wrong” Jenny said in a sweet voice, one of desperation and frustration, “I was driving along, then it just stopped with no warning”. I wasn’t looking at the car, but at her deep green eyes. Her hair was still styled, even though it was a bit messed from her frustration and from the heat of the dead engine. Her eyes seemed to look deep inside me, I suddenly felt like she was reading my every thought, which caused me to blush a bit as my thoughts were definitely NOT about the car at that point.
Jenny was tall, probably an inch or two taller than I was. She was wearing a bluish purple blouse, long sleeved yet light weight and sheer. I could see her bra through the blouse as the late afternoon sun backlit the thin shinny material of the elegant top. She also had on a black skirt, not the mini’s of today, but it didn’t go all the way to her knees either. Her black high heel shoes were polished to a high gloss and her long shapely legs were covered by stockings. At first I wasn’t aware of what stockings even were, nor that she was wearing them. Back then pantyhose were the only thing I knew, and that was only because it was what my mother and sisters wore. I knew I loved the way a girls’ legs looked in them, but they always seemed very impractical for what was always on my mind. And it wasn’t for a little while longer until I realized that Jenny wasn’t wearing pantyhose, and I received my first look at a pair of stockings. Thinking back on the whole situation, I must have made Jenny very uncomfortable at first, standing there gawking at her like someone that came across an alien from outer space. “Do you think you can fix it?” Jenny finally asked, causing me to blush more at the time, awakening me from my trance. I remember looking back into her eyes, trying to find the words to speak, feeling myself getting aroused, feeling awkward and naïve. Finally I was able to answer her and I moved toward the car. At first the engine looked foreign to me, not it it’s manufacturing, but because I couldn’t get the vision of those long legs out of my head. I had to study the engine for a moment to get my mind back on the task at hand and figure out what might have caused her car to stop, I had to figure it out so that I could look like her hero, her rescuer. I remember thinking to myself, “maybe I’ll even get a kiss out of this”, looking back at it now, boy was I naïve.
As I stood at the side of the car, bent over the fender looking around for the problem, Jenny walked around to the other side of the car and similarly bent over the opposite side. As my eyes slowly moved across the engine to take another look at her, hoping not to be caught, I realized that I now had a view down the front of her silky blouse. Since my first impression of Jenny was her eyes and long legs, I had not really appreciated her huge breasts. But now, as she bent over the fender on the other side of the car, her low cut blouse dangling down, her large round breasts hanging there over the edge of the fender I could see just how wonderful they were. As the excitement between my legs grew I pressed harder against the car, trying desperately to conceal the now large bulge in my jeans. I so wanted to reach out and touch just one of her breasts. Her flesh was so creamy looking, so soft, so warm, so touchable. I could see almost her entire breast as she leaned over the car, only her black bra covered her nipples, and I could see the darkness of that just begin where the bra began to hide them. I forced myself to continue my search for Jenny’s problem, and hopefully not get caught staring down her blouse. I began to feel around, poking at wires and hoses trying to find just what caused the engine to stop. I wasn’t a mechanic or anything, but I did know my way around a motor a little. Soon I saw what I thought was the problem. The wire to the center of the distributor cap had apparently fallen off. I pressed the rubber boot on the end of the wire back securely in place, wiped my hands on my jeans, stole one last glance down Jenny’s blouse, then stood up. “Want to give it a try?” I asked, confident that I had solved her problem. Jenny smiled and walked back around the car to where I was standing, and stopped. “Can you show me what you found so that if it happens again I can fix it myself?” she said in her sweet voice. Jenny then bent over the fender on my side of the car, just in front of me. I suddenly got a smell of her flowery perfume. A light breeze brought it to my nose, sending my already aroused body even higher, causing my pants to bulge even more. It was then that I got my first look at stockings, and learned just how erotic and beautiful they are. As I looked at Jenny leaning over the car, my eyes traveled from her long blonde hair falling around her head as she stood over the engine, down her back, over her slender, round ass, and down those long lovely legs. To this day I still remember that pose, how the high heels made her legs look, how one leg was straight, the other slightly bent at the knee, the black skirt pulled up the back of her legs, the tops of her stockings just barely visible to my view. No artist could ever capture the beauty of that classic pose on canvas, for it wasn’t just the view, it was the heat, the aroma of her perfume, the presence of her being right there next to me that added to the beauty of Jenny. I stood there in awe of those dark stockings on her gorgeous legs. I noticed the seam running up the back, how straight it was, almost like it was an arrow leading my gaze from her slender ankles up the curves of her leg to her firm ass. I wanted to touch them, kiss them, feel them. I was a teenage boy and when my mind wasn’t on food or cars, it was on girls. Like I said, I was inexperienced then, but I knew about sex, and right then I wanted it worse than I had ever in my life. Looking at Jenny’s legs, seeing the tops of those wonderful stockings, fantasizing about what lay just past my view under her black skirt all made my body ache for her. I don’t know how my jeans contained me I was so hard. “Are you going to show me or not?” Jenny asked, looking back at me from under the hood. I think my face must have turned 10 shades of red as I looked at her eyes looking into mine. I knew she could read me like a cheap trashy novel. I knew she could read my thoughts, knew what I was fantasizing about, knew that I was erect, and knew that I was a virgin. I stuttered and stammered, quickly moving around behind Jenny and to the front of the car. With one last glance at her long legs, one last look at my discovery of stockings, I proceeded to show Jenny the distributor cap and the wire that had come off. “You might want to get it replaced” I told her, trying to sound like an expert, “it fit kind of loose, so a new one would probably not jiggle off again”.
I closed the hood of Jenny’s car, figuring my encounter with this goddess was just about over. I walked around to the side of the car and opened the door, figuring Jenny would get in and drive away forever. “Are you in a hurry?” Jenny asked, using her hand to close the door I had just opened. She was facing away from the car, leaning back against the fender, the light summer breeze barely moving her long blonde hair. Jenny lifted one foot from the ground and placed her high heel against the side of the car. Her hands were resting on each side of her body, holding onto the fender. Her eyes were locked one mine, her lips were smiling, my heart was pounding. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come by” Jenny said, “there hasn’t been a car come by for a long long time”. She continued telling me how she had already been stuck there almost an hour before I arrived, and she pointed out that nobody had driven by since. I told her that this road wasn’t used much, and I wondered why she was even there. We talked for a while. I found out she was lost and trying to get to town to spend the night on her trip to Chicago. The sun was just starting to set over the horizon, the sky was becoming bright with shades of orange, red and purple. I was still as hard and erect as I had been when I first started looking at Jenny’s legs as she bent over the car. She was quite the flirt, spilling innuendo after innuendo into our conversation. As we talked, I noticed Jenny’s eyes start to move down my body. I remember feeling like I was naked, helpless to hide the huge lump between my legs as she moved her eyes down my chest. I wanted to turn, to cover myself, but I knew there was no escape. Jenny paused as she checked out my jeans, then her eyes came back to mine. She was smiling, much more than before. There was a look in her eyes that told me I was about to learn more about the world than I had ever known.
Jenny stepped away from the car, and took a step toward me. “You know I owe you for saving me like this” Jenny said with a coy smile on her lips. I told her that it was my pleasure, that she owed me nothing, yet in my heart I wanted her more than I wanted anything in life. Jenny took another step toward me, sending me backing into the side of the car, almost pinning me there with an invisible force. “I insist” Jenny said, “you deserve something for all your work”. I felt Jenny’s hand touch mine, and her other hand touch my face. Her eyes were like fiery torches cutting through me as she leaned in to kiss me. Now I had kissed girls before, but never a woman, and NEVER like this. I thought I was going to fall to the ground in a limp pile of goo as my body seemed helpless to her control. Her fingers moved through my hair as she pressed her lips hard into mine. Her tongue slowly began to tease my lips, to coax my tongue to hers. With her other hand she led my fingers to her leg. When I felt the silky warmth of her stocking to my touch I felt my manhood pound and pulse uncontrollably. I felt Jenny pressing her body against mine, and I knew she could feel my throbbing, and she pressed harder. My hand began to slide up her leg, savoring the feel of her stocking and her flesh. When I reached the top of the silky garment my hand stopped, but only until Jenny urged it further with her own hand. The feel of her bare thigh to my hand was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. I felt Jenny begin to slide her leg along mine, the soft stocking sliding upward over my jeans. I let out a whimper, like a baby I thought, but I was helpless to stop it. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment except for the feel of Jenny kissing me, pressing against me, pulling my hand to her ass. I felt her large breasts pressing against my chest, and I wished we were both naked and entwined together.
Jenny softly pulled her lips from mine and looked deep into my eyes. The golden glow of the late afternoon sky behind Jenny’s beautiful blonde hair made her look like an angel. Pausing slightly, as if searching for the right words, Jenny touched my face with her hand. “There is a barn over there, think anyone would mind if we checked it out?” Jenny said in a soft, comforting, inviting voice. Her eyes sparkled, her lips smiled. My hand slid down from her ass, down her thigh, over those magic stockings. I turned my head, looking over my shoulder toward the abandon barn, then back at Jenny. No words were exchanged, but we communicated with our eyes. Jenny took my hand in hers, we walked eagerly toward the old gray barn, through the pasture that separated us from that wonderful place where Jenny shared the most special afternoon and evening of my life. I remember that last kiss next to her car on that old country road, evening had set in, the moon was shining brightly on us. I watched the round red tail lights disappear into the distance as Jenny left that night, left my life, but not my heart. Jenny had made me a man, fate had made me the luckiest man. As I got into my car to drive home, I felt something in my pocket pressing against my hip. I forced my hand into the tight pocket of my jeans and pulled out a wadded ball of something. It was dark, so I turned on the interior light of that old Nova. I immediately recognized the aroma of Jenny’s perfume as I fumbled with the wad to see what it was. In the pale light inside the car I found that Jenny had placed her stockings in my pocket before she had handed me my jeans back in the barn. And to this day, all these years later, I still have those stockings tucked away in a box of special memories of my life. I wonder what Jenny is doing right now?
JUNE"S WINNER
Tom's Birthday Present by Dave
The sun was shining through the trees, drying the morning dew from the ground. It was Tom’s birthday and I wanted to do something extra special for him today. I knew he wasn’t going to be home until abut noon, so I had time to plan just how to surprise him. I made a phone call or two, took a shower and got dressed, then waited. When I heard his car pulling in the driveway I walked out the back door and waited for him to pull around the corner. As he did, I posed myself on the porch, leaning against the post, raising one leg a bit, knee bent just enough to force my jean skirt up my leg. I saw a smile on his face as he stopped the car, and I knew he would continue smiling once I started giving him his presents.
I had dressed special for him for his birthday. I put on some stockings, heels, my jean skirt and a white blouse, one that was short enough to show off my stomach and get his imagination running wild. I purposely left off my bra, figuring that since we were alone, and what I had planned, he would get maximum enjoyment if there was no bra to contend with. As he exited the car, I smiled and slowly walked down the couple of steps to meet him. “Wow, you look marvelous” Tom said as he put his arms around my waist. I put my arms around his neck and smiled as I looked deep into his eyes. I could see his delight and anticipation as I greeted him with a cheerful “Happy Birthday Honey!”, and followed it with a big kiss. I had planned on just a “regular” kiss, not something overly passionate or seductive, but once our lips met I felt a charge pass between us, and the quick birthday kiss turned into a long, slow, loving kiss. I felt Tom pull me closer to him, I felt his chest pressing against my breasts as we continued kissing. Somehow this innocent birthday kiss turned into something more, and I was suddenly aware with all my senses of how turned on I was getting. Something in my head was telling myself to let myself go while another voice was telling me to “slow down girl, you’ve got all day!”. I broke off the kiss before I got to that point of no return. As I pulled my lips from his, I looked into his eyes and saw he was about the same point I was, wanting to go further, but able to control his desires. “Happy Birthday dear” I said with a more seductive voice, as I kissed my finger, placed it on Tom’s lips, and slowly slid it down his chin, neck and chest.
Tom stood there for a moment looking into my eyes, then he looked at my body. With a smile he asked, “what’s with the skirt and heels?, Where are you going?”. I had to grin a bit as he questioned me, wondering why I was dressed like I was. I let him go on for a little bit, not quite addressing his questions, letting the suspense build a little. Finally I looked over his shoulder and said, “Babe, your car is dirty, I think it needs washed”. Tom looked over his shoulder at his red Camaro, then back at me with puzzlement in his eyes. His car wasn’t dirty, not dirty enough to really need washed anyway. “Tom, how can I treat you to dinner tonight and be expected to go in a dirty car?” I asked as he looked back at me. He started to say something, but I put my finger on his lips stopping him from talking. “You sit down here on the porch honey” I said, handing him a glass of tea, “I’ll wash your car for you”. Then I gave him the most seductive smile I could as I turned him around, led him up the step to the porch and to one of the chairs located there. By this time, Tom had a big smile on his face. I turned, blew him a kiss over my shoulder and walked down the steps and to the garage. I returned dragging the hose behind me and carrying a bucket with car wash supplies in it.
As I started, I teasingly sprayed the hose toward Tom and told him to wake up. “Mercedes, I’m awake, believe me, I’m WIDE awake!” he said. I filled the bucket with water, and the suds from the soap started to spill over the top. I then turned the hose on the car, making sure I got the whole thing wet. I sprayed the car with a high powered stream from the hose, sending water splashing off the red exterior to everything around, including me. Now you understand why earlier I didn’t wear a bra. I was glad Tom’s car didn’t really need washed, because I really wanted to more tease and seduce him rather than really wash his car. And I didn’t want him to come back when I was done and have to do it over for all the places I missed. Heck, it was his birthday, I didn’t want to cause more work for him. Anyway, I pulled the soaked, soapy sponge from the bucket of cool water. Suds from the sponge ran down my arm as I moved it from the bucket to the top of the car. As I started to wash, my back toward Tom, I made sure I had to stretch and reach so that one leg came off the ground and the tops of my stockings began to show. I knew Tom was aware I was wearing them, but I didn’t want to leave anything out of my little private show for him. Also, as I stretched and reached over the top of the car, I felt my breasts pressing against the wet driver side window. “Perfect” I thought to myself…”a little water on the blouse, just enough to provide a little cling to my blouse, Tom will love it”. I turned and bent over, facing Tom as I put the sponge back in the bucket and picked up the hose. Again, the spray of water went everywhere as I rinsed the soap from the top. By this time my hair was getting a little wet, my stockings were wet, my blouse was wet, and my skirt was wet. As I reached to pick up the sponge again, I noticed how my stockings felt on my legs. My garters pulled hard at the now heavier, wetter nylons which were clinging to my skin. I felt the stockings sliding and pulling on my leg, giving me a gentle massage as I moved. The slippery silky feel on my legs was so erotic, I was really starting to get into this present for Tom.
