Dorothy Was Different

by O.Y. Dalziel

Foreword

(Taken from Chapter 18)

   

A considerable amount of nonsense has been written about Corsets and Tight Lacing over many years by authors who have no practical knowledge or personal experience of their subject.

Most of these writers will try and titillate their readers by relying upon the constant repetition of popular words and phrases such as "I felt as if it was cutting me in half," or "She laced me in until I was unable to breathe," or by introducing unnecessary elements of coercion and corporal punishment into the story, thereby implying that this is an essential part of the natural process of wearing any form of corset, which of course is quite untrue, as this book will attempt to prove.

Any mention of a small waist measurement in typical works of corset fiction seems to suggest that the reduction has been a considerable, immediate, effortless and permanent achievement. The chest, bust or hip measurements are seldom mentioned in relation to the waist size, and the original and natural waist measurement often remains something of a mystery. Yes, an "eighteen inch waist" is an eighteen inch waist, and it can be achieved. This is a well documented fact. But what did the waist, hips and chest or bust measure before the corset was "Laced fully closed?"

Ridiculous statements are often made, claiming impossible waist reductions just by "Hooking up the front and pulling on the tighteners until the corset was fully closed up." This makes me want to reject the story out of hand, because it quite obvious that the author has absolutely no personal experience of the many pleasures and delights of wearing a well boned, well fitted and tightly laced corset, and does not know what he or she is talking about. It is a "Dead Give-away," and the whole story can be dismissed as no more than a work of puerile fantasy.

So let us look at some of the Facts.

*****

The Creed of the Male Corset Wearer

(And the theme of this book)

I enjoy the pleasure and privilege of having my figure trained for my personal satisfaction and happiness.

I am truly grateful for the strong support I receive from my tightly laced corset and my high-heeled boots, and for the improvement they give to my general health, posture, and appearance.

I know that my tightly laced and rigidly boned corset gives me an elegant and erect carriage, and promotes good health. It improves my digestion, aids proper breathing, and enhances the natural beauty of my figure by tapering my waist to a delightful slenderness, and uplifting my chest.

I know that my tightly fitting boots with their high and well shaped heels increase my height, make my feet appear smaller, and give grace and confidence to my posture and walk.

I know that my tapering and small waist, my elegantly shod feet, and my erect carriage are greatly admired by other men, and bring me many compliments.

I will readily and cheerfully accept any measures that are necessary for the training and improvement of my figure; and I will overlook any temporary discomforts that may result from my figure discipline.

Any slight inconvenience that is caused by my figure training is unimportant, when it is compared with the resulting improvement in the beauty and elegance of my figure. A beauty that I can easily maintain throughout my entire life.

I will never be guilty of any carelessness or weakness in either my dress or my appearance, and will at all times keep myself tightly and rigidly corseted and well shod, by night and by day, whether I am at home or abroad.

I will always help and encourage other men, who are less fortunate than myself, to achieve and maintain a well corseted and attractive figure similar to mine. I will take every opportunity to promote the practice of figure training by the wearing of tightly laced corsets and high heeled boots, and I will at all times loudly proclaim the many advantages that are to be gained.

**

Corset Diary

You should always remember that no lady is considered to be properly corseted, unless she is aware, at all times, that she IS corseted. It has sometimes been said that "One must suffer to be beautiful," but this is not necessarily true. A corset does not need to hurt you, but you should always know that you are wearing one, because this is the proper corset training.

A lady who is tightly and firmly corseted may at first feel a certain degree of discomfort or pain, but you can be sure that this pain will soon fade away; to be replaced by a pleasant awareness of comfort and support, which is, in itself, an invitation to lace yourself even more tightly. Nothing can compare with the comfortable feeling of pleasure and support that a properly fitting; strongly boned, and tightly laced corset will give to its wearer. It is always better for two corset enthusiasts to live together, so they can help each other to lace as tightly as possible and give constant encouragement. It also creates a healthy element of competition, to see who has the shapeliest figure and the smallest waist.

Well, my dear, you have a lot of writing to do. (and a lot more lacing to do!) I hope you will be able to write a description of my corsets, and tell your readers how much you enjoyed lacing me into every one, and how much you admired the finished article; with me, laced to perfection, and wearing seamed stockings and high heels, just for you.

*****

Chapter One

Her Well Boned Corset!

