Silk Stockings and Socks

"All women's dresses are merely variations on the eternal struggle between the admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress." (Lin Yutang)

You know, a woman wearing nothing but panties, bras and silk stockings looks sexy; a guy in his socks and underpants just looks ridiculous.

Now I don't know why that should be, but speculating theologically it's just another proof that God is not really just. I mean why the disparity? Why shouldn't a guy look sexy in socks and underpants? It's just not fair, but as someone has said, "Who says life has to be fair."

Now here's another example of injustice; when a guy gets sexually stirred up it's there for everyone to see as the bell tent starts to swell up in his trousers in the region of his groin. With the woman, unless you're really clued up on the more subtle aspects of female arousal, there's nothing to show she's ready for a little conviviality.

No, God is definitely not just. He has scattered his positives and negatives around with complete abandon when it comes to sexual arousal. I mean, a woman can enjoy knowing that she's got you hot for her without there being any indication of how she's feeling, and afterwards she can boast to her girlfriends, "You know, I got him really steaming for me, and I just walked away, ha...ha...ha..."

All right I'm having a gripe, but so would you if you'd had the experience I've had. You could call it one of those accidental historical incidents. I mean, it was something that wouldn't happen in a thousand years -- not in our household at least.

* * * * * * * *

A university lecture got cancelled so yours truly got home early. I was due to go out on a date that evening so I started to change. I'd got down as far as socks and underpants when I recalled that mum had washed and ironed my favourite shirt and it was hanging up in the laundry. All unaware I went to the laundry as I was; that had unforeseen consequences.

That's one side of the equation of chance; here's the other side, except I don't think it was equal.

Mother also had a date and had come home early from the beauty salon she ran, leaving her minions to carry on. Like me she had started to change, and getting down to panties, bras and stockings she decided she would wear her cream skirt with the very sexy white leave-almost-nothing-to-the-imagination blouse she reserved for the dates she hoped would bed her.

The blouse, like my shirt, was residing in the laundry.

Now this is what I'm getting at, this demonstrates how God, Fate, Chance or the universe hands out favours at random.

I'd just plucked my shirt from the rack and I turned to be confronted by mother.

Now let me be clear; if she'd been wearing those awful pantyhose things all might have passed off without difficulty. We both might have been a little embarrassed, but nothing more. I mean, pantyhose are about as sexy as a wet Sunday afternoon in a grimy industrial suburb when you're visiting your Alzheimer inflicted great grandmother.

But mother was wearing sheer silk stockings held up by a suspender belt, plus panties and bras obviously designed by some minimalist minded couturier. The bras that embraced her substantial breasts barely concealed her nipples.

The panties were notable, not so much for what they were, but for what they were not. They seemed to consist of narrow strands of cloth, one of which passed under her crotch, sinking into the firm cleft of her vulva.

I had seen naked females a few times before when I'd been enjoying their favours, but although they had been years younger than mother, none of them had the same impact on me as the scantily clad woman who now stood before me.

For a long time I'd been aware of mother's female attractions, but to see her as she was at that moment held me transfixed. Her luxuriant breasts with their nipples visible though the filmy cloth of the bras; the narrowing of her waist before it gave way to gently curving hips as if to balance her competing breasts, and those silk stockings that seemed to emphasis her long slender legs.

I thought for a moment that I could smell her heady female fragrance through the thin strip of cloth that covered her pudendum, but it was probably overexcited imagination.

Mother seemed to be equally fascinated and I could see her eyes fixed on the embarrassing protuberance growing in my loins. Aware of her intense gaze, and dressed as I was, I felt like a clown who under the impression he was in a circus, instead found himself to be in the midst of a performance of Shakespeare's "Richard the 3rd."

You see what I mean, there was mother looking like every guys fantasy of sexy Bathsheba about to step into her roof top bath, and me feeling like king David but not looking the part (See 2 Samuel 11:2-5).

Funny thing is, mum's name is Bernadette, a bit like Bathsheba, don't you think?

"I-I-I just came t-to g-get my shirt," I stammered as I went to pass her with every intention of retiring to my bedroom to engage in a little self abuse.

What happened next was to change the course of my life.

* * * * * * * *

I have complained about the unfairness of life's handouts, and I still stand by what I have said. On the other hand I have to admit that Fortuna sometimes comes up with a double six. As mother and I stood face to face in the laundry Fortuna rolled the dice my way.

