Growing up in a small town in the north of England meant that when it came to shopping there wasn't a great deal of choice.
Consumerism which would take off when Margaret Thatcher came to power as the country's first woman Prime Minister was still a few years away when I started school. Groceries were bought from the same market week in week out and there were no shopping malls. Choice was limited.
By the time I was 18 I had regular problems with my eyes and I was sent for an eye test eventually at the family optician. This was a traditional optician. There were no chains of opticians providing a glossy service with spectacles made in an hour. Choice in this field was as limited as everywhere else.
It was quickly established that I was long-sighted and required spectacles for close work. This was to be a long-term issue and I was required to go back to the same optician year in, year out for my eyes to be tested and my spectacles to be changed if there was any deterioration.
I recall attending for my annual check-up when I was about 19 and was surprised that the small, mustachioed man who usually tested my eyes was not there and in his place was a woman. I did not pay much attention to this fact as to a young man that was mad keen on sport it did not seem to be relevant to anything in my life.
The examination would take place in the small, darkened room which was just off the reception area in the opticians shop. I sat waiting for my turn and when the receptionist called my name I went to the door of the examination room, knocked politely and was asked by the optician to come in.
I entered the room, closed the door behind me and sat in the examination seat whilst the optician checked her notes.
"Hello John. Time for your annual examination again," she said and with that she turned the dim light that was the rooms only illumination further down and stepped towards where I was sat so she could examine my eyes.
As a young man I had not been so close to a woman before and the optician came very close, as she had to for the purpose of the examination. As she used her instrument to look in to my left eye her head came so close to mine that we almost touched.
As she looked all around my left eye I could feel her breath on my face, warm, but very gentle. It made my skin tingle.
My senses and hormones began to kick in to gear and I as the optician moved across my field of vision to switch her examination to my other eye I could not help but take a peak down the top of her blouse, though I didn't see anything but the top of the cups of her white bra.
The proximity of this woman, the feel of her breath on my skin, and now the smell of her subtle perfume, were arousing feelings in my young body that whilst not alien were not used to being ignited in this way.
I guessed that she was about 30 years old. She was slim, dressed in a grey knee length skirt and white short-sleeved blouse which hugged her breast line and which let me see the short, fine hairs on her arms, a detail which was only apparent because she was so close to me during the examination.
Her hair was blond and cut short and she wore very little make-up but had a natural beauty.
Perhaps it was just the closeness of the optician's flesh that excited me to the point of an erection, but I suspect that it was also something to do with her self-assured attitude and professionalism. In my relatively short life all the key figures were male and yet here was a young woman doing a job which I had only seen men do and being confident enough to come so close to a teenager with raging hormones.
Did she know what the simple examination of my eyes with no contact at all could cause me such a hard-on? With hindsight I doubt it.
When the examination ended I took in as much detail as I could, staring at the optician as much as I dared to, worrying she would catch me and think I was weird.
I noted that I could see the detail of her bra through her blouse, that her nipples were sticking out, though for what reason I did not know, and that unlike the girls at my school, she had a shapeliness to her body. I noted how waist was quite small and then she filled out a little in the hip and arse area. I also noted how shapely and defined her calve muscles were, not appreciating that her high heel shoes would cause this effect.
Lastly I tried to work out if she was wearing stockings or tights. I was no expert in this field, having seen a limited amount of underwear only in my short life and that being in soft-core magazines that I found in the bedroom I shared with my much older brother.
I closed my eyes to memorize as much detail as I could and then left once the ritual ordering of new spectacles had taken place and the optician had again come pretty close to giving me a flash of her tits when she leaned over me to take measurements.
This experience fuelled my masturbatory fantasies for a considerable amount of time and perhaps stayed with me in to later life as I continued to enjoy trips to the opticians, particularly when the optician was female. I envisaged being sat in that chair in the darkened room. The eye examination would begin as normal, but part way through the optician would stop and kiss me on the lips. She would then unfasten my trousers whilst I was still sat in chair, freeing my erect cock. I would not get to touch her at this stage as she would move away and start to undress: first the blouse would be unbuttoned and would slip to the floor. Next she would unfasten her skirt and slide this to the ground before stepping out of it. She would be wearing black stockings, whatever the reality was.
I would start to jerk off as she stood there in her skimpy white knickers and bra and black stockings but I never really got to see her bare breasts or vagina as I would invariably spray before getting that far.