The writers of a certain type of inexpensive and highly sensationalised schoolboy fiction will often portray their "Hero" as a "larger than life" figure. A man endowed with numerous superhuman attributes. Of ascetic or even celibate inclination; enjoying constant hardship, and apparently insensitive to pain. A man who is equally at home at the controls of an aircraft; on horseback, or behind the steering wheel of any vehicle; and able to navigate unerringly to remote destinations, using nothing more than "The Stars," or "An ancient chart; crudely drawn with a burnt stick, on a fragment of silk torn from the hem of a kimono" for his guidance.

The fictional Hero enjoys a life that is full of endless adventure in many distant lands; where he encounters various adversaries who will frequently have a "Livid scar;" a "Twisted lip," or bear some other equally repulsive deformity, to show that they belong to an unpleasant and generally undesirable fraternity. The Hero will fight cleanly, and usually "With the strength of ten;" always emerging victor from every contest, in spite of the many despicable tricks his opponents might employ. He will be fully conversant with all types of weaponry; being able to recognise every make of firearm at first glance, and having an intimate knowledge of its effective range and destructive power. He will carry a miniaturised and fully silenced weapon concealed on his person, and use it to deadly effect, as the occasion demands.

Much of his life will be taken up with rescuing beautiful women from impossible situations, and - in the closing seconds of the fifty ninth minute of the "Eleventh Hour" - saving them from "A fate that is much too hideous to describe!" Having accomplished this deed; and to prove that he is without any doubt a decent, upright, and clean living man, he will dismiss the women with a "Curt gesture of cool disdain," if they should attempt to worship him - or worse - try and reward him with their favours.

I had none of the "Clean Cut" facial attributes of the conventional Hero; nor could I ever hope to possess any of his magnificent physical abilities. In spite of these drawbacks it soon required little more than a mental "Sideways Step" for me to adopt the Hero's identity, and move inside his "Lithe and well muscled frame;" looking out upon his wonderful world; seeing it through his "Razor keen" eyes; sharing his stirring adventures to the full; and becoming totally detached from the many stern realities, and mundane necessities of my own cruel, everyday existence.

**

My story begins when I was about nine years old. I was the only child of a single parent, and I had to wear glasses to correct an eyesight defect. This made me very shy and sensitive, and I lived in a state of self-imposed solitude; I was largely deprived of parental love, and I had a vivid imagination, which was kept constantly refuelled by regular supplies of cheap and lurid schoolboy adventure stories; so perhaps it was not unnatural for me to cultivate a secret wish to visualise myself as the fictional "Hero."

I took every opportunity to escape into a secret and private world of my own. A world where I could let my imagination roam freely. Small and commonplace everyday incidents would be highly over-dramatised; I lived and breathed the life of my Hero to the full, and nobody else knew about my childhood fantasies.

Shortly after my ninth birthday I went into hospital for an extensive course of treatment that should assist in correcting my eyesight defect. Boys and girls were housed in separate wards, and I was the only boy in the ward at that time. A small and very lonely boy; recovering from recent eye surgery, with both eyes firmly bandaged up. My life was at its lowest ebb; I was profoundly homesick and miserable, and currently in a state of complete isolation; propped up in the middle of a large bed in the farthest corner of an enormous, echoing, hospital ward.

The nurses made frequent attempts to cheer me up, with little success; until eventually my condition was referred to "A Higher Authority." I was told that Matron was coming up to the ward, especially to see me, and I was sternly warned that I MUST be on my best behaviour for her.....or else! The tension slowly mounted as the appointed time drew near, and I took refuge in one of my customary flights of fancy.

"There it was again......! The faintest murmur. Little more than a thrumming susurration; borne upon the stagnant, foetid air. Sensed rather than heard, and hardly sufficient to be classed as a 'Noise;' but it broke the thick black silence, and brought an end to his total isolation. His ears were tuned to the finest pitch, as they strove to identify the sound........Footsteps! - Animal; or Human? Yes! A shod foot with firm and regular steps; slowly increasing in volume, as they came nearer. And then - the most frightful sound:

"C-R-E-A-K"!!!

A minute, and seemingly insignificant, repetitive metallic creaking; inaudible to anything less than the sharpest of ears; but he knew, in that moment, that he was about to face the most testing time of his life. A period of unknown; possibly interminable duration, in which he would suffer a cruel ordeal, cunningly devised to test all human endurance far beyond any known limit.