As I passed her mother caught hold of my underpants and said, "Just a minute."

"Aah...er...yes?"

"I think we might have some business to attend to," she said, her green eyes staring into mine.

"Her-have we?"

Now mother is an extremely forthright person and expects others to be the same. I'd always been used to that aspect of her character, but what she said next nearly floored me.

"How long have you fancied me?"

"What?"

"Adrian, it was a perfectly plain question and deserves an equally plain answer; how long have you wanted to fuck me?"

That sort of jolted the answer out of me.

"Ser-since I was a-about fer-fourteen."

"Then why the hell didn't you say so you stupid boy?"

"But yer-you're m-my mer-mother."

"What the hell has that got to do with it?" she said angrily. "Do you realise for how many years I've spent evenings with bloody idiots just so I could get a...and you...I could have had it with all the comforts of home. Don't you ever think of anybody but yourself, do you ever consider me -- what I might want?"

"Ber-but I ner-never knew you..."

"No, of course not, you were too concerned with those girls and that widow in the next street."

"I didn't..."

"Don't bother to deny it, everybody in the neighbourhood knows about you and Mrs. Drummond. God knows what you see in her; she's at least fifteen years older than me. Well go on; tell me, what is it about her?"

"She...er..."

"Oh never mind, I know the story; the older woman, experienced, gives as much as she gets, if not more. I suppose I'm too young for you?"

"No...no...but you're my..."

"Mother, yes; but I'm not suffering from an identity crisis so you needn't keep telling me I'm your mother."

"But what..."

"But what....but what..." she mimicked. There's no "but what" about it. I fancy you like hell and that thing that's sticking out tells me you fancy me so...are there any questions?"

"No, but...ouch..."

She had continued holding on to my underpants but now she pulled the down to somewhere round my knees, and then taking hold of my penis she had jerked its foreskin back with considerable violence.

"I'll teach you to neglect your mother and go off sniffing round old widows," she muttered.

"But I didn't go sn...ah..."

She had shoved my back against the washing machine moving it slightly on its castors and then pulling aside the strand of panty cloth that passed over her pudenda she had impaled herself on my penis.

I felt the head of my penis pass over her pubic bone and enter the soft wet depths beyond. She dropped down hard on me and I felt the head of my penis ram up against the top of her vaginal canal.

From being aggressive she suddenly went limp and I put my arms round her to support her.

"Oh God," she whimpered, "I didn't realise you were so b...aaah...oh my darling...kiss me..."

I kissed her but it didn't last long because she broke from the kiss moaning, "I can't hold it back...I'm coming darling...I'm coming..."

She tensed again and started to bounce up and down on me while I did my best to help her, my hands under her buttocks, lifting and dropping her."

"I'm coming," she wailed again, "come...come with me...oh God...oh Jesus...it's going to naaa...naaaa....maaaa...in....in...in me..."

I didn't need any encouragement or instructions; I couldn't have held back if a million dollars had been my reward for doing so.

Frantically I drove my love juice into her and when I'd finished she was still whimpering, "Don't stop...don't stop...I love you...I need you..."

She finally collapsed and we clung together for mutual support.

After a while she looked up at me and with an uncertain smile on her face asked, "Better than the widow?"

Need an ego boost," I laughed gently, "all right, better than the widow, you seducing woman."

"Seducing?" she said, suddenly coming to life again, "if I hadn't seduced you we'd still be waiting for each other when I was ninety. Now if you cancel your date for this evening, I'll cancel mine and we can enjoy some home cuisine, metaphorically speaking."

My penis jiggled in her vagina as I laughed, "Talking of cuisine I've heard some people refer to a pregnant woman as having a bun in the oven."

"I've heard it as pudding in the oven," mother replied, "so we'd better do some cooking."

"You mean you...we...?"

"Might as well do things properly," mother replied, "might have done it properly already."

"What do you mean...yeeeeow..."

"Oh Adrian, now look what you've done."

"What?"

"You've made a hole in the plaster; you knew the washing machine was on castors."

"Well you shouldn't have pushed me so hard. Would you mind if I took my penis out of your vagina, I think I've injured my back?"

"What! Oh my God, the very first night when...on never mind, you'll just have to lie on your back and I'll sit across you. All right take it out; I'd better make that call to cancel my date...are you all right?"