Next I moved to the hood and fender of the car. I made sure I didn’t kneel down to reach the bottom, I bent over at the waist so my short blue skirt would pull further up my long legs, up higher than before, up to where the bare flesh of my thighs would be exposed to my birthday boy. I couldn’t see or hear Tom, but I knew that he was enjoying every minute of his private show. As I washed the hood of the car, I started closest to me, getting lots of soapy suds on the car, then gradually worked my way across so that I had to again lift one leg and lean far over. I let my breasts press against the wet hood. The water was cool on my blouse and skin. I felt Tom’s eyes on me, I felt his desires building even though I couldn’t see him. As I stood back up I looked back over my shoulder, and smiled. Tom was on the edge of his chair by now, anxiously watching my every move. I began to turn slowly, holding my arm so to slightly cover my now transparent blouse, hiding my exposed breasts so that Tom couldn’t quite see. I gave him a little innocent country girl grin as I knelt down and retrieved my sponge from the bucket. I moved to the other side of the hood, walking slowly around the front of the car, making sure I shook my tush for him as I did. I moved my arms down, exposing myself to Tom as I began to wash the other side. I knelt down to wash the fender, almost hiding myself from his view. As I stood, I again let my large round breasts slide through the wet soapy water on the car. I began to wash the hood, now facing Tom. I bent over so the weight of my breasts, hanging free, pulled my blouse away from my neck and provided Tom a view down my front. As I pulled the sponge over the hood with long wide sweeping motions, I felt my breasts sway back and forth. The sensation of the wet blouse caressing my wet, cool nipples caused them to swell and grow, a detail that I was sure did not escape Tom’s eyes. As I stood, I looked down my front and saw soap suds all over my blouse. I looked up at Tom again, who was now standing. I threw the sponge over the car and into the bucket. Smiling, I used my hand to slowly slide down my blouse, over my breasts and stomach, wiping the suds from my front. Since my hands were wet, and my body was drenched, this not only wiped away the excess bubbles, but worked the soap into my blouse and made it cling tightly to my soft, tan skin.
The sun was now shining warmly on me as I sprayed the soap from the car. I continued washing, teasing, playing. I could see that Tom was enjoying his present immensely as he stood on the porch watching me wash his car. When I “finished” (no, his car wasn’t completely washed), I again used my hands to wipe the soap suds from my body. I made sure they were everywhere, my hair, my arms, my breasts, my legs. I almost laughed as I thought of what I must look like standing there, wet and soapy. I figured that anyone walking up at that time would think I looked like a wet rat, but I knew Tom was thinking something entirely different, and I was glad. I picked up the towel and began the end of the show for Tom. I dried off the car, reaching, stretching, bending, all in the most seductive manner possible. By the time I was done with the car, I was more aroused than I had anticipated. I walked up the steps toward Tom. He offered me a drink of his cold tea. As I took a long cool drink I felt his eyes on me. I felt his hand touch my arm, and his hand take mine. I was charged with excitement, yearning, desire. But I had to resist. Not because I didn’t want to drop to the wooden floor of the porch and show Tom how much he meant to me, but because of the reservations I had made. I lowered the glass to the table, and took Tom in my arms. My wet breasts pressed against his chest, my wet skirt against his hips as I moved close to him. He leaned in to kiss me, but I stopped him. “I’ve got more planned for your birthday, if you think you’re up to it that is” I said with a sly smile on my lips. I moved back and told Tom to sit tight, that I would be back shortly. “I have to go change before we leave” I told him, then winked and disappeared into the house. I don’t know if I actually heard a moan from him, or it was my own senses moaning because they so desperately wanted more, but I hurried into the house anyway. I had already laid out my clothes for our tip to town, but I had to dry my hair and put on some makeup also. I hurried so as not to leave Tom unattended too long. Heck, I spent all that time warming him up, I didn’t want him to cool down too much.
When I returned I still had on the wet clothes that I had on to wash the car. My hair was dry and my makeup was in place, but I hadn’t changed clothes. As I started to I realized that I could again provide Tom with a little show, so I picked up everything and went back outside. Tom made some remark about me being wet and all, but I smiled and told him not to worry, and I showed him my dry clothes. As I stood there beside his car, I began to strip for him. I removed my shoes, slowly unbuckling them and sliding them off my set stockings. I unhooked my garters from my clinging stockings, then slowly rolled the wonderful feeling material down my legs. Next I reached around and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the ground. As I leaned back on the car, I began to pull on my black stockings, slowly, seductively, patiently. My hands slid along my silky smooth skin, straightening and adjusting each stocking as I went. I put on my other dry shoes, some high strappy heels. After turning and looking at my legs, making sure everything was in the right place, actually giving Tom a little more of a show, I stepped into my short black skirt. It was soft and light, and the feel of it brushing along my legs, over my silk stockings was heaven. God, I was so turned on, my car washing, my stripping, my exhibitionism, the wonderful feeling of the stockings on my legs. I wanted to just run up the steps and take Tom right then, but I fought the urge. I took off my wet blouse next. There was a light summer breeze blowing, and the rush across the bare flesh of my breasts was exhilarating and exciting. I don’t know how long I stood there with breasts open to the kiss of the wind, but I enjoyed every moment. I pulled on a gold top, one that was so soft and sheer, so whimsical and shinny. The feel of the airy light blouse on my bare soft skin almost made me moan with pleasure. As I finished buttoning the last button, Tom was coming down from the porch toward me, passion and desire in his eyes. I leaned back against his car, slid my ass up on the hood and leaned back against the windshield. My hands caressed my body. My long fingernails slid slowly up the black stockings on my legs. When they reached the tops of my stockings, touching my tender bare flesh pressing out the tops I felt a shiver run through my body. Tom had stopped, near the car, but away far enough to enjoy the sight of me posed on his hood. I let my hands continue up my body, over my stomach and breasts, up my neck and through my hair. I was aware that my blouse was caressing my smooth skin, and that my nipples again were pressing the golden weave of my blouse into small mounds atop my breasts. I looked at Tom, and he was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on me. I reached out one hand toward him, and like a man in a hypnotic state he walked toward me. I could see his excitement through his Dockers, and in his eyes. As he touched my hand I pulled him close, and we kissed. The feel of his body pressing against mine as I laid on the hood of the Camaro was more than either of us could take. It was at that moment I knew the afternoon plans had changed. No longer would we be driving anywhere. No longer would I be taking him out for his birthday. No, instead Tom was taking me for his birthday, and I let him, willingly.
A Rainy Day Surprise
It was a warm, rainy spring day. I had to drive into the city for a hastily called meeting. On the way in, I was driving behind a bus, which was also headed for the city. It had just pulled away from the bus stop when I noticed a woman running to flag it down. The driver was already running late because of the rain that had begun to come down very hard and steady now. I guess he didn’t want to wait for another passenger who would slow him down. Her oversized portfolio briefcase had slowed her down in addition to the spike heels she was wearing. She was upset at having just missed the bus. It would be an umbrella-less twenty minutes until the next one.
I stopped and asked if I could offer a ride. She reluctantly accepted, not sure if she could fit her large portfolio into my car. She said her name was Eileen. She was late for an interview. The portfolio briefcase contained pictures of her modeling career. When I looked at how her stretch lycra leopard print mini dress clung to every curve of her shapely body, I wasn’t surprised to learn she was a model. Sheer black hose that seemed to shine accented her long, muscular legs. They were wet from the rain she had just run through. Her dress was so tight I could tell she was wearing a garter belt. I also noticed she wasn’t wearing a brassiere. Her firm breasts didn’t need one. She must have gotten a little cold from being out in the rain. Her nipples were excited and trying to push through the thin leopard print of her wet dress.
As the conversation went on, Eileen told me how she was running late all morning. She revealed to me that she didn’t have time to put on all of her underwear. She planned to do that in the bus! Eileen asked if I would mind if she put on her bra and panties while I was driving. With all the calmness I could muster (on top of my heart beating so fast) I casually told her to go right ahead. She took out a skimpy little black brassiere. It was a sheer lace over satin design that was so pretty it was unfortunate it would be covered by her dress. In a flash she had pulled the top of her dress down to expose her firm tits. She put on her brassiere and hooked it in the front. It was so small her nipples didn’t fit inside the satin and lace cups. They peeked out over the top of the lace. After she pulled her dress up, her hard nipples were still very obvious from underneath the leopard print of her tight dress. She asked if I thought this looked all right. I said I thought it looked great, especially if her interview was with a man. I wasn’t sure why her nipples were still erect. Was she still cold, or was she excited? I would find out in a minute.
She pulled out a pair of purple panties from her purse. As she reached down to put them on, the hemline of her dress slid up almost to her waist. I noticed a wet spot on the leather of the car seat. This wetness wasn’t from the rain. It was excited wetness from Eileen. She seemed to delight in exposing herself. After she pulled up her panties, she wanted to have them underneath her garter belt. One by one she had to unhook each garter and slide the panties underneath. I almost hit the car in front of me while I was watching Eileen instead of the road. When she finished all four garters she pulled her dress down. She tugged on the hemline but just couldn’t cover the lace of her stocking tops. She sat there for the rest of the ride with her stocking tops and garters exposed. She moved around in her seat so much, her dress slid even higher so I could see the ribbon of skin above her stocking tops. It was a view I enjoyed having and one I didn’t want to end. As we got closer to our destination, Eileen asked me if she could buy me lunch after her interview and my meeting were over. She wanted to repay me for giving her a ride. I didn’t know if I could eat anything being in the company of such a seductive woman. I accepted the invitation. She was glad and said I would really enjoy dessert back in her apartment!
JO by Dave
Josephine Lynn Bailey, that was her name. Lynn to her friends, Jo to me. She lived in my building for many years, and we became close friends. She was about my age, attractive, vibrant, and about the best friend I ever had, male or female. What brought us together was our love for dogs, Chocolate Labs to be exact. Jo’s pride and joy was named Coco, and mine Hershey. We met in the park across the street from our building. We were both walking our dogs and were naturally drawn together by the similarities of our canine friends. Daily walks for our puppies soon turned into long talks, planned meetings, and just two ordinary people becoming close friends. There were many times where we would watch each other’s pets, console each other on failed relationships, and just be there to listen when the other had a bad day. Jo and I were close, there was no doubt about that, but we had never been romantically involved with each other. That is, until that one autumn after she moved away.
Jo moved, not by choice, but by necessity. She had the smallest apartment in the building, and the landlord decided he would rather expand the apartment next to her to include her space. Her choice was to pay three times the rent, or move when her lease was up, so she moved. It was only a few blocks away, but at times it felt like miles, hundreds of miles. Gone were the unexpected knocks on the door to watch Coco for her, or the cozy chats on the steps on a warm summer night. We remained friends, close friends, but it just wasn’t quite the same. We still would meet in the park, which now was between our two buildings, to walk Coco and Hershey. We still talked, more on the phone now than face to face. I found myself looking forward to the after work walks just so I could see Jo’s big brown eyes, her long dark hair, her glowing smile, and so I could hear her sweet voice. There was just something about Jo that made you feel good deep inside. Little did I know just what would happen to us that late autumn afternoon, and how it would change our lives forever.
It had rained earlier that day. There were red, gold, brown, and yellow leaves covering the ground like a patchwork rug. A light breeze was blowing more leaves from the trees, which were still full of life and color. The ground wasn’t wet, but there were puddles and spots in the shade where the morning’s rain still remained. I had hurried home to get Hershey and get to the park so that Jo and I could spend as much time together as possible. With the daylight fading faster in the fall, and the darkness creeping in earlier, our time together seemed all to short. Right on queue, Jo and Coco came walking down the path. To this day that vision is burned in my mind. Her long dark hair was being slightly blown by the breeze as leaves fell around her. Her smile was huge, bright, ear-to-ear. She was wearing a blue button up blouse, royal blue I think is the right term for the exact color. Her skirt was dark, a charcoal gray, almost black. She had on heels and hose. It wasn’t a cool evening, so she wasn’t wearing a coat or sweater, just the clothes she had worn to work. When she saw me she let Coco loose. The beautiful brown dog bound toward Hershey and I in a playful, youthful way. The dogs sniffed, barked, played together as Jo approached me. I could tell she was happy about something, but I didn’t have a clue as to what. “You’ll never guess, never” Jo blurted out as she almost skipped toward me, taking my hands as she got close. “I got a promotion!” she shouted out with glee. Her brown eyes were ablaze with excitement, her smile was sparkling brighter than the late afternoon sun, she was full of energy and joy. I couldn’t help but to smile, then laugh with her as she danced around. Hershey and Coco were almost dancing too. They were wrestling around, rolling over each other as they played in the leaves. I told Jo that this deserved a celebration, and I asked if I could buy her dinner or something to congratulate her on her great news. “You had better” she replied with a huge grin on her face, “I was counting on it all the way home from work”. We laughed and watched the dogs play and romp as Jo told me all about her new position. As the sun just kissed the tops of the trees, we decided it was probably time to calm the dogs a little and decide where we would have dinner. Jo picked up Coco’s leash and I found Hershey’s. We just kind of stood there talking as the dogs calmed themselves a little. Then it happened, destiny you might call it. Just as we were deciding to drop the dogs off at my apartment then go grab dinner, a squirrel darted out from under a small pile of leaves, and ran between Hershey and Coco, then between Jo and I. Well, Coco gave chase, pulling her leash behind Jo, then cutting to the left after the furry toy now racing toward a nearby tree. Jo wasn’t expecting the quick action, and the leash in her hand jerked her around and to the ground, right into a puddle.
Immediately, I reached down for Jo, asking her if she was alright. She looked up at me, a leaf stuck to the side of her face, mud on her cheeks, and a scowl on her lips. I quickly bit my lip, fought hard to keep my composure, but to no avail. I burst out laughing once I heard Jo say she was OK, just muddy and wet. Coco had returned to her master’s side, almost knowing she was “in the doghouse” now. “What’s so funny laughing boy?” Jo asked as she started to get up. I offered my hand to help, but she pulled away in a playful pout, trying to act as if her feelings were hurt by my laughing. As she stood, I reached over and pulled the leaf from her face, then used my handkerchief to start wiping the mud from her cheeks. She was covered in wet leaves and mud, but she was still beautiful. She started laughing too, then got serious. “I so wanted to go out and celebrate, now I’m covered with mud and can’t” Jo said in a more sorrowful voice. I suggested that we walk over to my place, as planned, and see if it is really as bad as it looked, and see if we can’t salvage something of the evening. In a few minutes, we were crossing the street and approaching the entrance to the building. By now the sun had disappeared behind the trees, the warm autumn breeze had become a little cooler, especially to Jo, who was now damp. I could tell by looking at her that she had a bit of a chill, so I hurried along to make sure I got her inside before she got too cold.
When we entered my apartment I suggested that Jo go into the bathroom to see if she thought she could clean herself up enough to go out. As I wiped the dogs paws, I heard Jo moan from the bathroom that it was useless, that she had better leave so she could get the mud off her blouse and skirt before it dried. She walked out of the bathroom, almost a depressed, sad face on. She had been so excited to share her promotion with me, and to go out to celebrate, and now she had to go home and wash clothes. “How about this” I offered trying to salvage the evening, “I’ll fix us something to eat, open a bottle of wine, and you go back to the bathroom to clean your clothes?” Jo was standing next to me as I knelt on the floor with the dogs. Looking back on the moment, I think right then I felt that special feeling building inside me. Jo was looking down at me with her big brown eyes in a way I had never seen before. They were no longer the eyes of a friend, no, they were more like the eyes of a lover. But at the moment, I wasn’t sure just what I was seeing. Jo bent over, kissed the top of my head, her hand resting on my shoulder. “You are so sweet” she said in a soft, sweet voice, then she left the room for the bathroom.
At the time I didn’t think much about it, the kiss on the head, the soft touch on my shoulder, the sweet tone of voice Jo used when she spoke to me, and those gorgeous brown eyes. I knew I felt a special attraction to Jo after that, but I never considered it more than just helping a friend out after some bad luck. And heck, truth be known, I wanted to spend some time with her, and this was about the only way I could think to salvage the evening. So, after washing my hands, I started looking around the kitchen for something to fix for dinner. I didn’t have much, so I started fixing an antipasto plate. I had some cheese, some deli meats, roasted peppers, artichokes, and a few other odds and ends from the refrigerator. I found a box of crackers and half a loaf of bread. I toasted the day old bread to make some garlic toast, and opened the wine. I do admit, as I sat the plate out on the table and poured the wine into the glasses, I had visions of candles on the table, low lights in the room, music in the background and a romantic interlude occurring. I just grinned, and figured I’d confess to Jo after we started eating what fantasies were running through my head. Heck, she’d get a laugh out of it too.