Creak-Step - Creak-Step. THE UNSPEAKABLE THING came nearer, and yet nearer! Dreadful beyond man’s comprehension; part human, and part hideous beast; resembling some strange, surrealistic, rampageous, awful fire-breathing BEHEMOTH! Striking terror into every heart as it approached. Eight feet tall; with an invulnerably armoured body. Two fearsome blazing eyes, and a thunderous voice. Bright sparks of light flashing around its cruel, iron shod feet. Stamping; Destroying - Annihilating anything that dare stand in its path! Worse - much worse than anything in the most violent of hysterical nightmares!......."

MATRON.....and she was coming this way!

**

I had never actually seen Matron, but had always mentally visualised her as being a very tall, and rigidly upright lady; with an angular face; iron grey hair, partly covered by a complicated, starched and frilled cap; and dressed in a dark blue uniform; dark stockings, and shiny black leather shoes. I could readily recognise her voice, because she spoke with a Scottish accent and radiated a positive and unassailable authority. She ruled her staff with a rod of iron, and kept all the nurses in a perpetual state of nervous apprehension by appearing in the doorway of the ward without any prior warning, and saying, in a crisp voice:

"Now then!"

The nurses would automatically straighten up, and become most attentive whenever they heard Matron coming. They would fuss around my bed, making a lot of unnecessary twitches at the, already regimented, sheets and blankets.

I developed my own personal advanced warning of the approach of Matron, and could identify her while she was still some distance away; often being able to whisper "Matron's coming;" whereupon there would be the sudden flurry of movement as the nurses tried to present an efficient, orderly and well run ward, for Matron's close inspection. This odd ability of mine was greatly appreciated by the nurses, and could result in my being given sweets, or other titbits, from time to time.

Matron had one distinctly audible feature:-

She Creaked!

A minute and indistinct regular creaking noise emanated from some point on her body; keeping in time with her footsteps as she walked around the hospital. My blindfold condition made it difficult for me to pinpoint the source of the sound. Nobody else seemed to be aware of it, but it never failed to fascinate me. Rather more metallic than the creaking of a shoe, and not at ground level, but coming from somewhere higher up her body.

The clinically clean hospital corridors, with their tiled walls and polished floors, amplified the tiny sound and allowed me to plot her movements with a fair degree of accuracy as she approached. I heard her reducing speed as she neared the ward, and she paused outside the door for a moment before entering and walking towards me. She turned, and stopped at the side of my bed, and I could sense that she was standing close to me and studying me, silently.

I had been afraid she might reprimand me, or threaten to punish me; but instead she began talking to me in a quiet and motherly way. Her voice had a lilting, almost hypnotic quality, and I felt my woes beginning to fade away. Eventually she put her arms around me, and hugged me close to her body as I sat up in the big hospital bed. I was desperate in my need for some comfort, and reached out to try and put my arms around her.

My groping hands touched the coarse and prickly material of her uniform, at either side of her hips, and I became conscious of a strange and deeply exciting physical sensation. I had expected her body to feel soft and yielding, and was surprised to discover a number of evenly spaced, vertical, and stiffly metallic ridges on either side of her hips. An entirely novel inner sensation of stimulation began to flow through me. I can only describe it as a "Thrilling arousal." Something that was totally unknown, and impossible to describe in my immature youth.

I COULD FEEL HER WELL BONED CORSET!

**

Sitting here at my desk today, and reviewing my past life, I find it hard to believe that my innocent childhood desire for comfort was going to have such a profound effect on my whole future; but there can be no doubt that it was Matron who first set my feet on the road I was destined to follow. I had received a deep and totally physical thrill when my hands touched her body. Inexplicable to me at the time, and completely beyond my understanding; but, for the first time in my life I was conscious of a unique, all-pervading, sense of Undiluted Pure PLEASURE.

I felt Matron suddenly stiffening as she became aware of my exploring hands and obvious interest, and she quickly took a pace backwards, breaking the bond between us. She then turned to the nurses and began to issue a series of crisp instructions. There was a sudden confusion of noises; some snatches of muted conversation which diminished in volume; and, through it all, I could make out Matron's footsteps, and the faint creaking sound as she walked away. The noises subsided; leaving me once again to solitude, and silent contemplation.

