2 The irresistable urge
2 The Irresistible Urge
Monday evenings were Cub Scouts nights but as Monday was washing day Monday evenings were also when the ironing took place. I remember the steam and the smell of singed cotton but most of all I remember watching the wooden clothes horse as it was slowly dressed in pristine, pressed, mainly white knickers, slips and petticoats. Don't remember the foundation garments and bras so assume they were ironed at a time the men were out of the house.
Women all still wore stockings and during the Winter would suffer the annual problem of the cold air getting under their skirts making their bare thighs red raw. Around the Winter of '63 or '64 somebody came up with a fashionable solution which was a pair of wool/nylon knickers similar to modern cycling shorts which finished just above the knees with a 40mm or so elasticated band, if they were given a name I don't recall it.
My mother wanted nothing to do with these 'old lady's bloomers' but my sister like all 18 years old at the time wanted to be a mod and bought this new fashion item. I recall when they first appeared on the clothes horse. My sister's pair were red, no scarlet, and were finished in a black lace trim at the bottom of the leg, they fascinated me. I used to watch them as they moved around the house from the wash basket to the washer and onto the ironing board and clothes horse until the day I caught sight of them through the open door in a pile of freshly ironed clothes on my sister's bed. I decided I had to touch and examine them close up but also realised the humiliation I would endure if I was caught doing so, this fear of being caught I'm sure only magnifies the thrill.
So began the ritual I've been through countless times since, the pile of clothes must be carefully separated and unfolded then refolded and restacked exactly as I found them if there is to be no suspicion. When I unfolded and opened my prize I was surprised how small they were and would never fit over a young lady's hips. I put my arms through the waist and my hands out of the legs and when I opened my arms a little I discovered, because they are essentially a thermal garment, the material was highly elasticated and fit like a second skin. I remembered the sequence of folds and carefully reassembled the pile of pressed clothes and left the room. There was no option I had to discover what they felt like next to the skin.
The Winter turned to Spring and the red bloomers were consigned to the back of the top drawer for the Summer awaiting my attention. I chose a bath night and retrieved them, entered the bathroom, locked the door and ran the taps. I was shaking and confused, undecided whether I should first handle them or undress and gradually did a little of both. Once naked I slipped my feet through the legs and slowly drew them up, my mouth was dry and I could feel my heart pounding at the top of my chest. As I pulled up the waist and adjusted the legs I felt a feeling of warmth through my whole body. Though I hadn't quite reached puberty my little cock was in heaven as I adjusted the garment and stroked the beautiful material over my thighs and bum. The feeling was beyond anything I'd yet experienced and exceeded even my highest expectations and I was hooked.
I've compared our wonderful obsession with taking a Class A d**g. Once experienced there is nothing else can fill the void and the compulsion is for life. Abstinence is futile and only increases the desire which can only me released by the next session.
Monday evenings were Cub Scouts nights but as Monday was washing day Monday evenings were also when the ironing took place. I remember the steam and the smell of singed cotton but most of all I remember watching the wooden clothes horse as it was slowly dressed in pristine, pressed, mainly white knickers, slips and petticoats. Don't remember the foundation garments and bras so assume they were ironed at a time the men were out of the house.
Women all still wore stockings and during the Winter would suffer the annual problem of the cold air getting under their skirts making their bare thighs red raw. Around the Winter of '63 or '64 somebody came up with a fashionable solution which was a pair of wool/nylon knickers similar to modern cycling shorts which finished just above the knees with a 40mm or so elasticated band, if they were given a name I don't recall it.
My mother wanted nothing to do with these 'old lady's bloomers' but my sister like all 18 years old at the time wanted to be a mod and bought this new fashion item. I recall when they first appeared on the clothes horse. My sister's pair were red, no scarlet, and were finished in a black lace trim at the bottom of the leg, they fascinated me. I used to watch them as they moved around the house from the wash basket to the washer and onto the ironing board and clothes horse until the day I caught sight of them through the open door in a pile of freshly ironed clothes on my sister's bed. I decided I had to touch and examine them close up but also realised the humiliation I would endure if I was caught doing so, this fear of being caught I'm sure only magnifies the thrill.
So began the ritual I've been through countless times since, the pile of clothes must be carefully separated and unfolded then refolded and restacked exactly as I found them if there is to be no suspicion. When I unfolded and opened my prize I was surprised how small they were and would never fit over a young lady's hips. I put my arms through the waist and my hands out of the legs and when I opened my arms a little I discovered, because they are essentially a thermal garment, the material was highly elasticated and fit like a second skin. I remembered the sequence of folds and carefully reassembled the pile of pressed clothes and left the room. There was no option I had to discover what they felt like next to the skin.
The Winter turned to Spring and the red bloomers were consigned to the back of the top drawer for the Summer awaiting my attention. I chose a bath night and retrieved them, entered the bathroom, locked the door and ran the taps. I was shaking and confused, undecided whether I should first handle them or undress and gradually did a little of both. Once naked I slipped my feet through the legs and slowly drew them up, my mouth was dry and I could feel my heart pounding at the top of my chest. As I pulled up the waist and adjusted the legs I felt a feeling of warmth through my whole body. Though I hadn't quite reached puberty my little cock was in heaven as I adjusted the garment and stroked the beautiful material over my thighs and bum. The feeling was beyond anything I'd yet experienced and exceeded even my highest expectations and I was hooked.
I've compared our wonderful obsession with taking a Class A d**g. Once experienced there is nothing else can fill the void and the compulsion is for life. Abstinence is futile and only increases the desire which can only me released by the next session.
8年前