As I put away the last of the supplies for dinner, I heard Jo come out of the bathroom. I closed the refrigerator door, turned, and for the first time in my life saw Jo as more than just a good friend. Standing there at the kitchen entry, Jo was smiling. Her long dark hair lay softly on her soft, sensual shoulders. Her eyes were sparkling in the light, and she was looking at me that same way as before, but this time I understood exactly what that look was. Gone was the bright blue blouse, the dark skirt, the high heels. Jo stood before me in a cream colored slip that glistened. I could see it’s softness just in how it shown in the light. Jo’s soft, silky skin almost glowed. Never before had I felt this way about her. I wanted to hold her, to caress her, to kiss her, to make love to her. Yes, there had been times when I had fantasized about Jo, but somehow I never took those times too seriously. She still had on her hose, and now I could tell they were stockings, not pantyhose. The sensuous silk slip seemed to be caressing her flesh as she stood there. It had slender spaghetti straps that seemed to blend into her soft, supple skin over her shoulders. There was lace at the top, enough to cover what was beneath, but sheer enough to give a teasing look also. The slip continued down her slender body, over her large round breasts, along her long, smooth curves to her hips, over her tiny ass. The slip was long enough to start down her long, curvaceous legs, but not long enough to conceal the tops of her beige stockings. She had taken off her shoes, making her at least 3 inches shorted than I had seen her before. I don’t know how long I stood there staring at Jo, it felt like an eternity, but was probably only seconds. My entire world seemed to change in those seconds. Gone were my feelings for Jo as my best friend. They had disappeared somewhere deep inside me as my feelings for Jo, my lover emerged. My mind raced with doubts and anticipation. Could this really be happening, could Jo also be thinking of me in the same way? Was this going to be a romantic night to remember always, or a night when a friend did something stupid to hurt another friend? I looked down, away from Jo, trying to get my thoughts together. I looked back and noticed more. As my eyes moved up her shapely legs, pausing at the tops of the sheer, tight stockings on her beautiful legs, then up her thighs, up her stomach, I noticed that her large breasts were bigger and rounder than I had imagined. I noticed the way the silky slip bulged just a bit on the tops of her magnificent breasts as her nipples grew more erect. I wanted to act, to take Jo right then and there, to show her my feelings for her. I wanted to run, to hide, to keep her from knowing how badly I wanted her. I didn’t want to betray my friend, but I wanted her in the worst way.
Jo took soft, silent steps toward me as I stood there. Her smile grew as she approached. It was like no smile I had seen on her before. No, this smile was one of a woman that knew what she wanted, and saw she was getting it. She wanted the response she was getting from me. Jo always could read me like a book, and tonight she was reading me like a classic romance novel. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I couldn’t help but watch the silky smooth slip slide silently over her soft skin as she moved toward me. I imagined what it must feel like as it caressed her bare flesh beneath. I wondered what she felt like, how warm her skin must be, how soft, smooth, sensuous. Jo’s eyes were looking deep into my soul as she reached me and looked up into my eyes. Somewhere from inside me a command was given to my arms to reach out and put them around Jo. I know it wasn’t from my brain, because that was paralyzed by Jo’s gaze into my soul. I felt something on my waist, and realized it was Jo’s hands sliding around me as I pulled her close. I felt the silk, slippery and cool against my shirt as I looked down into her eyes. Jo smiled. She knew exactly what she wanted, and knew her seduction was working it’s magic on me. She moved closer, and I felt her breasts, large, firm and round press against my chest. I felt her hips touch mine, I felt electricity run through my body. I felt my hands caressing her back, sliding the slip easily along her flesh as I lowered my lips to hers. A bomb could have rocked the building at that point, but I wouldn’t have known it. All that mattered then was the feel of her warm, plump lips touching mine, her tongue and mine touching for the very first time, our bodies pressing together in a way only lovers know. Jo broke off the kiss, then like a goddess looked into my eyes. “Thank you” she whispered in the voice of an angel, “You don’t know how much you mean to me” she continued. I looked into her eyes, and we kissed again.
As I caressed Jo’s body, my hand gliding over her softness, I began to feel tiny bumps. Our souls were on fire, but still, having been wet, and now standing there in the kitchen wearing only a slip and stockings, Jo was getting cold. I picked up a wine glass and offered it to Jo, then took my own. I still remember the glow of the rich burgundy in the glass against the background of Jo’s golden glow as she took a sip of the wine. I led her into the living room, to the big leather sofa. I knew the soft couch would be cool on her soft skin, so before she sat I threw an afghan over the leather. Jo lowered herself, on knee on the sofa, one foot on the floor, still holding her glass of wine. I took another sip of mine, placed the glass on the table, then leaned down to kiss her. As our lips met, Jo laid back, and I moved over her. Our bodies touches again as we kissed. I remember the feel of her stockings on my slacks as her legs wrapped around me, as her feet slid up and down the back of my legs. My lips moved from hers, to her tender neck, to her tiny ear, to her soft shoulder. As I kissed her body I could feel Jo’s heart beating. As I moved across her chest with my lips, kissing just above the top of her slip, I felt her body arch a bit. I took my time with my kisses, moving from side to side, up and down her arms, back to her lips, all the while my body sliding against her. My fingers caressed up her arm as our tongues again met. Slowly I found the strap to her slip, and I began to move it down her shoulder, followed closely by more of my kisses. Slowly, softly, I kissed down her body, feeling her anticipation, her excitement, her wanting growing. As I moved, I pulled the thin strap a little further, finally exposing her large, round firm breast to me. My lips followed, causing Jo to moan softly as I kissed.
That was the first night of many Jo and I spent together. Our friendship was never quite the same, but that isn’t saying it got worse. We continued to be great buddies, and lovers, a rare combination. We spent several years together like that, but for some reason never married. There was always some reason why… sick parents, jobs, whatever. Looking back, I think it was that neither of us wanted to take a chance and ruin the wonderful bond and relationship we had. I remember crying the night she moved away. We both vowed to keep in touch, to visit each other, to remain just as we were, but we both knew it was over. Daily phone calls turned to weekly ones. Monthly visits turned into annual ones. Finally, there was just an occasional letter or Christmas card. Time has a way of healing all wounds, but the scar deep inside always remains. When I got the phone call that Jo was gone, that scar opened into a wound again, and all of my feelings of the past came rushing back to the surface. Jo was the best friend, best lover, best everything I ever knew, and she will always be at home in my heart.
THE CONVERT
by Bill
Jennifer and I worked together for quite a long time. She was a very sharp dresser: very fashionable and often very sexy. On the day of the company party she looked her best. Jen topped off her black leather mini skirt with a very sheer white blouse delicately covering her lacy black brassiere. I was surprised she didn’t wear a camisole underneath such a sheer blouse to be more modest. However, she looked fantastic and had obviously spent a lot of time putting together each detail of her stunning outfit.
However, she looked visibly upset on this party day. I couldn’t figure out what could be such a downer on such an up day. I asked Jennifer to come into my office to see if I could get to the root of the problem. As Jennifer sat down and crossed her long shapely legs in front of me, I glanced at how high up her short skirt had risen on her muscular thighs. She caught me looking and smiled coyly. I thought she would get upset but instead she re-crossed her legs to let her skirt expose even more of her sheer black encased legs. I immediately noticed the problem. Jennifer’s panty hose were disproportionate for the size of her long, thin body. They drooped around her unusually thin ankles. She felt this ruined the entire look she was trying to achieve. We discussed wearing stockings instead of panty hose. Jen had a few pair of white stockings at home. She said these were reserved for the bedroom whenever a special guy would visit. What a lucky guy! We made plans to visit the lingerie store at the local mall during our lunch hour to see if we could fix the droopy ankle problem with a pair of sheer black stockings.
At the store, Jennifer decided to purchase the sheerest pair of shimmering black stockings with a seam up the back. She also selected a beautiful matching set of a black garter belt and delicate lace panties. On the way back to the car, Jen was so excited to be rid of her panty hose and couldn’t wait to see she looked in her new purchases. She asked if she could put on her new purchases in the car instead of waiting until we got back to the office. I suggested we park in a remote area of the parking lot and I would stand guard to be sure no one saw Jennifer changing her lingerie. She liked the idea of pulling over to a remote area but asked if I would help her make the switch in clothes. My heart raced as I agreed. As Jen sat in the car next to me, I thoroughly enjoyed watching her reach up underneath her black leather micro mini shirt and pull off her panty hose. As she threw them at me, she seemed to be letting go of a deep frustration with panty hose. They landed on my lap right next to the bulge in my pants. Jennifer was so anxious to encase her long, shapely legs with her silkiest, sheerest, shimmering black stockings. As she tenderly pulled each one up her leg, she seemed to delight in putting on a show for me. It was a fantasy come true for me. Jen asked if I could help her put on her new black lace garter belt. I reached up underneath her skirt encircled her slender waist with the black lace of her new garter belt. I smoothed her black stockings up her firm thighs so that I could easily attach each garter to the darker black tops of her stockings. When I was about to connect the first garter to her stocking, Jen told me she wanted to wear her new panties, too. After all, the intricate lace design on her new panties did match that on her garter belt. She took off the black satin panties she was wearing and used them to dab at the wet spot that had formed on my pants. She knew exactly what she was doing and the effect she was having on me. I didn’t mind a bit.
When Jen finished putting on her new black lace panties. Then she had me connect the garters to her stocking tops. My fingers fumbled in excitement as I attached each of the four garters. She began smoothing the sheer black fabric of her stockings around her slender ankles and commented on how well they fit. Problem solved. We then made sure her seams were straight. She pulled her skirt down but couldn’t cover the darker black tops of her stockings. Her skirt was too short not to expose her stocking tops while sitting in the car. We tugged and pulled, but to no avail. She then got out of the car and pulled her stockings up and her skirt down. The look was stunning. She looked perfect. At that moment Jen became a permanent convert to stockings. She told me she would throw away all of her panty hose and never wear them again. Based on how she looked, and more importantly, how she felt, I had to agree: this was a beautiful decision.
THE WEDDING
Our friends decided to get married and they asked my wife to be the Matron of Honor. We were thrilled for them and happy that my wife would be so closely involved with the wedding. For the wedding day, Sharon reluctantly asked me to be the official amateur photographer. She couldn’t pay me, but she said we would have fun doing it. They were paying for everything themselves and were on a tight budget.
On the wedding day, Sharon asked my wife to help her get dressed at her apartment. She asked me to take pictures of her getting ready for the ceremony. I thought I would take a handful of shots with Sharon applying her makeup or putting on her veil. I had no idea she wanted detailed photos of each step of the process.
We arrived early and Sharon was still in her nightshirt. As we entered, she asked my wife to put on the coffee. I followed Sharon into her bedroom. As she began to unbutton her soft, shimmering pink satin nightshirt, she asked me if I would take some intimate pictures of her for her future husband. He traveled quite a bit and she thought she would wrap each photo in the piece of lingerie she was wearing and pack them into his luggage. Lucky guy! I was a little nervous as she let her nightshirt fall to the floor. She was totally naked underneath! No brassiere, no panties, nothing. I didn’t realize what a fantastic body she had. All the curves were in all the right places. As she lay on the bed and asked me to start shooting, my wife walked in! She spilled the coffee when she saw me taking pictures of her naked friend. Sharon explained what was going on and my wife backed off (just a little). She posed in some of the most imaginative positions for a naked woman about to get married. After I finished a roll of pictures, she decided to get dressed.
She wanted close ups of her lacy white brassiere covering her luscious breasts. Sharon was quite excited and I took some great shots of her erect pink nipples just as the lace brushed up against them. As my wife hooked her bra in the back, Sharon asked me to get her white garter belt. It was in a large drawer full of the sexiest, frilliest lingerie I had ever seen. I had to rummage through her underwear to get to the particular garter belt she wanted. I asked if she wanted a black satin and lace one I had found. It still had shiny sheer black stockings attached to them! She told me she wanted to wear her white garter belt underneath her panties. That way she could take off her panties and prance around in her stockings and garter belt. Her virginal white stockings were next. They shimmered in the light and looked almost silver. My wife helped her hook each one of the four garters to her stocking tops. Now it was time to slide her matching white lace panties over her stocking/garter belt combination. Her panties were so small they were practically a g-string. The white lace was very sheer and Sharon wanted close ups of how you could see her golden hair through the white lace of her panties. My wife helped Sharon tuck her hair in behind the small patch of underwear. I think Sharon liked the attention because I could see her panties glisten with her excited wetness. I used a black lace bustier I found in her lingerie drawer to wipe away some of the love juice that began dripping down the upper part of her thigh, just above her stocking tops. My wife got upset at this because I was touching another woman too close to her "private parts." My wife could also see by my arousal that I was enjoying the show. She knows how much I like to see a woman in very delicate and feminine lingerie. My favorites are stockings, panties, brassieres, garter belts, camisoles, bustiers and slips.
Now the basic foundation of undergarments was set. Next was her white slip. It was mostly satin and had white lace around her breasts. This clashed with the lace on her brassiere. Sharon decided to change to a thin white satin bra. This one hooked in the front. Again I took some close ups of her full and tender breasts enveloped in the silky soft satin of her brassiere. Her nipples were still erect as she pulled her slip up over her huge breasts. She said her husband to be really liked her larger than average nipples. Sharon wanted extra pictures of how her satin covered nipples were trying to push out from underneath the lace of her slip. Before she put on her long white wedding gown, Sharon posed for more pictures in her wedding lingerie.
She pulled up her slip and spread her legs to show off her panties again. My wife thought this was a bit much. I, on the other hand, was thinking about getting an extra set of prints for myself. Being the photographer was a tough job, but someone had to do it. Sharon especially wanted me to take close ups between her legs as she pulled her panties aside and showed off her golden bush for the camera. With all this moving around, my wife noticed that the seams on Sharon’s white stockings were crooked. Sharon raised her slip to her waist and my wife straightened out the seams. My wife seemed to delight in doing this. She knows how much I like to rub myself up and down the seams of her stockings. Sometimes I lick the seam from the bottom to the top. When I get to the top I keep licking around to the front and keep going up to the place that gets her most excited. I think my wife knew I wished I was doing that to Sharon’s shapely, muscular legs.
As Sharon put on her wedding gown, she asked me to photograph her raising her dress and showing off her wedding lingerie one last time. My wife objected, saying this was too much. Sharon, on the other hand, said this was the perfect opportunity to take such special pictures. Sharon knew by the wet spot on the front of my pants that she was doing a great job turning me on. I guess she figured if she was arousing me, her husband-to-be would definitely like the pictures. After she put on her shoes and veil, she was ready to go.
It was a great wedding and a fantastic reception. At the end of the day my wife and I went home and re-created the roles of bride and photographer in our own bedroom.
MAY'S WINNING STORY!!
THE CONVERT
by Bill
Jennifer and I worked together for quite a long time. She was a very sharp dresser: very fashionable and often very sexy. On the day of the company party she looked her best. Jen topped off her black leather mini skirt with a very sheer white blouse delicately covering her lacy black brassiere. I was surprised she didn’t wear a camisole underneath such a sheer blouse to be more modest. However, she looked fantastic and had obviously spent a lot of time putting together each detail of her stunning outfit.