I snuggled down between the sheets, and quietly lay there, turning the recent experiences over and over in my mind, and thinking deeply about them. My principal recollection was of a feeling of Comfort. Deep; custard thick; creamily rich, soothing comfort and contentment. I tucked myself closely inside my own strictly private and personal mental cocoon, and let my thoughts run freely over the whole sequence of events; examining every aspect, and slowly savouring all the pleasurable sensations.

Sight, Smell, Hearing, Taste, Touch - the five main senses. The thick bandages that were robbing me of Sight had caused a compensatory heightening of all my other senses; and, one by one, I examined each in depth. First; the Smell. Matron carried a faint odour, compounded of soaps, disinfectants, and chloroform. It was only noticeable when she was in close proximity, and was totally different from the few other women who had hugged me as a child, and who had all seemed to be drenched with a variety of unpleasant perfumes.

I have already referred to my acute Hearing, and to the faint and mysterious creak that could be heard whenever Matron was near. It intrigued me, because I had never encountered another woman who made a similar sound, and I spent a long and unprofitable time trying to identify its source.

My feelings of high arousal had started as soon as I touched the hidden metallic ridges surrounding Matron's body, and it was the sense of Touch that now received my closest scrutiny. Her crisp uniform felt rough and abrasive; moving beneath my fingers, and sliding over a thinner, smoother, and extremely slippery layer of material. The hard, raised and stiff ridges lay beneath this slippery layer. They ran vertically up the sides and back of her body, and were each approximately half an inch wide. Spaced at regular intervals; and forming a series of inflexible prominences inside the tautly stretched, and smooth material of a very peculiar and mysterious hidden undergarment.

She stood at the side of my bed; moving her body slightly; and the thin outer garments slid back and forth over the hard metal ridges. The sliding motion gave me a strange and indefinable sense of pleasure; stimulating an inner physical arousal; impossible to describe at the age of nine, and remaining difficult to explain with any degree of accuracy even to this day; in spite of my many years of familiarity. The feeling of comfort remains; and, when given Dorothy's never failing stimulation, I am able to enjoy the same pleasant sense of arousal which has become more understandable over the years, but it has never been possible for me to repeat the unique physical stirrings I enjoyed on that first occasion.

That all too brief contact with Matron must have acted as a tonic, because it certainly gave me a new interest in life, and made me think less about my own troubles. My general health began to improve; the bandages were removed from my eyes; and I was then allowed to get out of bed and begin learning the process of using both eyes in co-ordination, and being able to "see straight" for the first time in my life.

As soon as I was restored to full mobility, I developed a habit of surreptitiously studying Matron from numerous vantage points around the hospital. She kept to a regular routine, and this allowed me to plot the course of her daily movements and position myself in anticipation of her arrival. I had been right about the colour of her blue uniform; but she was much younger than I expected, with dark hair, and a rounded face. She was certainly a tall woman; carrying herself well, and always standing stiffly upright, which made her appear even taller. I tried to imitate her method of walking by holding my body erect, with my stomach pulled in, as I moved around the hospital. It was an uncomfortable stance, and hard to sustain.

Maintaining a discreet distance, I followed her along the corridors; looking through the cracks of partly opened doors in my efforts to catch her in an unguarded moment; thinking to myself, "If only she would relax" - but she never did. The constant tiny creaking noise continued to intrigue me; resisting my efforts to find an explanation. I made numerous attempts to engineer some accidental contact which might give me another chance to place my hands on her stiff and rigid body; but she seemed to be aware of my intentions, and continued to avoid me.

I was eventually pronounced cured, and allowed to return home; but the memory of Matron remained with me; nagging away at the back of my mind. It was obvious that I would have no peace of mind until I had managed to identify this mysterious source of pleasure. Coincidence has always played a prominent part in my life, and it was to be nothing more than a chance look inside one of my mother's magazines that moved me to the next stage of my development.

I was flicking through the pages and noticed a small advertisement; illustrated with a drawing of a lady who was wearing something that my mother had once obliquely referred to as "Underwear." A closely fitting garment covered the lower part of her body, and several straight and vertical lines were drawn at regular intervals around the outer surface. The lines gave a suggestion of some kind of stiffening or reinforcement, and the lady's body was moulded into a pleasant shape. The most interesting item was the banner headline at the top of the picture, which declaimed:- "Creak no more - My Lady!" This clever play on words made me read through the rest of the advertisement, and I was interested to discover that the garment was known as the "DIVINA" Corset.

