The scarf was lying on top of a pile of magazines. The sheer fabric shimmered attractively. I couldn't resist. I had to touch it, feel it flowing over my fingers. I was more excited than I had ever been before. I reached out with a trembling hand and gently took hold of it, gasping at it's soft, slippery texture and almost letting it slide to the floor. I wanted to touch my face with it, breathe through its delicate fibres. Then as I let it caress my lips and then my nose, I became giddy with it's perfume. Suddenly I was awake and wanted more than anything to be back in the dream, which was a memory of something that had happened a few weeks earlier at a friend's house.
It must have been around this time that I started getting excited when viewing certain images and I had no idea why. Now because this was the very early 60s, there were no images of naked women on TV, movies or in the media. This was still considered obscene and pornographic. However, magazine and newspaper editors, especially of the more lurid publications, knew what sold more copies and published as many pictures of scantily-clad women as they could under the guise of publicising films, fashion and TV programs.
And amongst those many pictures, films and TV programs were women frequently wearing see-through clothing over their underwear, the more transparent the better as far as I was concerned. This was what got me really excited and there were many similar images (for me, at least) everywhere, even in my mother's magazines on the fashion pages where I might be lucky enough to see a model wearing a chiffon blouse.
Incredibly, I even found excitement when my cousin Rita lent me a whole years supply of a comic for girls called Bunty which contained an illustrated story about a girl who wanted to become a ballerina and ended up performing finally in a transparent harem costume. I pored over the drawings of the young dancer performing in her lovely sheer harem pants (As I say, images that were exciting to me were everywhere, even in an innocent comic for adolescent girls!).
The great thing about this was that I could feast my eyes on a photo of a glamorous film star clad only in a chiffon gown, for instance, without arousing suspicion. But the main attraction of these images was guessing how nice it would be to wear one of these garments. I don't know how, but I knew the transparent fabric would be exciting to touch. Perhaps it was the early incident with the sheer scarf. And it didn't matter that the garments were all ultra-feminine, that was irrelevant. However, and this was the worst aspect of my particular obsession, they were all out-of-bounds to a teenage boy.
Once, I spent ages poring over the publicity photograph for a comedy film set in arabia, which showed the star actress dressed in one of the lovliest harem costumes I've ever seen, complete with soft, sheer, shimmering pantaloons. I wanted to feel those pantaloons against my legs more then anything in the world. To get a better idea of the texture of the pants, I even tried looking at the photo under a magnifying glass, forgetting that newspaper photos used to be reproduced using a series of different-sized black dots. So all I saw were bigger dots!
I mention this because harem costumes (made from sheer nylon) are the main feature of this story. Of all the transparent garments I dreamed of being able to wear, this is the one which gives me the most excitement and I discovered this fact during my puberty.
All throughout the very late 50s and for the whole of the 60s, there was a continuing TV advert campaign for a product called "Fry's Turkish Delight". As you can guess, it featured one or more dancers dressed in transparent harem pants in the style that was popular at the time. I watched them with mounting interest, even eager anticipation, until one day, the advert came on and this time instead of just finding the advert interesting, I was overcome with excitement. I was blushing, my heart was pounding and, by the end of the 15-second slot, I was beginning to get so excited I couldn't think straight. I don't know what had happened for me to suddenly have such overwhelming feelings about women dressed in sheer harem costumes.
Just as the advert ended, my brother added to the considerable confusion I was suffering by turning to my mother and asking, "Why do they wear those silky trousers?" She told him that it was because they lived in a hot climate. I quickly imagined the streets of somewhere like Istanbul full of women wearing sheer pantaloons, trying to keep cool, and almost fainted at the image I had conjured up in my mind. I toyed with the idea of saying to my mother that they were wearing the 'silky trousers' because of the delicious feeling they got as the fabric caressed their legs and could I have a pair of see-through pyjamas just like them for my next birthday, please. But I knew this must remain my little secret.
Then one day, a few years later, not long after my eighteenth birthday, I was on my own at home for about an hour with the TV to myself. As usual, I hoped that a turkish delight advert would be shown during the advert breaks and I was in luck. It was one of my favoutites at the time, featuring about five dancers, all in sheer harem pants. Unfortunately the adverts were only about 15 seconds long, so I had to concentrate very hard. Rather pathetically, because in such short adverts you only got tantalising glimpses of the costumes, I cried out, "Please let me join you!".
Naturally the dancers carried on to the end of the advert, which culminated in the chocolate bar being raised aloft on an embroidered cushion and a big gong being sounded. As usual, I was concentrating so hard on seeing what little I could of the dancer's costumes, that at first I failed to notice that the next advert wasn't being broadcast. In fact the main dancer had lowered the cushion and was speaking to me!
"Of course, Peter, come and join us."
This threw me as the cast of these adverts never spoke any lines.
"Did you just say I could join you," I said.
"Yes, take my hand," she said, reaching out. I nearly fell off my chair as I realised her hand had come through the TV screen without any damage to either. I'm not normally a very brave person, but I grasped her hand immediately. There was a whooshing sound, I was lifted off my seat and suddenly found my self in heaven, surrounded by five beautiful women dressed in luscious harem costumes. What I hadn't expected was the obvious. TV was black and white in those days, but in their world everything they wore was in bright, attractive colours.
"Sit here, Peter," the main dancer said, patting a large cushion next to her. I didn't need to be asked twice and lowered myself onto it. As I did I took the opportunity to look round and noticed there were only the six of us in what appeared to be an otherwise empty film studio. I stared in disbelief at the lovely dancers dressed in yards of soft, shimmering chiffon in appealing colours. They all giggled and smiled kindly at me and as they did so the chiffon bounced and fluttered about with every movement they made. I was transfixed.
"So," she continued, "why are you so anxious to be here?"
I was still struck dumb and more than a little embarrased about revealing how much I wanted to be dressed like them.
"Don't worry," said the main dancer, gently touching my arm. "We won't laugh or make fun of you. Come on, we'd love to help you, wouldn't we girls?"
"Yes, of course we would," agreed one of the others, giving me a huge smile. The rest all nodded enthusiastically, the chiffon of their costumes bouncing around and picking up the studio lights. I found the sight so overwhelming, I couldn't think clearly, let alone speak. I just sat there, unable to respond.
After a while, they all patiently began to try and help me. "Come on Peter," said the main dancer again. "Tell us, we're dying to know," said another.
I blushed deeply.
"No need to be embarassed, Peter," she said, taking my hand in hers. "Let me tell you a secret." Then she cupped her hands around my ear and whispered, "It's not unusual for boys and men to like wearing women's clothes."
"Oh," I said, my voice starting to fill with relief.
She whispered again, "Did you want to come here because of our costumes?"
I nodded.
"What is about them then?" she continued, still whispering.
I still couldn't bring myself to say it in front of the whole group.
"Whisper in my ear, then," she said.
"OK, thanks." I cupped her ear and whispered, "It's your silky trousers."
"How lovely," she beamed. "Can I tell the others?"
"OK," I said, suddenly gaining confidence.
"Girls, Peter is here because he loves our beautiful silky trousers."
The other four girls were all delighted with this, giggling and nodding at this news.
The main dancer touched my arm. "I would guess there's more to it than that," she suggested kindly.
One of the other girls, the only one with dark hair, cried out, "I know what it is!"
"Go on, then," said the main dancer, adding, "is that OK with you, Peter?"
"Of course," I said, feeling relaxed at last.
"He wants to wear some himself," the dark-haired girl said kindly.
"Yes, that's right," I finally spoke for myself.
"How sweet," she said.