However, she looked visibly upset on this party day. I couldn’t figure out what could be such a downer on such an up day. I asked Jennifer to come into my office to see if I could get to the root of the problem. As Jennifer sat down and crossed her long shapely legs in front of me, I glanced at how high up her short skirt had risen on her muscular thighs. She caught me looking and smiled coyly. I thought she would get upset but instead she re-crossed her legs to let her skirt expose even more of her sheer black encased legs. I immediately noticed the problem. Jennifer’s panty hose were disproportionate for the size of her long, thin body. They drooped around her unusually thin ankles. She felt this ruined the entire look she was trying to achieve. We discussed wearing stockings instead of panty hose. Jen had a few pair of white stockings at home. She said these were reserved for the bedroom whenever a special guy would visit. What a lucky guy! We made plans to visit the lingerie store at the local mall during our lunch hour to see if we could fix the droopy ankle problem with a pair of sheer black stockings.
At the store, Jennifer decided to purchase the sheerest pair of shimmering black stockings with a seam up the back. She also selected a beautiful matching set of a black garter belt and delicate lace panties. On the way back to the car, Jen was so excited to be rid of her panty hose and couldn’t wait to see she looked in her new purchases. She asked if she could put on her new purchases in the car instead of waiting until we got back to the office. I suggested we park in a remote area of the parking lot and I would stand guard to be sure no one saw Jennifer changing her lingerie. She liked the idea of pulling over to a remote area but asked if I would help her make the switch in clothes. My heart raced as I agreed. As Jen sat in the car next to me, I thoroughly enjoyed watching her reach up underneath her black leather micro mini shirt and pull off her panty hose. As she threw them at me, she seemed to be letting go of a deep frustration with panty hose. They landed on my lap right next to the bulge in my pants. Jennifer was so anxious to encase her long, shapely legs with her silkiest, sheerest, shimmering black stockings. As she tenderly pulled each one up her leg, she seemed to delight in putting on a show for me. It was a fantasy come true for me. Jen asked if I could help her put on her new black lace garter belt. I reached up underneath her skirt encircled her slender waist with the black lace of her new garter belt. I smoothed her black stockings up her firm thighs so that I could easily attach each garter to the darker black tops of her stockings. When I was about to connect the first garter to her stocking, Jen told me she wanted to wear her new panties, too. After all, the intricate lace design on her new panties did match that on her garter belt. She took off the black satin panties she was wearing and used them to dab at the wet spot that had formed on my pants. She knew exactly what she was doing and the effect she was having on me. I didn’t mind a bit.
When Jen finished putting on her new black lace panties. Then she had me connect the garters to her stocking tops. My fingers fumbled in excitement as I attached each of the four garters. She began smoothing the sheer black fabric of her stockings around her slender ankles and commented on how well they fit. Problem solved. We then made sure her seams were straight. She pulled her skirt down but couldn’t cover the darker black tops of her stockings. Her skirt was too short not to expose her stocking tops while sitting in the car. We tugged and pulled, but to no avail. She then got out of the car and pulled her stockings up and her skirt down. The look was stunning. She looked perfect. At that moment Jen became a permanent convert to stockings. She told me she would throw away all of her panty hose and never wear them again. Based on how she looked, and more importantly, how she felt, I had to agree: this was a beautiful decision.
A "GHOST" STORY
By Tanker
One of the yearly rites in my native Texas is deer hunting. It has become quite expensive these days but in the 1960s, it was still sort of an everyman’s sport - you could lease hunting rights fairly cheaply, or day hunt, or drop in on your country cousin who had 500 acres and a few white-tails growing fat on acorns in the live oak mottes and get your meat.
I was home on leave preparing to report for duty in Germany and a friend of mine who was the outdoor editor at the local television station invited me to go on a hunt with him and a camera crew. They were going to film on a big game ranch in the Edwards Plateau area south of Austin.
The spread was a historic Texas ranch and the modern day scions of the owning pioneer Texas family had decided to turn its hundreds of thousands of acres into a game ranch to save such threatened breeds as the African black buck, oribi, Axis deer and others.
They were successful, replanting thousands of the animals to their native wilds, leaving them enough stock to maintain a large and diverse breeding pool for hunters to harvest who could afford to plump down up to $1,500 for the exotics.
The ranch also teemed with native Texas whitetails, many of them trophy class. They had converted old bunkhouses into luxury cabins and served their clientele delicious meals in the ranch’s old cookhouse. Guides were locals, including a number of off-duty Texas Highway Patrolmen.
It was very posh, but at the same time, very "you-all" Texas friendly and the 40 or 50 hunters in our tour were all very rich, yet very friendly to us working stiffs. And the hunting was realistic; the animals were wild and you had to do your part if you wanted to come away with a trophy or game.
There were two married couples there - an extremely intense couple from Dallas in their mid 30s who had flown down to the ranch in their helicopter to find the wife a Boone & Crockett class whitetail buck, and a white-haired man in his sixties named Paul and his bride, Drusilla, an stunningly beautiful blond young woman who quickly told everyone that they were on their honeymoon and that she was 22 years old and was her husband’s secretary. These matter-of-fact statements raised a few eyebrows and sparked a few snickers as well.
They were from North Carolina. He raised registered cattle and was an old money land owner and he hoped that his new bride would get her game ticket filled - a black buck, a turkey and a "nice white tail buck."
She was as friendly as pup, charming all of us with her soft accent and her self deprecating, "this little North Carolina gal has come a long from out of the hollers," hugging her beaming husband. Unlike the Dallas woman, who wore camouflage and boots, the North Carolina bride was wearing makeup, perfume, a powder blue skirt and sweater set, Manolo Blahnik pumps and tan seamless stockings.
She told us that shortly after her husband’s first wife of 30 years recently had died of cancer, he proposed and she accepted. "His grown kids are having conniption fits, but I love him and he loves me and that’s the way it is, so they can learn to like it or they can go butt a stump," she said with disarming candor.
As you can imagine, the younger guides and hunters were bedazzled by her even the ranch’s veteran cowboys, grizzled old Hispanic "vaqueros completas," soon were calling her "la palomita," the "little dove."
She was proud of[ growing up in the back woods of North Carolina. I started huntin’ with my daddy when I was five," she said. "We hunted for meat and by the time I was 8, I could out shoot and out fish him," she said proudly.
At fifteen, she moved to town and lived with an older sister so she could go to high school and get secretarial training at a local business college. Then came the job with the entrepreneur and her new life.
She was totally charming and candid and her husband, Paul, absolutely doted on her.
The next morning we all gathered at the mess hall for a breakfast that was as simple as it was delicious and to plan our hunts. We were rigged out in the traditional Texas hunting gear - raggedy khakis or jeans, long-sleeved shirts and boots to protect us from the prickly pear, mesquite thorns and the rattlers that were still around because of the mild winter.
The Edwards Plateau country was very rough - natives said everything in it either bit, stuck or stung and that was true. The tricky shale underfoot was dotted with great islands of prickly pear, interspersed with live oak mottes and scrub mesquite whose limbs boasted large and painful thorns. You had to wear heavy clothes just to navigate comfortably.
Suddenly, the door to the mess hall opened and the talk and laughter stopped as the newly-weds entered. He was wearing extremely expensive hunting clothes and boots, but it was his bride’s hunting garb was the reason for the sudden silence.
She was wearing a linen frock with a matching long-sleeved blouse, stockings and high-heeled open-toed bone pumps!
You could have heard a pin drop. We were all embarrassed for her - women in Texas didn’t hunt in high heels and stockings! That is, they didn’t hunt whitetail deer in high heels and stockings, those "outfits" were reserved for hunting other dears!
"I’m so hungry I could eat a horse," she said into the silence, sitting down at our table and demolishing a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits, gravy and hash browns. Their guide tactfully mentioned that they had plenty of time if she wanted to change into jeans and boots, but she said, "Nah, this is what I feel like wearin’ this mornin’. Shouldn’t we get goin’? Looks to me like we’re burnin’ daylight."
And then they were up and we watched her crawl up in the pickup beside her husband. Her skirt rode up slightly, flashing the darker band of her stocking top as she settled into the pickup seat.
We were back by noon. I had killed a nice eight-point buck and the ranch hands were packing the meat in dry ice for the trip back home.
Soon, the newly-weds drove up. She slipped out of the pickup, her scoped Browning .270 under her arm. Unbelievably, given the rough country they had covered, there wasn’t a single scuff mark on her shoes nor a run in her stockings and the linen dress looked it had just come off the hangar!
I sidled up to her guide. "Did she stay in the truck?" I asked. He looked at me like I was nuts.
"Stay in the truck?," he said. "Hell no, she took every step I did and liked to have wore me out! I picked up a ton of prickly pear needles and drove a mesquite thorn into my foot, but she moved through that same country without a scratch. Her husband finally yelled ‘calf rope!’ and we came on back; she’s a force of nature, she is!"
After lunch, the hunting parties who had not yet scored began loading up for a return to the field. We were organizing our camera gear to finish getting some shots for the film story on the hunt when Drusilla’s new husband walked up.
"I’ve been invited to play some gin rummy with one of the guys," the bridegroom said. "I’m beat, so I’m gonna stay behind and play some cards. Dru wants to try to get her black buck this afternoon so I was wonderin’ if one of you would ride along with her and keep her company?"
Since I really had nothing to do with the film project, I said it would be my pleasure and walked over to the pickup where Dru and her guide were preparing to leave. "Did Paul talk you into comin’ along?" She asked. "I think it is so sweet that he wanted to find somebody to come along with me so I wouldn’t be lonesome," she said. "It is my pleasure, Dru," I answered and climbed in after her.
She smelled of Chanel No. 5, not a scent I had ever smelled on my other deer hunts. We hunted hard without result until about 3 p.m., when we eased up onto an escarpment and stopped. "There’s usually a herd of black buck down in that little valley," the guide said pointing. "Let’s get out of the truck and see what we can see."
The ground was covered in loose shale and dotted with prickly pear and tough buffalo grass. The guide and I eased along the hundred or so yards to the edge of the rim. It seemed to me that I collected prickly pear needles in my pants legs at every step.
By contrast, Dru seemed to float along in front, her .270 under her arm and again, not a run, pull or scratch on her stockings or legs from the prickly pear or buffalo grass!
We reached the lip of the escarpment and there below us at about 200 yards was a nice herd of black buck, their black pointed horns glinting in the sun as they grazed along.
There was one that was bigger than the rest - obviously a trophy - and the guide and I both spotted him in our binoculars at the same time. Dru had already seen him and stepping up onto a flat piece of shale on the lip of the escarpment, she shouldered her rifle. "We can get closer, Dru" the guide whispered. "You’re lookin’ at a tough downhill 200-yard shot from here!"
"Nah," she whispered back, this is good enough," and the .270 steadied. The rifle cracked and recoiled upward, Dru’s manicured fingers blurring as she expertly worked the bolt during the upward recoil, sending the fired cartridge case spinning away, then closing and locking the bolt as the rifle settled back down, ready to squeeze off a second shot if necessary. The guide and I looked at each other. She knew her riflery!
The buck crumpled into a heap. The 130-grain bullet had taken the animal in the neck, shattering the spine for an instant kill.
The guide and I turned to her open-mouthed. "That was a helluva shot, Ghost," I blurted out and then blushed.
"What’d you call me?," she asked. "Ghost," I said sheepishly. "Nobody but a ghost could have moved through the brush and thorn country we’ve covered since noon wearing a high fashion dress, nylons and high heels and not get a single run, scratch, tear, or sprained ankle out of it!"
She threw back her head and laughed delightedly. "Wait’ll I tell my husband my new nickname and why," she chortled. "I love it -‘Ghost’! It’s wonderful!"
On the way back to the ranch headquarters, she told us a secret.
"Look guys, I don’t normally hunt in this regalia," sweeping her hand down the front of her dress. "Like anybody else, I wear pants or overalls and boots when I hunt, but I am on my honeymoon and Paul likes to see me in fancy hose and high heels. They get him all snorty and rutty and cute, so I wasn’t about to wear anything huntin’ but my fancy garb.
"Besides, did you see the looks on everybody’s faces when I showed up this morning dressed like I was headed for the country club? It was great! And then on top of that, you gave me that great nickname because somehow or other I hunted all day and never got a runner in my hose - and I usually pop runs just walkin’ across the room!
"No sir, they sure won’t be forgettin’ ‘Drusilla the Ghost,’ who killed a trophy black buck in her stockin’s and Manolo Blahniks, that’s for sure!"
And I don’t think anybody who was there ever did. I know I didn’t!
HELEN
By Tanker
One of my favorite authors is Rudyard Kipling, although an affinity for his poetry is not considered politically correct these days since the critics consider him nothing more than a jingoistic Victorian poetaster. Well, it takes all kinds.
One of my favorite Kipling poems - outside of his marvelous Barracks Room Ballads - is a rather risqué one that deals with the various women in his life, ranging from courtesans to countesses. And, the refrain after each feminine type is the same: "And I learned about Women from Her!"
In my case, I learned the most about women from Helen.
It was in the mid-1950s and I had just been graduated from the local liberal arts college and had two months on my hands before reporting to Fort Benning and the infantry officer basic course.
A family friend asked me to spend those two months working at his women’s shoe since he was short a salesperson or two. Since I loved seeing women in lingerie, stockings and high heels, and had sold shoes before while in high school, I took the job. It was a great opportunity to indulge my fantasies and avoid my stepmother’s lengthy "Honey Do" list of yard projects.
Helen was the store’s cashier.
She was a striking woman of about 40, a bit plump, but with an erect, graceful carriage that seemed to add inches to her medium height, a mane of auburn hair, huge blue eyes that reminded me of fields of native Texas bluebonnets in the Hill Country and a complexion that was the color of the purest honey. She wore the most interesting perfume, a scent that was both old-fashioned and utterly sensual. I later learned that a woman chemist friend made it for her and like everything that surrounded Helen, she made it hers and hers alone.
She was married to a senior sales executive of one of the shoe company’s whose lines we carried. They lived on the shores of the town’s lake.
She was quite successful at what we called "add on" sales - talking customers into buying stockings or gloves or matching handbags to go with their new shoes as she totaled their bills. Her low contralto voice seemed to charm all those who came around her, including me.
She was fascinating. On breaks, she would tell fascinating stories of her days as a traveling model after an injury ended her professional dancing career in New York. She modeled shoes at trunk shows and met her husband while modeling his company’s line of shoes in New York and Chicago.
After being around Helen for a short time, the young college women I was then dating appeared by comparison to be awkward and unfinished. They wore their hair in ponytails or gamine cuts while Helen’s auburn tresses were styled in sophisticated chignons or French twists. Their perfume ran to drug store brands or mass market scents that assailed the nose.
Helen’s delicate scent did not assail, but mystified; turning both male and female heads when she passed as if her perfume had been pressed from some mystical and addictive flower in the Garden of Eden.
She was always a lady; never vulgar or overblown. Yet her aura was totally seductive - I was amazed at the sensations she aroused without ever openly flaunting her many, many charms. You could lose yourself in her eyes while talking about the most mundane topics.
And when she moved, her lingerie and stockings gave off muted swishes and tiny rasps beneath her stylish dresses and suits that made the hair rise on the back of my neck. To me, she was the very essence of Cleopatra, Aphrodite and Helen of Troy. I was fascinated by her seductiveness, but because of her sophistication, her married status, and her age - I was 22 - I had no thought of anything other than friendship.
Besides, my sexual experiences had been those early, awkward fumbling experiences in parked cars and sleazy motels and I was sure my sexual naivete would not be appreciated by a sophisticated, charming woman like Helen. To me, she was unobtainable.
I was wrong. She sought me out to be her lover and wrapped me in a brief liaison that was as unusual as it was memorable. I never really knew why she picked me. Perhaps it was because I was so callow and she decided that I needed to learn about women from an expert.
