Steve had an obsession and had to get it out of his system. He knew that. Before it was too late. At his age, he couldn't keep living with this obsession. Sometimes, over the years, he'd felt guilty and ashamed to be so obsessed. At other times, he'd felt elated and excited because he also felt unique and privileged to have such an imagination. But, more than anything else, he felt frustrated.
And now Steve was determined to work his way through the obsession, and the excitement, and the frustration. And rid himself of the guilt, he hoped. He'd got together all he needed. His collection of "items" over many years was now ready for "application" if only he could find the right "subject" for his "experiment." These are the words Steve used to himself although, really, he thought of the process with more romance and gentleness than they suggested.
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At the age of 18, nearly 40 years earlier, he'd been seduced by an older woman; well, she was 27. And Steve remembers every detail of the seduction. Especially, he remembers her undressing and her underwear. To be honest, he has no memory of her figure; not her breasts or legs or bottom. He just remembers being intrigued by the sight and the feel of her underwear: girdle, stockings and bra. She'd left them on while she undressed him and kissed all over his face, pressing her tongue into his mouth and clutching at his penis and his testicles as soon as she had them free from his clothes.
His hands had wandered over her girdled figure. He'd felt the firm band of her bra as it circled her ribs; and he'd weighed her breasts in his hands, feeling at the taut support and the stitching of the bra cups. Then he'd let his hands fall to her waist and he marvelled at the tightness of the girdle with its bones, and the zipper over her left hip. His right hand had dropped further to rest on the flatness of her stomach under two wide bones and the rigid stitched panel. His left hand had fallen to her right thigh and he'd entwined a finger round the suspender as it held up the nylon stocking. He'd noticed as a passing thought that her panties were gone already, or perhaps she hadn't had any at the start.
And so his exploration had as his excitement rose -- literally, as his erection gained hardness, which she noticed.
He'd made love for the first time with this "older woman" dressed in her underwear. And revelled in the sensations coming through his hands and his skin as he lay on her she moved around, as well as the new feelings coming through his groin. She'd showed him movements and some simple positions he'd never thought of. Of course, he'd reached his climax too soon; before he'd wanted, and probably before she wanted, too. But Steve hadn't known that. Only that the totality of his sensations had been overwhelming and he'd clung to her afterwards, feeling again the tightness and the construction of her corsetry. He'd felt the bones in their pockets up the length of the girdle, and the tautness over her stomach and her bottom, and the stretch in the suspenders. And as he did, his erection had revived and he'd clung to her as he plunged into her again and again.
Steve had been oblivious to her pleasure but she'd known that and accepted it from the boy-virgin in her arms. She did wonder, though, at his continuous massaging of her body through her underwear; and at his insistence that she leave them in place for his first sex with a woman. But she'd liked the young man and the rigidity of his erection, so they met more times. She'd taught him more tricks to become a better lover, to please her as she wished; and always Steve wanted her in her corsetry. Eventually they'd parted, of course. Steve had gone on to try his new skills with other girls and women, and she to explore other young men, virgins if possible, to calm her raging sex-drive.
After that, he'd sought out women who reminded him of his initiation. That meant women who wore firm underwear: girdles, corsets, bras, stockings. He knew from the start that he would always want and need the closeness of women's corsetry for him to achieve his orgasm. For a lifetime, his sexual requirements had remained the same. At one time, he got married; mainly because the girl had worn stockings and a girdle at each of their meetings. It was 1968, Steve liked her very much, she was free and easy in her affection and her love, and she wore a girdle. What more could he want? Nothing. They'd got married but, almost immediately, within a few days, she announced that she was giving up the girdle and stockings. Henceforth she would wear nylon tights or pantyhose. Imagine, if you can, his disappointment and his sudden loss of desire for his wife. And his guilt from the knowledge that he'd loved her underwear more than her for herself. Steve became impotent and their marriage was doomed. Sure enough, within a short time they'd divorced and he expected to remain single for the rest of his life.
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Now, all these decades later, walking along Tottenham Court Road in London, his attention was caught by one of the many "escort postcards" wedged into the phone booths and bus-stops. Of course, Westminster Council removed them every day but this was 08.00 in the morning and they were all still in place. This one showed a poor-quality picture of a woman dressed in stockings, suspender-belt and bra. And the main headline said, "Whatever you want -- WHATEVER." He ripped the card out of the booth and carried around in his inside pocket for the rest of the day. In the evening, he settled down and called the number, to speak to Julia, it turned out.
"Will you wear whatever I bring for you?" he'd asked.
"My dear, I'll do anything that doesn't leave a mark or cause me injury," Julia had replied, "I'll wear anything you want me to."
"What size of clothes do you wear, if you don't mind me asking," he was nervous and didn't really know how to ask this.
"I'm a size 12, dear, with D-cup. Does that help?" she'd offered, "Oh, and by the way, don't be offended, but no kissing on the mouth. OK? We can be as close as you like but we're not in love. OK?"
Steve agreed and a meeting was fixed for the following evening.
He made his preparations. Size 12 he interpreted to be bust 36D in her case judging from the poor photo he had, waist about 30 inches, and hips about 38 inches. And so he spent the next day looking through his extensive collection of clothes until he found what he wanted:
- a 36D longline bra in white; underwired and also boned at the sides and front; 12 hooks at the back; cuff waist; ignorantly described by the vendor as a "corset-bra" he remembered;
- A highline open-bottom girdle, white with hooks and zip fastener on the left hip; size 28 inches. "Small but I want her nice and snug -- well contained," he thought to himself;
- A new pair of Elbeo support stockings, strength-3, for a woman of 5ft2inches to 5ft4inches; if they were a little too short, then so much the better to keep the tension in the suspenders and the girdle.
Steve went with his selection, as agreed, to Berners Hotel, Bloomsbury, and he got there is good time -- about 2.30 pm. He relaxed, ordered a room service sandwich and drink, and a bottle of champagne to be chilled for the rest of the afternoon. On the big king-size bed, he laid out his selected clothing and covered them with a big fluffy bath square from the en-suite. An envelope, with her money, he left on the cupboard near the door.
At 5.30 pm, dead on time, Julia was announced from Reception and she came to the room a few minutes later. She was a professional. You couldn't tell from her appearance or her clothes that she was a "working girl" although the hotel Reception probably knew her anyway. As he let her in, she leaned upwards and kissed Steve gently on the cheek. And she quickly cast a glance at the envelope on the cupboard.
He put his hands on her hips and held her briefly; maybe for five seconds; and then they went through into the room. By a quick guess, she was 5ft3inches in height. "Perfect," he thought.