"I think I broken my coccyx."

"Nonsense, your cock was nowhere near...oh yes, I see what you mean. Why don't you go and lie on my bed, I'll make the call -- do you want me to cancel your date as well?"

"Yes, tell her I've just caught a dose of terminal coccygeal vertebra."

"What?"

"She's a medical student like me, she'll understand."

"What's her number?"

"It's on the pad."

"Yes I know it's on the pad but which one is it?"

"Er...I'm not sure, I think its Madeline...no...wait a minute; it was Geraldine...definitely Geraldine."

"Right, now get to bed and I've got some embrocation I can rub into your back."

"Embrocation! I need major surgery...hey...what did you mean by 'might have done it properly already.'"

"No contraception."

"What? Oh my God...but what about all those men you..."

"Condoms darling -- condoms, but with you it's raw flesh on raw flesh. You start with me you stay with me and..."

"No more men?"

"No more men...no more widow or girls?"

"No, but I'll need a regular supply."

"With what you've got you'll be getting an oversupply my precious," she said as she playfully groped my manhood.

"That's funny, that's just what the widow said."

"You mention her again and you won't have anything left to boast about, or what you do have will be rendered useless.."

"You wouldn't...hey, my back isn't hurting anymore."

"Right, in that case, we'll eat first, we're going to need something to sustain us tonight, and for God's sake take off those socks; you look ridiculous standing there with them on and your underpants round your ankles."

See what I mean, unjust.

"Will you be wearing your underwear and stockings?" I asked as I tugged off my socks and underpants.

"Certainly not," mother replied, vehemently, "the panties and bras will only get in the way of performance, but you can take them off if you like; but my stocking are expensive and I've already risked laddering them once."

"Can I take them off as well?"

"Only if you promise to be very careful and if you ruin them I'll take it out of your allowance."

* * * * * * * *

I suppose that really ends the tale I wished to tell, but I thought a few words of advice to other males facing the same situation that I had might be in order.

Firstly, the removal of panties and bras should be done slowly, thus revealing gradually the enticing vistas. Bras removal should provide the occasion for a gentle caressing of the delectable mounds and the caressing should be followed by a prolonged sucking of their nipples.

Secondly the removal of panties and stockings needs careful consideration. In mother's case panties are worn under the suspenders holding up the stockings, but I'm given to understand that some women wear the suspenders under the panties.

In the former case you release the suspenders and this allows you to either remove the panties or the stockings. In the latter case it is obvious the panties must first be removed.

It is of course delightful to engage in the sexual act with the woman still wearing the stockings; it tends to add spice to the event. However, be aware you may end up with a bill for new stockings if you ladder them.

One advantage of removing the stockings is that the woman usually sits on the edge of the bed while you roll them down. That leaves her in an excellent position for you to engage in cunnilingus, and this is highly pleasing to most women, who see it as an act of sincere love.

In my case my first act of cunnilingus was inspired by mother. She pointed out that as a medical student I should become well acquainted with female genitals since I should no doubt have to examine quite a few during the course of my career. I have always been immensely grateful to her for her minute instructions and she is always happy to engage in reinforced learning on this subject.

Mouth to mouth resuscitation is also important and should always precede the act of garment removal, unless of course only one of you has been eating garlic.

One important point I must stress is, always remove your socks and underpants, if possible before the woman sees you still wearing them. If she does see you in them she is likely to say that you look like a buffoon, thus dampening your ardour for a while.

I feel the need to once more stress the dangers of engaging in the sexual act with the woman still wearing her stockings. The delicacy with which you must then engage in the grand finale can be dulled because of the care you must take over the stockings. Bear in mind that silk stockings are very expensive, and if you engage in sexual intercourse as frequently as mother and I, you can end up by getting a nasty letter from your bank manager.

One final piece of advice; do not engage in sexual intercourse with you back pressed against the washing machine, especially if it is on castors. In the throes of passion the damned thing is inclined to move and you can end up with a badly damaged back and a lump of plaster being removed for the wall.

An additional thought; if you must engage in laundry copulation, make sure it is the woman who has her back to the washing machine.

*

"I'll come no more behind your scenes, David; for the silk stockings and white bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous propensities." (Boswell "Life of Johnson")