We had worked late one night taking inventory. When we were finished, we all gathered in the break room for a smoke before heading home. I felt dirty and sweaty from handling all the dusty boxes of shoes in the stock room, but except for a tiny smudge of dust on her chin, Helen looked like she had just stepped from a bandbox.
She asked if I would mind following her home because her husband was traveling and she was anxious about arriving unaccompanied at their fairly remote lake home that late at night.
Of course, I agreed and drove her to her car, and then followed her to her home. I escorted her to the door and turned to leave.
"Come in and have a beer or a glass of wine before you leave," she said, and I followed her inside.
Once we were seated and I was taking that first long, satisfying draught of ice-cold beer, she dropped the bomb.
"I want you to be my lover," she murmured, her blue eyes seeming to fill the space around us. "But, there are some things to which you must agree."
I stared at her open-mouthed, unbelievingly. "When you leave for the Army, our affair must also end," she continued. "I love my husband and do not want to divorce him, nor hurt him. Therefore, I must ask that you do not call me, nor give me gifts, nor write me during our affair. It must end when it must end, for while I want you desperately as a lover, we can never be more that. Can you do that?"
I remember looking at her sitting beside me on the couch, stunned and trying to make sense of her words. And then I understood that this was THE chance of a lifetime. This was the opportunity men had lusted for since the beginning of time: to be intimate with the very essence of the female being. My feelings were not centered on possessing this marvelous creature - no one could ever "possess" her - but on the realization that for me, our couplings would be an experience of a life force made flesh.
But could I end it when it was time to head for Fort Benning? Yes. This was to be my initiation into adult passion, a tour that would teach me about women, passion and how to respect both.
"I agree," I croaked. And she smiled, a smile that wrapped me in bliss. "Then come for dinner tomorrow night and we will begin," she said and then leaned over and kissed me - a kiss I remember to this day because it was as delicate as a dragonfly alighting on a pond, yet it shook me to my core.
Somehow, I got home and through the next day. Finally, it was time.
She came to the door in an ivory peignoir that swept the floor, her auburn hair down and tumbling around her shoulders. As she moved, I could see that she also had on black stockings and high-heeled bedroom mules. Her garter clips made tiny bumps through the filmy peignoir as a passing breeze pressed its fabric against her thighs.
I don’t remember much else about that night because I was in sensory overload, awash in sensations and passions I never knew I could harbor.
The room was softly lit by scores of candles, a gentle lake breeze blowing through the open windows cooled us and made the candlelight flicker like heat lightning in the distance. On the table, was a light supper of wine and soft classical music was playing on the radio.
I remember we talked and laughed through the supper and wine, but I cannot recall what was said and suddenly we were embracing and the peignoir fluttered to the floor and Helen was searing a matching ivory slip that outlined every curve in gleaming nylon and highlighted her body’s secret mysteries in cobwebs of lace.
Up until that moment, I had not considered slips as instruments of seduction, but rather as obstacles that must be either removed or bypassed to reach the Prime Objective. But as with everything about Helen, that slip, and the others that followed during our seductive encounters, added new erotic sensations that remain with me to this day.
I can still savor the feel of her stiffening nipples through the soft lace, the warmth of her flank through the smooth ivory nylon and the slight pulls and hitches as the delicate material snagged on my hands’ calluses. Coupled with that was the feeling of her scented fullness against my body and the unbelievable sensations of her kisses - delicate and soft and demanding.
Somehow, I found myself naked and in her arms in her bed, luxuriating in the feel of that nylon expanse from head to toe. And then, through some sleight-of-hand I have yet to understand, the slip suddenly and mysteriously vanished and with another seemingly unconscious little movement of her body, we were joined.
I literally melted into her. It wasn’t anything at all like I had experienced in my earlier encounters. There was no sense of penetration, just a convergence with her at the molecular level. I could feel our hearts beat and our blood rush and her gentle, slow moves were echoed in my nerves and veins. I felt like I was swimming in her essences and she in mine. At that moment, I learned the meaning of total surrender. I had no ego, ambition, pride or masculinity. I had given them all to her and she had answered in kind. I think I fainted with the ecstasy of that moment because the next thing I recalled was becoming aware of the room’s soft candlelight and the lick of a breeze on my superheated skin. It was as if I had returned to earth from Arcturus, bearing the secrets of the Universe.
I don’t recall ever seeing her totally nude during our affair. As we courted and kissed, seemingly for hours on end, her warm breasts, puckered nipples, soft stomach or lovely auburn-tufted sex would suddenly appear, then disappear back beneath the sheer veil of one of her many slips or nightgowns she wore so sensuously. As if by magic, they would reappear beneath my lips or fingers, followed shortly by that wonderful bodily liquefaction as we again melted together.
Almost a half-century later, my memories of Helen are of her small, beige-pink nipples veiled by the Alencon lace of a wispy slip; a glint of coppery pubic hair disappearing beneath a rose-pink peignoir, or the gleam of candlelight on a stocking as she made that unbelievable little move that joined us together. I remember her sighs and the delicate blush that mantled her cheeks and breasts when she peaked.
Sex with Helen was a timeless, totally sensory event, a feast of smells, touches, the almost inaudible susurrations of nylon or silk slipping across thighs or hips or breasts, the tastes of her and those blinding connections at the basic human level. I have never since experienced such a totality of erotic experience.
Dreamily, the calendar moved to our inevitable parting and I walked away from our last night together with no regret. It had been unbelievable, but it was over and I was left with memories of that signal event in my life printed into the very fabric of my being.
My last memory of her is her standing in the door as that final dawn broke across the lake, her delightful scent in my nostrils and that marvelous white peignoir fluttering in the gentle morning breeze, its bodice dented by her erect nipples, an errant gust pushing aside its skirt to reveal a delightful leg in a dark, sheer stocking.
We never met again. Even today, the memory of her trademark perfume will suddenly fill my mind and that is a true joy. Like Kipling, I "learned about Women from Her."
God grant us all such a teacher!
You
would think that a guy my age would no longer be nervous on a date, but that was
not the case. My buddy Tim had set
me up on a blind double date with he and his wife, Joyce.
Joyce's cousin was in town, and they thought that the four of us would
have a great time taking in dinner and the theater.
At first, I didn't think much of it, but as the date grew nearer, I found
myself getting nervous. Tim
had told me how gorgeous his wife's cousin was, and how much fun she was the
last time she was in town. I don't
know if I was nervous about the pressure of trying to impress my date, or not
letting Tim and Joyce down. Either
way, by Saturday, I was a wreck.
Like some love stricken puppy, I spent Saturday getting my hair cut, getting the car washed, and buying a new tie in honor of the occasion. I returned home about three in the afternoon, plenty of time to relax and get ready for my big date. I turned on the television and told myself I had time to lounge around and fantasize about my evening. I flipped through the channels, half watching what was on, half day dreaming. I noticed it started to snow outside, which only made me day dream more. Suddenly, the calm of the room was broken when the phone rang. I wasn't expecting any calls, and I was pretty comfortable on the sofa, so the sharp sound of the ringing caused me to jump. After the second ring, I picked up the receiver. "Chris" came a female voice from the other end of the line, "it's Joyce.. I've got some bad news". I immediately felt my heart start to sink... I just knew the date was off, but I paused before I spoke. "Tim isn't feeling well, he's been in the bathroom all day, and we can't make our date tonight". I sighed to myself at this, as I had really started to look forward to the evening, even though I was nervous as hell. "That's OK Joyce... we can do it some other time" I offered, trying to make sure my voice didn't give away my disappointment.
"Oh, Chris, no... You and Diane still can go out" she replied quickly, "Diane has been doing nothing but talking about how excited she was to finally meet the infamous Chris we always talk about". I felt myself smiling... "the infamous Chris... " I thought to myself, what's up with that? Joyce continued, "Chris, you HAVE to take her out, Please, for me" she almost begged. I assured her she didn't have to break my arm, that I would be more than willing to meet her cousin for dinner. Joyce insisted that we also take the theater tickets. She was sure that we would hit it off together and that going to the theater would be great fun for us. "We'll see about the theater" I told Joyce, "if Diane thinks I'm a jerk, I don't want to make her sit through the performance with me." Joyce just laughed and assured me there was no way Diane wouldn't like me, and no way I wouldn't like Diane. After a little more talking, and my sharing my pity for Joyce having to be there with Tim while he was sick, Joyce gave me Diane's phone number and the hotel where she was staying. She also said that she would call Diane and make sure she was waiting for me in the lobby when I arrived to pick her up.
As I pulled up to the hotel front door, a valet offered to take my bags and park my car. "I'll just be a minute, I'm picking up my date, I mean a friend" I replied as I put a few bucks into the young man's hand. As I walked toward the door I turned to look at my car, just to make sure everything was perfect. The bright lights from the covered entry way sparkled in the shinny black paint of my Cadillac. I smiled as I turned and entered the big gold and glass revolving door. I remember thinking to myself that this would be a night to remember.... And wondering if my hands were cold and clammy. As I entered the huge marble lobby of the hotel, I looked around for Diane. I had never seen her, never seen a picture of her, but Joyce had told me there would be no way I'd miss her. After repeated questions and pressing, Joyce only laughed at me when I asked how I'd recognize Diane. She assured me that when I saw her, I'd know... and she added "trust me". The lobby was filled with guests scampering to and fro, some checking in, some waiting for others, some gathered in small groups talking. As my eyes moved across the room, I kept remembering Joyce's words that "I'd know".
Across the lobby, just beyond two plush sofas and some high back chairs, between two mammoth wood book cases was a huge fireplace. It was cold outside, and still snowing just a bit, so it was only right that there was a raging fire in the old stone fixture. My eyes were being drawn to the flickering orange and yellow fire dancing on the logs when my movement stopped. There, just next to the fireplace, looking around the room was Diane. Joyce was right, I did know it. I was awe-struck as I stood across the room gazing at Diane. She had to be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and it wasn't just because she was my best friend's wife's cousin. She was striking, easily standing out in the crowded room. A vision usually only reserved for a movie audience in a well directed movie, but this was real life. The light in the room sparkled off the choker necklace and matching earrings she was wearing. She was wearing a black dress, not just any black dress, "THE" black dress, the one every woman dreams of wearing to make her look just right and drive her man wild. It was short, and cut off her shoulders. Her soft skin was in stark contrast to the ebony dress she was wearing. Diane's skin, even from across the room looked like it was softer than spun silk. I could see she was wearing black stockings, or pantyhose, but her feet were blocked from my view by the red leather sofa which lay between us. Just when I thought my night couldn't get any better, Diane's face turned toward mine, and I was instantly entranced by her captivating blue eyes. The sparkle of her jewelry was eclipsed by the light shining from her deep blue eyes. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, and could barely breath as I stood there staring at her from across the lobby. Evidently Joyce had shown Diane my picture, or given her some way to recognize me, because as I stood there star-struck, staring at Diane, she picked me out of the crowd and smiled. As her red lips parted with her smile, my soul melted. Diane started toward me, and I remember wondering if there was such a thing as love at first sight, for if there was, I had just found it.
"Chris?" she said as she got closer to me. I smiled, and wondered how stupid I must look just standing there gawking at this lovely creature walking over to me. When Diane walked, her short blonde hair had a little bounce to it, even though her body seemed to glide like a cloud passing through the sky as she walked. I fought hard to move, to speak, to act like a human being. I extended my hand and introduced myself to Diane, still under the control of her blue eyes and bright smile. As she took my hand and our flesh touched, I felt a warm glow fill my body. "Joyce was right" I said after the formalities of our introductions were done, "she said I'd know you when I saw you, and she was correct". Diane smiled, with a bit of a blush in her cheeks as she did. She asked coyly how I knew, and smiled. Now, I tell you this, and the irony isn't lost on her name, Diane could have easily passed for Princess Diana, only in my opinion, she was even more beautiful. As we talked, I couldn't help but to gaze endlessly and deeply into her big blue eyes, and fantasizing about all the possibilities the evening ahead held for us.
I helped Diane on with her coat, and we were off to the restaurant for dinner. I was so thankful that I had made the reservations, and that I had chosen an intimate little bistro that was close to the theater. As we drove, conversation flowed easily. We seemed to be able to talk about anything, joke, and laugh. We were strangers who's only common thread was Tim and Joyce. Evidently they had talked about each of us to the other enough that we now felt like we had known each other for a long while. I was no longer nervous, no longer apprehensive, no longer scared. We entered the bistro and were seated at a table in the front corner by the windows. The Christmas lights on the windows sparkled their pale colors in Diane's deep blue eyes. We shared a bottle of wine as we enjoyed the company. At one point, Diane was holding the goblet of dark burgundy wine just beside her ruby red lips, and the candlelight was sparkling in the glass and her eyes. I couldn't keep from speaking from the heart as I took her hand and told her how beautiful she was. I thought it bold, but I believed it had to be said. Diane was an artist's masterpiece just waiting to be captured on canvas. Her personality only complemented her physical beauty, making her my dream date, the one every man compares all women to. I felt I could not be any more lucky than to actually get to meet my dream, and spend this time with her. Diane began to blush, her cheeks turning a bright red to match her plump, warm lips.
The evening seemed to fly by. Dinner was over in the blink of an eye, even though it took a couple hours to finish. The theater was magnificent, yet seemed like only a preview in it's length. And I soon found myself pulling into the hotel entry to drop Diane off at the hotel. As the car came to a stop, the same valet that had greeted me earlier opened the door for Diane. I got out to walk around the car, and felt somewhat denied my chance at gallantry as this guy got to her door before me. As I rounded the back of the car, I did get the treat of watching Diane swing her legs, together, out of the car and place her black high heels on the cobblestone pavers used to create the entryway. A more perfect pair of legs a man has never seen. They were long, slender, shapely. And for the first time that evening I realized that Diane was wearing stockings and not panty hose. God, the night couldn't get any better I thought to myself, but boy, was I wrong then. I offered my hand to Diane, my eyes still locked on her beautiful legs. I felt a tug at my had as she got out of the car, and I felt my cheeks get warm and start to blush as I realized I had been caught staring at her stockings. I quickly moved my eyes back to her eyes, and saw the smile on her face. "Penny for your thoughts" Diane whispered as I stood there not knowing what to do next. I also realized that she had not released my hand as she exited the car, and that she was now reaching for my other hand. I was lost in her stare, drowning in her deep blue eyes, captured by her mere presence.
"Shall I park the car sir?" the valet asked, breaking the endless silence of the moment. I felt myself blink, and felt my mind racing to catch up with reality and try to answer the guy. Just as I started to speak, not knowing what I was going to say, I felt Diane's arm go around my arm, her and release my other hand, and her head lean against my shoulder. "Please" she told the valet, before I could manage to talk. "Very good" he replied and handed me a parking receipt. Diane and I walked toward the big gold and glass revolving door, not a word said.
Once in the lobby I started toward the lounge, figuring that we would share a drink or two, and then say our good byes. As I started toward my right, toward the lounge, I felt a tugging at my arm to go left, toward the elevators. I looked down into Diane's eyes and immediately knew we were not going to the lounge, and that I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. As the elevator doors closed on us, Diane reached and pushed the white button for the 27th floor, and the elevator began to move. As she turned back toward me, I put my arms around her, gazed deeply into her big blue eyes, and leaned down to kiss her. To say I saw fireworks would not do that first kiss justice. I felt her arms around me as we softly pressed our lips together. I could feel my lips tingle as the soft, warm, tender lips of my date gently blended with my lips. I felt Diane's body move closer, I felt her breasts press against my chest. My body was filled with desire and anticipation as we lost ourselves in the elevator, in that moment, in that kiss. I never wanted the ride to end, yet I could hardly wait to get to Diane's room. With the ping of the elevator bell, the doors spread wide, opening onto the opulent hallway leading to the numerous doors, and finally to the one door, the door to Diane's room.