The word "Corset" was new to me, and I rolled it around my tongue several times; savouring it. I took the trouble to look up the word in a Dictionary, and found it described as a "Close fitting undergarment; worn by women, and stiffened with whalebone or other similar material to support and shape the body."

I closed the Dictionary; spent some time thinking about the words I had been reading, and can clearly recall that moment as being the point where I made my irrevocable decision to devote the whole of the rest of my life to the total, absolute and single-minded pursuit of corsetry in all its forms.

And that; as you will soon discover,

is precisely what I have been doing ever since!

**

I began by examining the contents of corset shop windows. My mother would take me on most of her regular shopping trips, and I was told to walk at her side:

"And for Heaven's sake try and show some interest!"

Now; all at once; everything began to change. A new interest had been aroused, and I began to assemble what might be called my own Personal File of Basic Data.

The whole exercise was full of surprises from the outset; particularly when I discovered that the corset was indeed an item of clothing exclusively worn by women! I reached this conclusion by a simple process of deductive reasoning. I would be dragged into and around most of the shops. My clothes, or Mother's clothes; it was immaterial, but on the very rare occasions that my mother visited a specialist corset shop I would be made to wait outside in the street, and was sternly ordered to:

"Stand still! Wait there until I come out.

Don't pick your nose - AND BEHAVE YOURSELF!"

So, that was it! There was a mystery surrounding corsetry, and it was something that I was not supposed to know about. Naturally this only made me worse than ever! I had to find a way of breaking through this barrier, in order to get to the truth of the matter. I continued my shop window studies whenever possible and pinpointed the numerous corset shops in our town; doing my best to reduce speed or drag my feet whenever we passed one; and, by continued pursuit of this slow and laborious method I was able to collect a few details. It was a long drawn out process, but eventually my dogged persistence began to be rewarded with some worthwhile results.

Different corset retailers used a wide variety of window displays, with the older and more expensive shops preferring to devote a full window to a complete range of assorted garments; with each one being set to hang diagonally, on a thin chromium plated metal or wire stand. The stands were placed in alternating and orderly rows; spaced at regular intervals, to allow the window shopper to compare one garment with another. My closer examination was seldom possible, because the tightly packed ranks of corsetry required a lot more study than I was ever allowed to give them. This left me with a somewhat confused first impression, and gave little chance to take in all the fine detail.

I developed a mental impression of all-embracing pink; but it took me a long time before all the finer points could be appreciated. For instance; there were different types of fastenings; with some of the well boned garments using a strong metal clip at the front; whereas many of the lighter models fastened by means of a long row of hooks and eyes down one side, running from the top to the bottom of the garment.

One particular group of corsets always fascinated me, because they all had a long row of strong, criss-crossed pink laces; either at the back or the front. I spent a considerable amount of time studying their design and construction, and it soon became obvious that the laces were designed to be opened and closed, thereby altering the size of the corset. I could not at that stage tell how, or why, it was done; but it was a useful fact, and I stored it away safely for future examination and consideration.

Several of the more modern and go-ahead shops would prefer three or four imitation female figures, each wearing a different type of corset. These would be arranged in an artistic display, and were often draped with long thin streamers of filmy material. The models were usually slightly smaller than life size, but it was a much better method of display for my purpose because it allowed me to give each garment my close and intimate scrutiny. Different newspaper advertisements had given some indication of the way in which the garments should be worn, but these modern window displays offered a three dimensional view and helped to speed up my process of learning.

Fine detail began to emerge: The location of the fastenings; some in front; some at either side, and the correct positioning of the different corsets upon the wearer's body. The laces; and their method of adjustment. There were often two long loops of apparently surplus lace that dangled from the run of crossed laces. They would be artistically draped, and were usually at waist level. I eventually reached the interesting conclusion that a strong pull on these loops would close the corset and reduce its circumference, particularly around the waist. The more I thought about it, the more it became easier to understand, and I had to spend a long period of time inside my private cocoon trying to assimilate and digest all my newly won knowledge.

