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.“I do understand, believe me.An attractive, mature woman’s underwear on a clothes line always attracts young men.Excites them, too.”“Oh!” I gasped as I realized what the woman was looking at.Blushing red, I tried to cover my embarrassment by dropping my hands, still holding the girdle, over the front of my pants.Mrs Greening merely laughed.“Tony, as you are so fascinated by my underwear, I suggest you come over here and gather all my clothes in off the line.Think of it as a test that you can touch my underwear without wanting to steal it.Bring them into my house, please, while I consider if I should tell your parents about what you have been up to.” At that she turned and marched off into the house, leaving the kitchen door open.I gulped, understanding at once that here was some get-out clause, that bringing all her underwear in would somehow help prove my innocence.I hopped over the fence and set about gathering the assortment of bras and girdles and stockings and even knickers – deep-waisted knickers, I noted – off the line.Under normal circumstances the chance to visit so much mature women’s underwear would have made me swoon with delight, but this was more serious than that.Mrs Greening was waiting in the kitchen and indicated I should drop the pile of clothes on the table.“It wasn’t me,” I said as I put them down.“You have to believe me, Mrs Greening.I wouldn’t steal your clothes.”“Really? And yet you spend so much time staring at them, when I hang them out.”I felt my face burn.So she had noticed me, staring at the underwear on the line, and I earnestly wished the ground would open up and swallow me.“It.It isn’t like that,” I managed to say.Mrs Greening was cool and very much in control.“Tell me what it is like, then.”“It’s just that.urn, your clothes.Seeing them –”“My underwear,” corrected the woman.“My skirts and blouses don’t hold the same fascination for you, do they, Tony?”I felt my face grow even redder.I started to say something vague about all women’s clothes holding a fascination but it was not only gibberish that came from my mouth, but clearly a lie.“I’m disappointed in you, Tony,” said Mrs Greening gently, interrupting my implausible little speech.“I hoped you would understand better.”Understand? If I wasn’t confused already I certainly was now.“Mrs Greening, please don’t tell my –” But I didn’t get any further.Mrs Greening had undone the tie at her waist and let her robe fall open.The act revealed she was wearing a black bra and girdle complete with suspenders holding up her dark, almost black stockings.My jaw – for the second time that day – must have sagged open in disbelief as I saw her in her underwear.Underwear I had never seen on the clothes line.I remember hearing a strange gurgling noise coming from my throat, a mix of shock and delight I suppose.“Do you like what you see?” Mrs Greening was almost purring, eyes on me.She put her hands on her hips, inside the robe, so it was held open even more, one nylon-adorned knee forward as a model might display what she was wearing.“Wouldn’t you say my underwear is better on me than on the clothes line?”Somehow, I nodded.I hardly dared blink in case this apparition disappeared.Then something happened that I would curse silently for another three years.There was a knock at the front door, my mother calling out: “Mrs Greening, are you in?” She sounded urgent.Mrs Greening half shrugged, and drew her robe round her, fastening it again and hiding the vision of her in her black underwear.“I think you’d better go out of the back door, don’t you? Before your mum sees you in here and starts to think strange thoughts.”I fled as suggested, and never did find out what those strange thoughts might be, but I soon found out why my mother’s intervention was so urgent.There’d been a big accident at the factory where Mr Greening worked, with three people badly hurt – including Mr Greening.He wasn’t expected to survive and didn’t.The funeral of Mr Greening ten days later was a sombre affair.I felt I should go, but there were so many going to the service, so many of the Greening family and friends were there, the chapel would be full to bursting.As a good friend my mother went, but no one else from our family did.I peeked out from behind the curtain as I saw the woman next door, dressed all in black, being helped into the lead car behind the hearse.Although it was a sad occasion I felt slightly guilty thinking about what the widow might be wearing under her black outfit.I felt incredibly bad about such a thought at a time like this, but then I had come so close to something quite wonderful.I fantasized about fucking the woman (in her underwear, of course) but the opportunity had disappeared almost at once.I might have hoped that in time she would call me into her house again but within a week of the funeral Mrs Greening had moved to her sister’s place, somewhere near Skegness.Three years later it all seemed so far away.I had a girlfriend, had got engaged and was thinking about settling down when one day, out of the blue, a parcel arrived at the small flat where I was living.I didn’t recognize the handwriting on it but it was clearly from a female.Not my mother’s handwriting, or my fiancee’s Denise or even my aunt Doreen who was convinced I couldn’t possibly survive living on my own and usually sent some tins of ham over via my mother.But never a parcel.I tore it open and was astonished to find a set of women’s black underwear.As the items tumbled out I realized that they were one and the same that Mrs Greening had been wearing that afternoon when I had come so close to sex.At least, what I imagined was close to sex with the woman.There was a bra – a heavy, long-line bra with wide shoulder straps and sort of pointed cups – and a black girdle with a satin front panel and metal suspenders.Plus there was a pair of stockings in black.There was also a note in with them.“Dearest Tony,” it began.“Please do not be alarmed at this: I obtained your address from your mother when I called her the other day and as I haven’t forgotten our little time together in my kitchen, I thought you might like a little reminder of that day.Sorry to say that circumstances prevented what might have been a very special moment for you, but please accept these as a token.I hope you are well and can make good use of them.I believe you have a girlfriend now and are planning to marry: I am sure Denise (that is her name, I understand) will make you very happy.I am also quite sure this underwear will not fit her.But perhaps you can make use of it somehow.Every best wish for your future, Liz Greening.”I was shaking when I finished reading the note.Then I held the underwear up and examined it, knowing that it wouldn’t fit Denise at all but understanding just what I was going to do with it.I married Denise a year later and we moved into our first house together, but she never did discover where I’d hidden Mrs Greening’s black bra and girdle, and for many years whenever my wife was away on business I got a chance to wear them.But then, I’d hardly been out of them when I was alone at my flat, remembering Mrs Greening and masturbating over what I planned to do to her when she’d worn them just for me that day in the summer of ’69.I CAN HAVE ANY WOMAN I WANTBob, LlandudnoMaybe this is more of a boast than a confession, but it’s not quite as much of a boast as the title suggests [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]