As the key card slid from the slot in the door, the sound of the mechanical lock tumbling broke the silence of the hallway. Once inside the door, Diane closed it behind her, placing the "Do Not Disturb" placard on the handle. As she turned toward the room and the door closed behind her, I took a step forward, trapping her against the door, pulling her to my body, and we kissed again. The room was dimly lit by the lights from the city shining through the sheers pulled over the window. As I moved toward Diane's luscious lips, I could see the sparkling of her desires in her deep blue eyes. She was still a wondrous vision in her black dress, necklace and earrings. There was a slight glimmering from Diane's stockings.. almost as if there were tiny crystals of ice laced in the silky nylon. As our lips met, there was a burst of heat radiating throughout my body. As her hands held me tight and slid along my spine, wave after wave or arousing tingling sped through my limbs. My mind was racing with anticipation, with reservation, with wanting. I could feel Diane's body rubbing against mine as our kiss grew deeper and more desperate. I'm not sure just how long we stood there against the door, embraced and kissing. It seemed like hours, like the sun should be rising outside and filling the room with it's orange morning glow. I knew all I wanted was Diane, everything else in the world seemed secondary at the moment. As our kiss continued, I felt Diane's silky stocking clad leg begin to slowly slide up the side of mine. I knew she had to feel my excitement by now, our bodies pressed so tightly together, me pulsing and aching like I was. As her leg caressed me, my arousal only grew more intense, and I knew there was no turning back, no backing out, no way to leave that room without Diane and I ending up together as one.
At some point in that outrageously splendid kiss I reached the point where I could no longer stand the overwhelming desires filling my head, filling my body. I slowly moved my lips from Diane's, and our eyes again met in the dim light of the room. My hand moved up her side, to the side of her angelic face. I gently slid the backs of my fingers along her long jawline, along her sensually smooth skin to her silky soft hair. As if we communicated without words, Diane put her arms around my neck, and I lifter her into my arms, and carried her to the waiting bed. She laid back, resting herself on one elbow with her arm below her., keeping her head up off the bed and her eyes fixated on mine. She slid one leg toward her chest, leaving the other straight out. Her short black dress was now pulled up high, exposing the full length of her shinny black stockings to me. If I could have frozen the vision and my feelings in time, I would have, and could have had that time for every and always. I knelt beside the bed, taking Diane's hand and kissing it softly as I moved to the floor. My lips began kissing up her long, slender arms, and my hand moved to touch her irresistible legs. The feel of her silky stockings to my hands was incredible. I don't think I've ever felt something so warm, so soft, and so special. All I could think about at that moment was the feel of the stockings to my touch, and how they would feel against my naked body, sliding over my legs and around behind me as she took me slowly inside her. As my kisses moved slowly up her arm, to her bare shoulder, my hand moved slowly up her leg. As my touch reached the top of her stockings, to the bare tender flesh of her now exposed inner thigh, Diane moaned softly. My eyes moved down her slender body, to where my fingers gently caressed her inner thigh. I marveled at the way the stockings clung to her leg, almost as if they were part of her. Again we kissed, tender, deep, longingly. I felt Diane's body move slightly as we kissed, moving toward me, rolling toward me. My hand moved around to her firm, round ass as she moved. I was on fire, I had never been so glad to be a man.
Our kiss continued until Diane moved again, this time she urged me onto the bed as she sat up. As I moved up to join her, Diane stood. I must have looked somewhat confused as she assured me that everything was OK, and that I just needed to lay back and relax. As I did, I was mesmerized again at the vision of Diane in front of the window, the dull night lights twinkling through her shinny blonde hair. With the smooth movements of a cat stalking it's prey, Diane's hands moved along her body, first up her sides, then to her back. I heard the tiny zipper as she slowly moved it downward, and waited with anticipation for her next move. As her hands moved around her body she let them gently, slowly slide over her heaving breasts. Almost as if controlled by some mystic power, her black dress fell from her arms, from her breasts, past her hips, down her long, lovely legs and to the floor. She slowly stepped out of the small pile of a dress at her feet, and moved toward the bed. Diane was now only in a very revealing strapless black bra, one which only covered the bottom half of her large round breasts, one that left her now swollen nipples exposed. She also had on a tiny black thong, her stockings, which obviously did not require garters, and her black high heels. As she took another step toward the bed, her hands again reached behind her, and her ultra feminine black bra fell helplessly to the floor beneath her feet. I offered my hand to Diane as she reached the bed. As she bent her long leg and placed her knee on the bed on once side of me, she took my hand and placed it on her breast. I moved my other hand to again touch those sheer black stockings. Just the feel of them to my hand sent desire raging through my body. For a brief moment, childhood memories filled my head, memories of the softness of the hem of a child’s blanket, the comforting feeling it always provided. Those thoughts were short lived. While the feelings were the same, the emotions were very different. I wasn’t thinking of cuddling up with a blanket, but instead with Diane. Before I knew what was happening, her other leg was on my other side, and I was forced to lean back even further. As I almost fell back on the bed, Diane's hands landed on the bed, one on each side of me, so that she was now on all fours, and I was beneath her. She leaned down and again, an electric kiss followed as I continued to caress her bare breast.
Somewhere in that kiss, somewhere in that fantasy, somewhere in that night I lost my clothing. Somewhere, somehow, sometime Diane and I ended up back in that bed, just the two of us, and her stockings. As I hovered over her, leaning down to kiss her gently, to nibble on her soft, smooth skin, I reached over to the night stand and retrieved a burgundy colored rose from the arrangement there. I slowly caressed her cheek with the velvety red petals, and followed by my lips and tongue. I continued caressing her face with the rose, and with my kisses, then moved lower, down her long slender neck, first with the soft rose petals, then with my lips. I slid the rose slowly down Diane's neck, down her chest, between her two magnificently rounded breasts. I drew the rose in a long slow circle around first her left breast, then her right, all the while kissing the path I had drawn. As I moved the rose over the tops of the large mounds of soft, sensual mounds, over her hard nipples, Diane moaned and arched her back slightly. When I followed with my kisses, with my lips, gently sucking, nibbling and kissing, Diane's fingers slid through my hair, and she moaned deeper. I used that rose to caress her entire body, every seductive, sexual, sultry inch of her skin. As I moved back up her leg, which was now bent at the knew, laying open to me, inviting me to finally satisfy her needs. The warm burgundy color of the rose blended well with the black stockings. As I slowly slid the soft petals along her silky stockings, I remembered the feel of them to my touch. I could almost imagine the sensations filling Diane as the velvety petals moved along the stocking, over the tops of them, and to her bare, soft skin of her inner thigh. I placed the rose on her chest. I gently kissed her tender inner thigh as she took the rose in her hand, moved it to her nose and inhaled slowly. My kisses found their mark, my lips and tongue also.
I took the rose from Diane's hand and lowered my lips to hers. My body slowly followed until our flesh was pressed together, and our bodies became one. As Diane slowly moved her legs around me, using her stockings to caress the backs of my legs and my ass, I knew I would never forget this night, never forget Diane. The night was magical, surreal, unbelievable. Diane and I made love for hours, slow, passionate, unbelievable. As the early morning sun began to light the sky with brilliant yellows, oranges and purples, Diane lay in my arms, both of us totally spent from the passion we shared. "Chris" she said softly as she cuddled her soft body close to mine, "I had a wonderful time". And almost before I could repay the sentiment to her, telling her that not only did I have a wonderful time, it was also the BEST night of my life, Diane was dozing off. I soon followed. We lay there naked in bed, snuggled together, and smiling. I think we slept for an hour or two when I felt Diane jump. My brain was still in a dream, a dream of the night before, a dream of the sensual kisses we shared, a dream of the orgasmic love making we had. Diane's jump brought me out of that state, but I came out slowly. I couldn't figure out where I was, what was going on, or why Diane was now sitting up in bed. Then I heard the cause of her movements... the phone.
"Hello" Diane said in a deep, groggy morning voice. "Oh, hi Joyce". I saw a grin come to Diane's face, almost a naught grin, one of a kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I couldn't help but start to smile with her as I put my arms around her as she sat there talking to Joyce. "Oh, yea, he was just like you told me, um-yesss" Diane went on and on, trying to keep from busting out laughing, which was made harder by my tickling her, biting her, half trying to seduce her as she talked to her cousin. I found one of her stockings on the bed. As she talked, I used it to tie her feet together, and proceeded to tickle them. Then suddenly I got smacked, and a little bit of concern came to Diane's face. "Oh, he didn't answer the phone this morning huh" she said, looking at me with a bit of alarm, yet a little bit of sinful pleasure. "Did you try his cell phone?" Diane asked. She hadn't anticipated what would happen next. I saw her look change, like she had just been busted or something. I was trying to figure out what was going on... I sat up and looked into her deep blue eyes as her face turned toward the nightstand on my side of the bed. Just as I turned to look at what she was looking at... my cell phone rang! Diane's face turned as red as the now wilting rose on the pillow beside her. BUSTED.... "Oh, that... welllllll" Diane said with a sheepishly low voice.. " that's Chris's cell phone". I could hear Joyce's laughter through the phone as Diane fell back into her pillow and her face got even deeper red.
"Hi Joyce" I called out in a chipper morning voice... "Thanks for setting me up on the date"
PARTY TIME by Bradley Hadley
Stocking and suspenders I love, if only because of my detestation of
pantyhose or tights, as
we call them in England. There isnt, in my view, a woman in this world who can
look either
dignified or beautiful standing there with her hose dragged up to her waist and
with her
panties showing through, never mind feminine! But, stockings and
suspenders...that's entirely
different, for, they are the ultimate suggestion of femininity, delicious
vulnerability and
potential feminine "wickedness" of the nicest type and that's why so
many men are bowled
over when their girls wear them.
Not that my wife ever subscribed to this truth, or to my own propaganda on the
subject.
She dimly recalled the days when miniskirts came in and when pantyhose had not,
leaving
stockings as the only option. This resulted in what many men recall as the
"Happy Period"
when pretty girls in miniskirts struggled valiantly and hopelessly to conceal
their stocking
tops ...to the the glee of every man on the planet.
"I" my wife would declaim "am not going to get trussed up like a
chicken just to please you".
How many men have heard this refrain? Thousands? Millions? How many nearly died
of
despair? Of Incipient Pantyhose Induced Depression or IPID, as Doctors call it?
What precisely it was that changed her mind about it all I shall never know, for
she never said.
!"Actions speak louder than words" has always been one of her
favourite sayings and they
certainly "spoke" on this occasion. I myself was speechless.
It was the annual trade fair for our industry which is a small one world wide.
We all know each
other in our game. It's a good fair with more partying than business and the fun
event of the
year for many. The annual dinner and dance with lousy hotel food and too much
booze was
part of this annual ritual and much looked forward to. In the early evening my
wife and myself,
both already part marinaded from boozing with our friends on our stand all day,
are up in our
room getting ready for this. I was thrown out of the room once dressed so she
could get ready
and I go and look after the guests in our own party. She was in a brilliant
mood...lots of
dancing, that's what she loved and what she was looking forward to. I am a
rotten dancer and
avoid looking a fool by doing too much of it, but, she knew she would get plenty
of skilled
partners that night.
So. Off to the dinner. More booze of course. Then the grand and awful dinner
which nobody
bothered tasting. Then the music starts and she's off, as usual, one dance after
another. My
wife was having a wonderful time. "The next dance is you and me" she
announced after a
while, sipping her drink in one of the lulls.
So, we danced, or she did. I did my "usual" shuffle. The second dance
was a slow one and I
put my hand around her waist. Through the filmy black dress material I noticed
something.
Moving my hands carefully I confirmed it. She was wearing suspenders. I was
actually
shocked. Moving my hand down from her waist and down her thigh I could feel the
taut straps
and couldnt resist flicking one through the material of her dress. "I can
see you like them" she
said very suggestively and with an even more suggestive and very triumphant look
on her
face. Of course, I wanted one dance after another then. "Dont be so
antisocial" she said
teasingly " we have to mix". "I'll mix you Lady, when I get you
upstairs" I thought, all desperate
and horribly aroused. She read my thoughts and grinned even more.
Several hours of torture followed. This dance always went on till the bitter end
anyway and she
was having such a great time that tonight was going to be no exception. To make
matters
worse, just about every single one of her dancing partners quite obviously had
noticed what I
had noticed and she made no secret of the fact that she was loving every minute.
Hands on
her bum, hands on her hips, hands on her thigh..hands everywhere. It was all
very discreet, of
course, but I noticed. I was watching like a hawk while conversing with people
on things that no
longer interested me at all.
"I've run out of cigarettes" she announced some time after midnight,
in between dances.
These were special Balkan ones that were all she would smoke. "There are
more in the car,
have you got the keys?" I replied, "I'll get you some".
"Thanks, my handbag's on the chair over
there, they are in it" she said and waltzed off, giggling. That was
unusual. She never giggled.
She was not and is not the giggling type.
I opened the hand bag and my eyes popped out. In it I found her panties. She
wasnt wearing
any! I was scandalised yet sweating, almost shaking, with excitement at the mere
thought. It
was an academic concern really. These panties were the flimsiest most
scandalous, see
through, revealing, girly, chiffon panties on the planet anyway and quite
pointless even if she
been wearing them. But, it didnt matter, it was the principal of the thing. My
wife was dancing,
in public, with all and sundry, in a very flimsy little black dress with
stockings and suspenders
on and no panties! I was as scandalised as the incriminating panties lying in
her handbag
were scandal ous and I was also quite unable to control my excitement.
I fetched the cigarettes and handed them to her. "You shameless little
tart" I whispered in her
ear "and don't you love every teeny weeny minute of it" she whispered
back, giggling and
laughing, "would you like to dance with me now?" I did of course,
though I had a terrible job
keeping my hands off her, to her great amusement. "Not so worried about our
dancing now
are we?" she quipped. And I wasnt.
In the early hours, we crept back to our room. The results were pretty much what
she had had
in mind all along. "This stocking and suspender thing obviously works
rather well" she mused
aloud "though a little more skilled passion and a little less of the
savagery wouldnt go
amiss". The expression on her face was that of the cat which had got a very
large ammount of
the cream, so i didnt apologise. She was fast asleep anyway.
THE GIFT
By Tanker
Shortly after World War II was over, I was a young and rising Armor officer stationed in southern Germany, concerned with keeping my war-weary vehicles running while the Russians were beginning to rattle their sabers in the east, the first opening moves of the Cold War.
Assigned as a motor officer, I didn’t have much spare time, but I had managed to date a few American women attached to the American Military Government, but nothing serious.
And then into my life came Trudl, a perky, pocket-sized blonde German Venus, a new secretary at battalion headquarters. I saw her almost daily and was deeply, head-over-heels in love with her the first time I saw her. She was stunning and her beauty so overwhelmed me that I was too shy to ask her for a date.
Every day, I brought my vehicle status reports to her desk for her to post on the acetate-covered Vehicle Status board outside the CO’s office.
She had soft blonde hair, huge blue eyes crackling with humor and intelligence and a shapely little body that cost me many sleepless nights.
Like most German women of that time, she dressed neatly, but obviously in much repaired hand-me-down dresses and skirts. Her shapely legs were hidden in thick cotton stockings and her low-heeled pumps were run over at the heels and much repaired, but they always were highly polished.