Practically every corset seemed to have a row of small and complicated dangling gadgets, attached at intervals around the lower hem. Although the corsets were set to hang diagonally on the thin wire stands; these small appendages would hang askew, making it very difficult for me to understand their purpose. The mystery was quickly explained once I had studied the dressed models. The dangling pieces now hung vertically and were soon identified as Suspenders; and were obviously designed to hold ladies stockings up!

This was a new and really interesting fact, and was to lead to a further expansion of my studies. My mother wore stockings. They were quite thin and flimsy, and had a seam running down the back of the leg, from top to bottom. She used to wash them carefully in the kitchen sink; and then hang them over the back of a wooden chair to dry. She would never let me touch them, in case I "laddered" them. These ladders seemed to be constant hazards, because I often heard other ladies make reference to them. My mother spent many evenings finely embroidering the damaged parts of her stockings; sometimes making temporary repairs by applying a dab of nail varnish to prevent a ladder extending further.

My principal interest was in the corset itself, and I had never given much thought to the question of holding stockings up, because it was a subject that had always been hidden from me, and I had not been unduly curious about it. My examination of the dummy figures in the shop windows opened up an entirely new field of enquiry, and allowed me to put two and two together - in a manner of speaking!

The suspenders hung in a regular sequence around the lower edge of the corset. There would usually be two, set quite closely together at the front, with two more being set one at either side. Four suspenders seemed to be the most popular sequence; although I had noticed that some of the more heavily boned garments could have as many as six suspenders. All these interesting facts were carefully collated, and stored safely away in my memory bank.

The discovery of that first corset advertisement led me to extend my search for others of a similar nature. I soon found that they made frequent appearances in a number of popular newspapers and ladies magazines; usually following a standardised format. There would be a small illustration at the top. A drawing; or less frequently, a photograph of a corset, displayed on a female model; or sometimes just the corset on its own. The written text would often be long and descriptive, and would give full details of the various features or innovations of each particular garment. Comfort and durability were two of the most popular themes. Some advertisements used clever slogans; making a play on words out of the name of the garment, or its principal features. I enjoyed playing about with words, and could appreciate many of the slogans.

I began cutting out the advertisements, and making a collection of them; always looking for the coloured pictures in glossy and expensive magazines. These were hard to find, because my mother preferred to purchase from the cheaper end of the market; so it was a rare and happy day when I found a coloured picture. All my treasures were pasted into a school exercise book; forming the nucleus of a collection that was to expand considerably, in future years.

Much of my spare time would be spent in pleasurable studies of the contents of the book, and it was a great help in the early stages of my research. I discovered a convenient hiding place for the book behind a loose panel at the back of the cupboard in my bedroom, which ensured that it could be safely stored away from prying eyes.

**

Those early investigations confirmed my initial belief that the wearing of corsetry was a totally feminine activity. The newspaper advertisements, and the models in the shop windows had all been female; leading me by a kind of natural progression on to the next stage of my investigations, and causing me to wonder what kind of corset my mother preferred to wear. Keeping her under continual observation had produced no worthwhile information, and my periodic examinations of the dirty linen basket had revealed nothing of interest; making it obvious that I would have to adopt some more strenuous methods and extend my search pattern.

Mother and Matron were two completely dissimilar women. Matron was tall; angular, and stood rigidly upright; but Mother was much shorter, rounder, and had a different stance altogether. She always dressed and undressed behind the closed door of her bedroom, and the room was "Strictly Out of Bounds" to me. It was dark; gloomy; and sparsely furnished, with a bed that had wooden ends; a small dressing table, with two drawers, and a large wardrobe, with a cracked oval mirror in the door. The single window, overlooking the main road, was partially obscured with a net curtain; and the top of the dressing table was almost entirely covered with a collection of small, coloured glass jars, on fancy, lacy, little cloths.

My first opportunity to go "Drawer Looking" came at last. Mother had gone on a shopping trip, so I screwed up my courage and crept into her room. The air seemed chilly, and the net curtains diffused the light; emphasising all the dark corners and gloomy atmosphere. There were strange shadows, and I felt as if many ghostly eyes were watching me. It was so creepy! A board suddenly creaked beneath my foot; my heart gave a violent leap and I almost cried out with sheer terror; standing poised and tense as I listened for any slight sound that might warn me of Mother's imminent return.