As I grew older and consumerism took off there was a wider choice of anything and everything you needed for day to day life. The shopping experience changed from small, traditional retail outlets to large supermarkets and American style malls.
My experience of opticians changed at a pace with the rest of society. Gone were the days when I would visit just one small practice who would carry out the test and supply you with new spectacles in about 6 weeks. In its place was the chain-store optician, large bright premises in every large town and city and the promise that your spectacles would be made in an hour.
The up side was that there were many more women working in these new businesses as gone were the days when the optician would do everything. He or she was just one part of a well oiled machine as in store there would be receptionists, sales personnel and technicians.
A trip to get my eyes checked would often rekindle those old feelings recalled from my childhood and even at 35 I would look forward to my annual visit along with additional visits for contact lens check-ups.
It was on one of these trips that the seeds were sown for two of my ambitions to be fulfilled in one swoop, though I had not intended that this would be the case.
I was working in a large law firm with city centre premises in a large shopping precinct. The premises were on 8 floors, the firm occupying floors 2 through 8. On the ground and first floor of the premises was one of a popular chain of opticians, which I mentioned above had become common place.
This was very handy for me as I could attend my appointments at any time, the opticians being so close to my office, and did not have to restrict myself to the busiest lunch-time slots.
Now, it was Thursday morning, around 9:30am and the optician's store hadn't been open too long when I got there so I had to sit in the plush reception area and wait for the optician to set up his consulting room. As I waited I glanced at a glossy magazine that was put out for waiting customers. I wasn't really interested in the content, but didn't want to sit staring vacantly in to the air whilst waiting.
What little concentration I had was broken however when a young woman, I guessed in her mid twenties, came in to reception in a bit of a flustered state. She was dark skinned, from the sub-continent, India or more likely Pakistan, had naturally jet black hair cut in to a long bob and was about 5 foot 6 or 7 inches.
She caught my attention firstly because of her rush in to the store then secondly because she had a really attractive face, nicely shaped eye-brows, a slightly large nose, not uncommon in the sub-continent, unblemished skin and just enough makeup to give the impression she was westernized.
As she explained to the receptionist why she was running late for work and slipped her coat off, I could not help but let my eyes run over her. She wore a two-piece navy striped business type suit. The skirt was knee length and fitted snuggly to her shapely hips. I guessed this was a chain uniform and that she worked in the store.
My eyes were drawn down her legs, black stockings, my more mature experience told me, and stupidly high heels for someone who would probably be on her feet all day.
I had never dated anyone other than white English girls and couldn't help but feel at least an interest in this new arrival.
The moment passed very quickly however as I was called away to see the optician. It was Mr. Jones and the chance of a cheap thrill was a million miles from my mind as I slumped down in the chair in his room and went through the full range of tests.
At the end Mr. Jones explained, "Well, John, your eyesight has deteriorated a little. I think you should probably change your spectacles now, save any undue strain on your eyes."
"Ok Mr. Jones, whatever you say. I'll choose some new frames today, I have time."
With that Mr. Jones picked up the phone on his cluttered desk, punched in a couple digits then spoke, "Yes, Soumaya, can you help Mr. Smith choose some new frames? Yes, that's right, his prescription has changed. Ok, thanks."
Seconds later there was a timid rap at the door and Mr. Jones said, "Yes, come in."
The door opened and there stood the young Asian woman I had so keenly viewed a little earlier. "Every cloud has a silver lining," I thought to myself.
"Ah, Mr. Smith, this is Soumaya. She will take you through to pick out some new frames and will be able to explain the lens options open to you," Mr. Jones explained.
"Thanks Mr. Jones, and I'll see you in 6 months for my contact lens review," I replied as I stood up from the chair and followed Soumaya out of the small room, admiring the shape of her arse and the fact that her skirt was a little tighter than I had realized and was fashioned with a split up one side which allowed a flash of lower thigh each time she took a step.
The process of choosing new spectacles left me feeling fleeced. Soumaya turned out to be a big help, choosing the most expensive frame and lens combo, telling me how good they looked on me and running up a large bill in the process. Her flattery certainly relieved my bank account of nothing short of £500 and so it was a bitter sweet taste that was left in my mouth when I left the store. Sweet, as I had more time to find out a little about this woman as she did the sales pitch on me, but bitter at the cost to me for her time.