After handing over my report, I would stand in front of her desk while she read it to answer any questions she might have. I ached for her, but stood mute and gawky, crimson red with blushes.
And then she would rise and stride toward the status board, and looking back over her shoulder smiling, would say, "Danke, Herr Leutnant!" and I would nod my head muttering, "Fraulein," then beat a hasty retreat, but not before getting a glance of her neat little behind bouncing beneath her skirt in time to the rubbing of her eraser rag as she erased the old status numbers before grease-penciling in the new.
Too often, I would find officers and soldiers two and three deep around her desk as she laughed her trademark silvery little laugh and joked with them. I would watch jealously, and then walk out. As I stalked by, she would carol "Good Day, Herr Leutnant!" and I would mutter "good day’’ back at her and then she would jump to her feet and waving her shapely arms and hands, shoo away the admirers as a farm wife shoos away chickens, saying in German, "I must work! I must work!"
This went on for weeks and then a snow storm triggered me into action.
Trudl missed her ride because of the storm and I bent the regulations, giving her a ride to her apartment in my drafty M-37 three-quarter ton maintenance truck. She sat between me and PFC Valdez, my driver, and she and Valdez kept up a light-hearted conversation. Valdez was dating Hilde, Trudl’s best friend among the secretaries.
I sat there a tongue-tied lump, luxuriating in the feel of her warm thigh pressed against mine. And then we were at her home and she was out of the truck with another laugh and a "Danke, Herr Leutnant!"
On the way back, Valdez said "When are you gonna ask that little sweetheart out, Eltee, she’s rarin’ to date you."
THE RUB November's Winner
I work in a public relations firm in Indianapolis. On Thursday (Nov. 18), I
was doing my normal rounds, only it was late--7:45 p.m. and I still had
another four hours to go. I was working on a proposal for a new business
client and had just completed it when I took it to our lawyer Lynn (not her
real name).
I had just started work for this company in July, and I still feel like one
of the new guys (the company has 60 employees), but Lynn has made me feel at
home since day one. Lynn is 45, and older than me (I'm 37 but told I look
27), but she also does not look her age and is quite attractive. She's
happily married (for the third time) and good at her work. I also noticed
from day one that she wears nylon stockings with reinforced heels and toes
(RHT) plus a garter belt (I got an accidental peek of her once), something I
have ALWAYS found incredibly sexy. I have been a nylon lover since my
childhood and the feel of them on a woman's feet is especially a wonderful
feeling.
Anyway, as I delivered the document to her we engaged in chit-chat and she
invited me to sit down. As I did, I found it hard to focus on eye contact as
she kept dangling her shoe from her stockinged foot (she was wearing a dark
grey color) and I could see her RHTs clearly. As the conversation went on
she complained that she had been up since 5 a.m. and her feet were killing
her. She asked me if I knew anyone who could give a good footrub and I told
her "no, sorry" and joked I have done it before with no complaints
(which I
had) and she kicked off her shoe and asked if I would do the honors!
I must have died and gone to heaven. She had pretty feet and toes and
fortunately for me her nails were NOT painted (I hate toenail polish), so I
went ahead and felt her nyloned feet and gave her the best foot rub she could
ever imagine. I was careful not to put her feet near my crotch (I would have
lost it than in more ways than one) and instead substituted my thigh and knee
as a resting spot for her foot (one at a time). The rubdown went on for
about 30 minutes and could have gone longer Lynn said had she and I not had
so much work to do. The feeling my hands had were incredible and I was so
turned on!
Lynn thanked me profusely (I bet she did not even notice how turned on I was
as she sat back, rolled her head back and closed her eyes the whole time) and
we both got on with our business at hand, but said she wanted a repeat
performance sometime soon and that her hubby didn't like giving foot rubs.
I love a job with perks and this is one I don't plan on quitting anytime soon!
Ken
HIGH RISE
By Paul
The elevator was not too crowded that day in the big
city office building. The building had 15 floors and
he was headed all the way to the top. When the
elevator stopped at the third floor, the other five
people who were aboard all got off. And when the door
was about to close again, he heard a voice cry out.
"Hey can you hold the door?!"
The voice was soft and sweet. He instantly knew it
was from a young woman. Then he heard the
unmistakable sound of her high heels clicking across
the floor. Just hearing that crisp, clear sound made
his heart beat faster in anticipation. When she
reached the door, he got a whiff of her perfume. As
he breathed in the suculent aroma he sighed softly to
himself. His senses of smell and hearing had already
been stimulated by the as yet unseen woman. Now he
was hoping for a feast for his eyes as well.
"Oh thank you very much!" she exclaimed. "I did not
think I was going to make it," she added as she
reached for the button to her floor. But her floor
was already lit up. They were both going all the way
to the top floor.
They both looked into each other's eyes.
"Hmmmm. How did you know that was where I was going
too?" she asked with mock surprise and a smile parting
her full red lipsticked lips. He was entranced by her
sparkling blue eyes, her flowing blonde hair, and her
classic features. As he pondered a witty response to
her playful question, he discretely allowed his eyes
to meander down her hourglass figure. She was wearing
a light gray pin-striped business suit that exuded
power and confidence. Under her blazer, she wore a
white silk blouse that was tucked precisely into her
short tapered skirt that ended several inches above
her knees. Her legs were unbelievably long and
shapely. They were accented by a pair of silky
smooth, sheer black nylons that almost seemed to
shimmer in the soft light of the elevator. Her very
professional, yet utterly feminine outfit was
punctuated by a pair of classic glisteny black 4 inch
high heels.
"WOW!" he thought to himself. She was positively
breathtaking. He was getting very warm now. And he
was now thinking almost exclusively below the belt
too. And of course this was making it hard for his
"real" brain to function properly.
"It must be ESP," he blurted out with a laugh. She
happened to glance down at his crotch and spotted his
growing appreciation for her. She smiled at his joke
and then she dropped her pen "accidently." He, being
a gentleman, went down to a knee to pick it up for
her. But just before he could reach it she stepped on
it with her very sexy pump. He slowly looked up at
her stunning legs and then to her smiling face. She
smelled so good and her black stockinged legs looked
so sexy.
"Why don't you forget about the pen honey and just
focus on what you really went down there for," the
blonde said breathlessly as she ran her tongue slowly
over her upper lip. He was now throbbing with lust.
He reached out with his right hand and ever so gently
touched his fingertips to her nyloned calves. The
stockings felt so soft and silky. And he could feel
her warmth growing with every touch upon them too. He
then ran his fingers up to her knees. Feeling every
luscious curve along the way. His body was tingling
with electricity. And her body seemed was positively
radiating with energy. He then kissed both of her
knees with all of his passion as his fingers continued
their ascent up her shapely thighs and finally under
her teasing skirt. She was moaning in ecstacy as his
loving hands caressed her lacy stocking tops.
He climbed to his feet and pulled her close. Their
lips meeting with uncontrollable passion. Both of
them were on fire now. He unbuttoned her blouse and
was aroused even further as he noticed she was also
wearing a black lace bra. He could not believe how
beautiful and erotic she was!
Then the elevator stopped abruptly.
And they both were jarred back to their senses.
He stood up and handed her the pen back. She smiled
and thanked him. It had all been only a dream. But a
wonderful dream that would be replayed over and over
in their minds.
As they stepped off the elevator and went their
respective ways, they both hoped that someday they
would meet again and that fantasy would be transformed
into reality.
THE END
A LETTER from JOHN
Dear Mercedes:
I thought I’d write and remind you of an event that occurred when I first
began teaching at a small college near your home, and you enrolled in my
creative writing class. While I’m sure you don’t recall, it's a nice
exhibitionist memory for me (although very embarrassing at the time) and
might provide a little insight into the manifestations of the stocking
fetish among men (at least, this man).
I volunteered to teach a creative writing class during the summer, even
though I would have rather been just about anywhere else. Typically, summer
classes were populated by nerdy type students who had absolutely nothing
else to do but take all the classes they could, just for the pleasure of it.
So these classes were extremely dull. And I imagined this one would be
the same, until you walked through the door of my classroom.
Now, as a young teacher, I had learned while attending teachers college that
I must condition myself to not notice the lovely young girls that would
continually pass in and out of my line of vision, during the course of a
school day. I knew it served no purpose to glare and stare, other than to
spark some nascent longing that I could not fulfill, at least not in the way
I wanted. I was taught that I must maintain my professional demeanor and
distance; and of course, when a girl knows that she’s been noticed, she also
knows she has the upper hand.
So when you did cross that threshold from the open empty hallway into Room
471, my eyes quickly went from you to the clock above the door: 4:45 it
read, and that explained the silence and emptiness behind you, as you
stopped, looked back, and closed the door. An unusual gesture, I thought,
but I just looked down at some papers I was grading…primarily to resist my
sudden, almost irresistible urge to gaze at you. No other students had
reported.
Don’t think for a moment that if a man quickly glances at a woman, and then
turns his eyes elsewhere, he hasn’t completely, with lightning speed,
completely checked her out. Even with my years of conditioning, I had
catalogued each and every detail of you, and you were completely--
hot. I couldn’t BELIEVE how you perfectly matched my every fantasy of a
girl, along with all the subtle accouterments that set off my fetishistic
imagination.
I first noticed that you looked at me and gave me a completely
innocent and the prettiest of smiles. Blond hair neatly parted in the
middle, shoulder length; shapely shoulders squared and toned under a tight
white nylon blouse with long sleeves, pulled so tightly across your breasts
that I could easily see the shadow of a dark-colored bra underneath. Then to
your skirt: above-the-knee hemline, and pleated like a cheerleader’s skirt,
but a thinner material. Tight-fitting at the waist and hips, then flaring
outward. It was a gorgeous pastel blue. Then to your legs: dark tan hose,
and of obvious high quality. Your high heels were the same pastel blue as
the skirt.
As I said, I didn’t dare watch you as you walked towards me, passed within a
few feet of my desk, and sat down. Without looking up, I noted that you sat
right in front (most students sit as far in the back as possible), and at
the head of a row of desks where the first two were missing for some reason,
so you were sitting far enough away from my desk that I had a completely
unobstructed view, from the top of your head to the narrow tapered heel of
you shoes. I didn’t DARE look up now.
“Aaaahem.” You cleared your throat. “Damn!” I thought, “I have to look up
now!” and did so quickly, and my eyes met yours (I looked only at your eyes,
still trying to fight with my desire to take in the rest of you). “Yes?” I
asked. “I really think I’ve written a great short story, and I was hoping
that you’d critique it for me. Will you help?” Oooooh, could I ever help!
But who would help me continue my self-control?
Let me explain my problem: I always was fascinated by girls wearing just
the type of pleated skirts you were wearing. I once dated a girl who
regularly dressed in such skirts, and also wore stockings instead of
pantyhose. The most erotic and exciting thing I remember when I dated her
was sitting on the couch in her apartment, and we’d start to neck. I’d
place my hand on her knee, feeling her sheer silky nylons with my fingers
and palm, and slowly attempting to work my hand farther up from that knee.
If she was in the mood (and she often was), she would let me reach that
benchmark moment when my hand touched the very top of the stocking, and I
would feel the warm bare inner thigh above the luscious nylon, and if I was
truly lucky, the nylons would come up so high on her thigh that her panties
were just above, so I had the pleasure of three distinct sensations at one
time: fingers and palm feeling silky stockings and bare skin at the same
time, and the thumb rubbing gently on tight panties, feeling the warmth
underneath. A certain moist sensation at that point made the moment…perfect.
I lived for those moments; and being a very modest girl otherwise, she kept
me satisfied while saving her virginity by letting me explore the nylon
sensations under her skirt, while she’d caress and work me lovingly with her
hand, until I found satisfaction. I came close to marrying that girl, and
often regretted I didn’t.
So this experience came crashing back to me when I first saw you, and knew
if I didn’t completely resist the temptation that was the sight of you, I
could lose control, and be at your mercy.
“Yes, and your name is…?” I asked. “Mercedes,” you said, and smiled again,
and shifted yourself in your seat, causing me to again check you out. A
purposeful move on your part? “Well, yes, I will help you—go ahead and work
on your story, and when you need my assistance, just ask.”
I had said that without a bit of quiver in my voice. I was cool. I
immediately glanced down at whatever papers I was grading, and
remained silent for what seemed hours. You scribbled on a piece of paper for
a while, and then I caught you moving out of your seat, and approach my
desk. You walked up boldly to the front of it, placed a folded note on my
desk, and casually strolled back to your seat.
I still refused to look at you, and so merely picked up the note and
unfolded it, some moments of hesitation. What I read amazed me:
Dear Mr. D---e:
I know you want to look at me. Go right ahead—I won’t mind. Actually, I love
the attention. Enjoy!
Mercedes
PS: If you like my outfit for today, you ought to see what I’m wearing
underneath!
I was simply thunderstruck. I had just been given permission to do the
one thing I wanted to do! Should I? Could I? I looked at you, and you
looked back, chewed the end of your pen a bit, gave me that great innocent
grin, and began writing. Your legs were crossed, and you began shaking one a
bit, contentedly.
To hell with it! I abandoned any pretext of control, and just began to
stare. I focused on your legs, and admired the sheer quality of your
nylons, how they shimmered in the light, and how at the knees, where the
nylon was stretched tightest, they reflected light like star sapphires. I
enjoyed the contrast between the dark stockings and the light pastel blue
shoes—such a look shouted out “look at me!” and was so mysteriously naughty.
I noted how your skirt rode up a bit as you sat, and exposed more than a few
inches of your upper legs. I tried to look up your skirt, to see what you
were “wearing underneath,” but with no luck. I began to get hard.
How quickly men can find themselves in such a state, and I recalled, in that
classroom setting, the many times as a student that I had, without any
stimulation whatsoever, become so completely hard that I couldn’t begin to
fathom what had come over me, and when that hard-on would not relax
itself(“itself” because it truly had a mind somewhere in that head, of its
own)when the bell rang, and I would have to jam my left hand into my pants
pocket to cover my inexplicable arousal, and curse my plight under my breath
as I walked to my next class.
Now many years later, and I had such a similar problem. Except that I knew
the source, who now sat in front of me, looking right at me, smiling.
“Mr. D---e,” you then said, “Could you possibly come over here and
look my…paper?” Ah, why me! And just like all those times, when the bell
rang, I jammed my hand into my pocket, stood up, and walked slowly over
to the source of my stimulation.
Carefully, I stood next and a bit behind you, looking down at your paper, as
you pointed out to a particular sentence was giving you trouble. Trying to
pay attention to your writing, my erection had just began to subside as I
talked to you about how to improve the syntax of a sentence in question,
when you placed your hand somewhere under the laminated desk panel holding
your paper, and began to move your skirt up the leg that crossed over the
other, revealing by increments more of your leg, until I could see two
inches of stocking (!) top, with a garter clasp neatly pulling at the top
(the welt?) just a bit.
OH MY MY, YOU WAS WEARING STOCKINGS AND A GARTER BELT! My chest suddenly
pounded, my head began to spin, and I grasped the back of your seat with one
hand and the edge of the desktop with the other. My erection
resurrected itself at that moment, pushing itself prominently against my
slacks.
At that very moment, you looked up, stared directly at my protrusion
so close to the very level of your eyes, smiled, and said: “Looks like you
have a problem there. Maybe you better sit down.” And with that, you
purposely flipped the end of your pen at the very head of my erection,
giving it a smart tap.
I was melting. I don’t know how I did it, but the next thing I recall
Was sitting back at my desk, face undoubtedly flushed, staring once again at
your legs as you continued to write. Now, you was sitting with your legs
uncrossed, and they were sufficiently parted that I could see up your skirt,
where I drank in the images of your stockings riding high up on your thigh,
with just a bit of that white inner thigh showing, and then the pinkest of
nylon panties stretched tight across your crotch.