All remained quiet, so I recovered my nerve and moved to the dressing table; pulled open the lower drawer, and was suddenly overcome with a peculiar sense of guilt. I had obviously chosen the correct drawer, because there was a corset lying there, on top of an assortment of unidentifiable underwear. It was the usual shade of pink, and lay loosely rolled up and parallel to the front of the drawer.

Every little sound suddenly became magnified. A creaking noise, as I rested my hand on the top of the dressing table. A slight squeak from one of the cheap metal drawer handles; the harsh rasp of rough wood against rough wood as the drawer slowly opened. The dry, cold rustling of the fabric as I lifted the garment away from the surrounding clothing. And then - from the dangling suspenders; a tiny and delicate fairy-like metallic tinkling noise, which sounded for all the world like my Personal Death Knell!

If my mother returned unexpectedly at that precise moment, and discovered me in her bedroom holding one of her corsets in my hand, the possible consequences would have been too terrible for me to contemplate. I hastily shut the drawer; walked out of her room carrying the corset, and returned to my own bedroom where the general atmosphere was much better. After a few minutes relaxation I unrolled the garment; laid it flat on my bed and inspected it.

The design was new to me. This was chiefly due to the fact that there were two rows of laces; one on either side of a wide, un-boned front panel. The remainder of the corset was lightly boned, and it fastened down one side with a full length row of hooks and eyes. Some later research identified the garment as a Maternity Belt; apparently designed to be fully adjustable, making it larger or smaller by utilising the two sets of laces, to cater for the changing bodily shapes associated with child-bearing.

Pink seemed to be the most popular colour. All the shop windows had been an ocean of pink, as were my few coloured advertisements. Why? Was it a shade that had been designed to match the colour of human flesh? If so - it failed, miserably! I had a fresh complexion, but in my present heightened state of tension my flesh appeared almost white; contrasting violently with the pink of the maternity belt.

The four suspenders attached to the lower hem had obviously been much used, and were each showing signs of wear, because all the strips of elastic had become crinkled and stretched. There was a chromium plated and oddly shaped wire clip attached to the lower end of the elastic, and also a small rubber button on the end of a short piece of ribbon. The button had been apparently designed to fit firmly into the narrow end of the metal clip, but it was to be a long time before I managed to understand the correct method of operating the suspenders. One of the rubber buttons had become separated from its ribbon, and this served as further confirmation that the garment had been well worn.

I had discovered that the metal ridges were known as "Bones," and I could now see that each bone was accommodated behind a narrow strip of tape; the tape being secured to the body of the garment by two rows of parallel machine stitching; forming a long thin pocket within which the bone was firmly held. The retaining tape was a slightly different shade of pink, and was made from stronger cloth.

The maternity belt had been assembled in three distinct sections, with the largest of the sections containing all the boning. Four full length strips, and two shorter ones; all placed vertically, and running parallel to each other. This boned piece had a row of equally spaced eyelet holes down one of its sides, and a row of shiny metal eyes down the other. The eyelets were similar to those on my shoes; but they were made of a dull, grey, metal. The shiny eyes were obviously intended to receive hooks, and were mounted upon a narrow strip of plush, velvety material, to insulate them from the wearer's flesh. Three of the suspenders hung from the lower edge of this panel.

The middle panel was a plain pink cloth, and had no reinforcement or boning. It was cut in a most unusual way; being rather full in the centre, so that it could not be laid flat, without creasing. Additionally, when held upright, it fell naturally into a slightly pouched shape. The panel had a row of the grey metal lace holes down either side, similarly shaped and spaced to match those on the other panels.

The final piece was nothing more than a thin strip of cloth, of double thickness; about one and one half inches wide, with just enough width to accommodate a row of lace holes down one side, and a row of shiny hooks down the other side. One suspender was attached to the bottom of this panel, and there was a small horizontal cut in the material, near the top. I came to the conclusion that the panel had originally contained a stiffening bone, which had at some time been removed and discarded, presumably in the interests of comfort.

There were two sets of pink laces, joining the three panels together. The laces, when new, were of flat construction, but they had become twisted with use. When I first found the garment, the laces had been tied into large knots, set in the centres of each of the two rows of holes. The loose ends of the knots had been woven into the crossed laces to take care of the surplus lace, and made two raised unpleasant lumps in the lines of lacing. This clumsy arrangement offended me, and it was not long before I had picked at the laces, untied the two knots, and tidied things up.