I squeezed my legs together under my desk to contain my excitement, and then
spread them apart so the material of my pants would rub against my throbbing
erection, and then pressed them together again. I couldn’t help but grab
myself through my pants and squeeze and pull, staring at this irresistible
sight.
Squeeze and pull, squeeze and…oh MON DIEU, before I could stop this
reflexive motion, I felt my penis begin its pre-orgasmic spasm, and totally
out of control now, begin releasing its fluids. So I grabbed again, since
the whole scene was hopeless, milking as much enjoyment out of the moment,
looking squarely at you as you looked squarely at me. Over and over I
violently, quietly ejaculated.
Then I was numb, limp, wasted, and spent. I now sat gazing blindly at
nothing. I had totally lost my composure that I had been taught to maintain.
What now? Once gone, could I ever regain it? How long I had lapsed into
reverie, I don’t know, but I sensed movement in front of me, and before I
could look up, pair of pink full-bottom panties were spread in front of me,
their lace trim ascending up the sides and along the waistline.
“I gotta go—you might need these to clean yourself up a bit,” I heard
somewhere far off. With that, you walked out of my room. Slowly sauntered
out, a walk that intimated your sense of complete…victory.
I left teaching that day, and never returned.
Vision of a Goddess by Tom
It had been a long hot day, and I decided to take a stroll down by the
harbor. The business of the day had taken it's toll, and my mind was
empty, just taking in the sounds, and the feel of the cool breeze
usually found by the water. I had no real plan of where I was headed, I
was just enjoying the evening. I could hear the bustle of the other
people on their way to the restaurants, or waterfront events. Then I
heard a sound that seamed out of place. It was the distinctive sound of
stiletto heels on the pavement, and stockings rubbing as the wearer's
legs glided past each other. I looked around and found a vision of a
goddess, walking in front of me.
She was young, and perfectly proportioned. I started at the ground and
worked my way up, slowly viewing this lovely lady as we walked. Her
shoes had narrow pointed heels at least 5 inches tall. They were a deep
enchanting shade of blue. The closed toe and heel were joined by a thin
'T' strap that started from the center of the toe section, then divided
to surround the ankle an fasten at the heel. The stockings were an
unusual pair. They were an off white, like the color of champagne,
accented by a blue seam that traced the back of her perfectly shaped
legs. The seam's color was very close to that of the shoes, it almost
appeared to be a part of the shoe, but the reinforcement of the stocking
heel rose too high to be part of the shoe. The illusion was
magnificent.
I continued my gazing up her legs, and came to the short skirt of her
dress. The dress was very elegant, in a color that closely matched the
shoes. It was obvious to me that the dress was made of silk, as it
shimmered in the evening light. The styling of the back of the dress
highlighted the curves of this ladies perfect body. The look was of
pure elegance, and femininity. Her long flowing mane of a golden brown
reached the middle of her back with a loose wave of curls.
She headed toward a bench to sit down, so I stopped near a light post
that I could lean on while I continued to survey this masterful
creation. She sat with the grace of a queen, gently adjusting her skirt
as she sat. She unbuckled one of her shoes and removed it. Now I knew
that she must have had something in her shoe that was uncomfortable
since she was attempting to clear out the toe section with her long
manicured fingers. With her shoe off, it was clear to see that these
were stockings were the old fashioned style with the reinforcement from
toe to heel along the bottom of the foot, matching the color of the
seams. As she put her shoe back on, she inadvertently raised her leg
too high, and her skirt slid up allowing me a glimpse of her panties.
Now that her shoe was on again, she got up and walked over in my
direction. I was thinking, was it possible she knew I was watching her,
or was it just a coincidence that she changed direction. As she got
closer, my heart started racing. I couldn't help but continue to gaze
upon her, and see the details of her beauty. Her dress had a low
neckline that allowed a portion of her perfectly shaped breasts to show.
She had to be at least a C cup based on the cleavage line. Her face
was just a beautiful as the rest of her.
Her dark eyes looked right through me.
She walked right up to me and said "I know you have been watching me,
and it is obvious I am alone. Why don't you just ask me?" I thought
for a moment, my mind was blank, and I was caught off guard. I quickly
came to my senses and said "I have been awe struck by you. What is your
name?" She said her name was Mercedes. I thought how that name fit.
An elegant lady with an elegant name. I asked her if she wanted to go
to dinner, and she agreed.
I took her to the best restaurant near the harbor. We talked during
dinner and I found out the she was visiting from out of town. I asked
her about her attire. She told me that she loves to wear old fashioned
nylons and heels. They make her feel so feminine, and they always
attract attention. I told her how mesmerized I was from the first
glance. When we finished dinner, I suggested a stroll to a nearby park.
Once at the park, we sat on a bench and talked for a few hours.
It was starting to get late, and she told me to close my eyes for a
minute, she wanted to give me something. A minute later she said to
hold out my hands, and she placed something very light and silky in my
hands. She then told me to open my eyes, and I could see that she had
given me her stockings. She told me to keep them as a way to remember
her, as she enjoyed the evening, and wanted to thank me for making her
stay memorable. I walked her back to her Hotel, and then went home.
Once I arrived home, I remember the stockings she gave me, and I pulled
them out of my pocket. I was delighted by their fragrance, and the
night replayed in my mind. From that moment on, I was hooked on finding
a woman who enjoyed stockings as much as this lady. My quest is on
going. It seems that women today do not wear stockings, only pantyhose.
If not for the pair she left me, I would have thought it a dream, but it
was a real vision, of a goddess.
This is purely a fictional writing. Mercedes was the inspiration for
the description of the lady, but the connection ends there.
I don’t know if any of you have seen the National Lampoon vacation movie where Chevy Chase dries his family across the country, and during the trip the blond super model passes him in her convertible? Well, I was driving in my pickup truck the other day, no family or anything with me, and all of a sudden I see this white convertible in my mirror. I could tell it was closing fast, and the next thing I knew the car was pulling out beside me to pass. I looked over and I swear it was the same model as in the movie I mentioned! There was this long blonde hair flying in the wind, long dangling earrings jutting back and forth along her long neck, and at first, I thought she was as topless as her car. After a second look I saw that she wasn’t topless, but her black dress was an off-the-shoulder style that got the imagination flowing. She slowed just a bit, and with one hand she pulled her sunglasses down a bit and winked at me. Her motor roared, and off she went, just a fantasy in my mind.
It took several miles before the thought of that lovely blonde in the convertible wasn’t the only thing on my mind. As I drove I fantasized what she was like, what we would talk about, what it would be like to kiss her and hold her in my arms. It wasn’t long before the lonely road was gone and I was in a small town that barely showed up on my map. It had been a while since my last meal, the afternoon was dragging on, and I wouldn’t reach my destination for many more hours, so I decided it was OK to stop and grab a bite to eat and relax a bit. The town didn’t have much in the way of fast food, but I was able to find a small diner that offered a decent sandwich and cup of coffee at a reasonable price. As I sat in the booth alone, I gazed out the window, and thoughts of that white convertible started to go through my head again. I wondered where that blonde beauty was headed, and why she would be so dressed up way out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know exactly how long I had sat there daydreaming before I was startled to see that white convertible parked outside the window. It was only for a moment, at a stop sign, then it drove away. I wanted to kick myself for being so preoccupied with my daydreaming that I almost missed the real thing. I thought to myself that if I had only been eating, and not fantasizing about that gorgeous blonde, I might have been outside already and I could have followed her. But, be that as it may, I was stuck with a half of sandwich, and a half cup of coffee, and my thoughts.
After paying my check, I went outside, stretched for a minute or two, then got in my truck and drove off. I figured I’d have a few more hours until it got dark, and I settled in on my lonely drive. It was only after about 20 minutes that my fantasies came true. As I came around the bend in that lonely country road, there was that white convertible parked just off to the side. As I got closer I felt my heart race as I saw that blonde bombshell standing beside the car. She was stunning, even from a distance. She had on black heels, black stockings, a short black dress. Was I lucky enough to come upon a damsel in distress like this? I slowed, not quite sure if I should stop or not. As I got closer, this tall blonde goddess took a step away from her car and looked right at me. I suddenly remembered that look as she pulled down her glasses as she passed me and winked. Fate is a wonderful thing… I was finally about to meet my fantasy!
I pulled up along side of the white convertible and rolled down the passenger side window. “Everything OK?” I asked as she approached the side of my truck. She took her glasses off and I was speechless. Her big blue eyes captivated me. Her voice was soft and sweet. I felt like someone who was stuck in a wonderful dream, never wanting to wake up. I knew I had never met this woman before in my life, but as we gazed into each other’s eyes, I thought I had known her forever. “It just stopped” she said, “and there is no cell phone service way out here”. I smiled, and mumbled something about seeing what I could do, but I don’t remember the exact words. I was still lost in her big blue eyes somewhere, and it wasn’t until I put the truck in park that I realized I had pulled off the road to help her.
“I’m Michael” I said as I walked toward her, “what did it do before it quit running?” With a big warm smile, she responded that her name was Mercedes, and that I was a prince for stopping to help her out. I made sure I cautioned her that I was no mechanic, and I wasn’t sure I could do anything. As I checked under her hood, CAR hood that is, we began to talk. I almost banged my head when Mercedes told me that she remembered passing me earlier and she shared that I had been on her mind since then. “We don’t get many out of state plates up here” she said, “so to see someone from out of state, as handsome as you, well, I was just wondering what the story was?” Could this be true, she was thinking about ME? I wasn’t sure if I should confess that I had been fantasizing about her, but I figured if the moment felt right, I’d do it later. I told her that my parents had moved up here recently, and I was helping out at their new place to get them settled. I ended by telling Mercedes I had to ask… what was someone as pretty as her doing all dressed up in the middle of a weekday way out here. Without blinking an eye, Mercedes shared with me that she was an internet model, and that she was coming home from a photo shoot. Again, I almost banged my head! I stood and asked her to try starting the car… that’s when I realized just what Mercedes modeled. She walked to the side of the car, and bent over the closed door to turn the key. As she bent over, I realized that she was wearing seamed stockings, a garter and some very shear panties. Her legs were very long and shapely, definitely those of a model. I was wiping my dirty hands on an old t-shirt that I had brought from my truck as her motor roared back to life. Mercedes turned and was smiling from ear to ear. As she started to speak, I asked her to turn it off and try starting it again. She gave me a look, one of those “I know what you want” looks, but I quickly said that I wanted to make sure that it would start up again after I left. With a doubtful look, but an ornery grin, she agreed, and once again, I got a shot of those long legs, those stocking tops, and those see through panties. I hope I said it to myself, and not out loud where she heard me, but I heard loud and clear in my head, “what a beautiful ass”. Mercedes turned the key so the car stopped, then started, then stopped again. She stood, grinning and thanked me. She walked toward me, still smiling.
“So, Michael, after you saw me earlier today, did you think about me anymore?” Mercedes asked, with a smirk. I was speechless at first. She was standing right in front of me, this gorgeous internet model, stockings, heels, short dress, see through panties, bright blue eyes… what’s a guy to say? I admitted that I had thought about her a lot since she first winked at me. Then I told her I had felt a strange attraction to her, like I had known her, or was meant to know her. Before she could give me that look she would give some guy that had just given her a corny pick-up line, I told her I was serious, and wasn’t trying to come on to her, that I was just being honest. Mercedes smiled and admitted that there was something about me also that had kept me on her mind. We talked a bit more before I finally asked about her modeling, and the photo shoot she was coming from. She told me about her web site, and how she modeled stockings, slips and pantyhose. I told her that I could only imagine how many fan she must have, and that I thought she was quite attractive. I asked more about the shoot, what kinds of pictures she posed for, and where she took them. Mercedes told me that she had come from a farm not far from where we were at, and that she was modeling with her convertible. I grinned and asked if she could demonstrate for me.
Again, without a blink, Mercedes leaned back against the car, smiling, and looking hard into my eyes. She lifted one leg so that the bottom of her foot was against the tire of the car, she leaned back. As she moved, her dress pulled up slightly, exposing her stocking tops. They were shinny and black, smooth and inviting. Mercedes lifted herself slowly to the hood of the car, first laying back, pulling one leg toward her body, then sliding it back down the hood, she turned toward me, her long blond hair framing her beautiful face, falling slowly from her bare shoulders. I was awestruck and speechless. “Get the idea?” Mercedes said in a deep, soft tone. I smiled, took a step or two toward the car and said I needed a little more demonstration.
Mercedes turned to her stomach, and moved so her head was toward the front of the car, she raised up on her arms and her large breasts hung barely covered by her dress. Her long blond hair covered the soft, bare skin of her shoulders. She brought her knees up under her, and in doing so, her dress pulled up exposing the tops of her long, sexy legs and I got another glimpse of those marvelous sheer panties. “Help me down Michael?” Mercedes asked, raising one hand toward me. I walked closer and took her hand, and watched as she slowly slid off the hood of that white convertible.
As she stood, she turned toward me. I’m not sure if Mercedes made the move toward me, if I pulled her toward me, or if I stepped toward her, but soon she was in my arms. Her body pressed against mine as my hands slid down her slender frame, over her firm, round ass, and to the tops of her silky soft stockings. We looked into each other’s eyes and time stood still. I know it was only a matter of seconds, but it seemed like hours before we kissed. I felt her hands on me as my hands continued holding her, exploring her. Our kiss ended, and Mercedes stepped back from me. With a coy look, she turned and walked toward the nearby barn. I followed and once around the backside of the barn, Mercedes continued to show me her modeling. She reached behind her and unzipped the dress, letting it fall silently to the ground, like a leaf falls in the autumn from a tree. There she stood, stockings, heels, garter, panties and lacy black bra. I think it was obvious to her that I liked what I saw. Mercedes continued to pose against the side of the barn, asking me if I liked what I was seeing, and if I was getting the idea of how she did a photo shoot. We both knew that the questions were only her way of flirting with me, teasing me, arousing me. She continued showing off her long, shapely legs, stretching those soft stockings along the length of them, making me wish she were mine. This went on and on before I stepped closer, and we embraced. The kiss that followed was long, slow, passionate. The feel of her body against mine was heavenly. I never wanted that kiss to end. But, like all good things, it did end, and Mercedes picked up her dress and asked me to help her zip it up.
We made our way back to her car. Mercedes opened the door, slowly lowered herself to the seat, then, after exposing her long, sexy stockings a bit, she pulled her legs into the car and closed the door. “Michael, you were a darling for helping me” she said with a big smile, “and I’m really glad I got to know you”. I tapped on the hood of the car, told Mercedes it was me who needed to thank her, and I walked back to my truck. I got it, took a deep breath, then turned on the key. As I waited to watch Mercedes pull away, she honked her horn and motioned for me to come back to her. I got out of the truck and walked back. As I got there she reached out to hand me something. She handed me one of her black stockings. It as rolled neatly. I clinched it in my hand, and smiled as she blew me a kiss. Then, with a quick toot on the horn, Mercedes put the car in gear and sped off down the country road, now covered with the long shadows of late afternoon. I walked slowly back to my truck, savoring this autumn afternoon rendezvous. As I closed the door to the truck, I realized that the stocking Mercedes had put in my hand felt a little firm. I unrolled it, fantasizing about how Mercedes would unroll it, then slowly slide it on to her long, slender leg, over her soft, sensuous skin. Down toward the foot was a business card. It wasn’t what was printed on the card that caught my attention, but rather the hand written message on the back.
Michael – Thanks hun !
Love Mercedes
Dark Brown Seamed Stockings