It could not be called a pleasant introduction to corsetry, because the maternity belt was old and worn, and the laces had become very thin in several places. One of the suspenders was faulty, and the whole garment was obviously in need of laundering. Nevertheless, it was my very first corset, and if I seem to have been unduly verbose in my description, then I make no apology. First occasions are often the best remembered, and this one was no exception!

Next came the most interesting phase - my desire to wear the corset.

Why?

I wish I knew!

I could not find the answer at the time; and I am not even sure that I know it now. I had a strong inner urge - almost a compulsion. It was "Something I Had To Do!" Much of my early life had been spent wandering in a fog of indecision; but now I had a definite aim in life. I HAD to wear the corset!

I sat on my bed; with the corset draped across my knees, and that was the moment when I heard the voices! Heavenly Voices; turning and eddying around my head. Swooping down on me, from all four corners of the suddenly icy bedroom. Spine chilling; hair raising; frightening! One strident and brassy voice could be heard above all the rest. Leading them on; drawing them together, until they combined into a raucous and powerful swelling chant; which was repeated and repeated, yet again:-

"Go on - Try it on!"

*****

Chapter Two

Emergence

During the course of my long association with corsetry and corset wearers, I have both heard and read numerous accounts of "My First Experience of Corsets." Many of these stories are sadly lacking in detail, and do not stand up to a close scrutiny. With some of the story tellers, this can be due to nothing more than a simple inability to describe a given incident; whereas other people - and I have met many - seem to draw heavily on their imagination when they are trying to describe their achievements. What they are more correctly saying, is: "This is how I would like it to have been, when I wore my first corset!" In all truth, there can be a wealth of difference between fact and fiction, as I know from personal experience, and I am forced to admit that clear and accurate description can often be rather difficult. In my own case it would have been all too easy for me simply to have written:

"I put it on, and it fitted like a glove."

This would have been quite untrue, because the actual sequence of events was completely different!

My mouth had gone totally dry, and I suddenly became aware that I was trembling. Why? Anticipation - fear? Fear of what? What was there to be afraid of? I was alone in the house, and an extended look through the front window had shown no sign of Mother. What was there to stop me?

"......Courage, Man - You Can Do It!..."

"....But - suppose she catches me....."

Many valuable minutes were squandered in pointless and frustrating personal debate, until I managed to convince myself that there was nothing to be afraid of. I stood in front of the large mirror, and, before my courage finally deserted me, quickly undid my belt, and pulled my trousers and underpants down. I took a brief peep through the window; still all clear; picked up the maternity belt, and holding one end in either hand, carefully wrapped it around the lower part of my body; tried to fasten all the hooks and eyes together, and then suffered what was to prove to be the first of the many deep disappointments in my life.

It was much too big for me. The hooks and eyes overlapped considerably; so much so, that the larger boned panel came close to encircling me on its own. My feelings changed from fear and trepidation to the old familiar sense of failure and defeat. No matter how I tried, there was no way I could possibly make it fasten and fit me.

That was the end of my first attempt at wearing a corset, and you may already be thinking that it would have been better if I had given up there and then.

I cannot agree with you.

That short and discouraging sequence of events had whetted my appetite for more, and I knew right from that early age that I would have to continue. I could only console myself for the present; put the belt back in the drawer, and try to leave everything exactly as I had found it. I took a final careful look around the room, and then went away and had a good long think. I eventually decided that it ought to be possible to redesign the garment by removing one of the panels. This should reduce it in size, and allow me to wear it.

Carefully choosing another occasion when Mother had gone to the shops, I took the maternity belt from her drawer, and went into my own bedroom; leaving both doors open in case she should return unexpectedly, and opening my own cupboard door to give me a quick hiding place for the evidence.

I had to completely dismantle the whole garment. There was a tight knot at the lower end of each set of laces, which required the use of my fingernails and teeth before it could be undone. I carefully removed both laces; trying to memorise the way they crossed over and the correct method of threading them through all the holes. Once the laces had been finally removed I spent a short time running each one between my fingers and thumbs in an attempt to unravel the many kinks.

The three disconnected panels were placed side by side upon my bed in their correct sequence, and carefully examined. The pouched central panel was removed and placed to one side. Then the other two panels were moved closer to each other, so that the lace holes could be neatly aligned. Both panels were loosely fastened together, utilising the better of the two laces, and I was conscious of a surge of anticipation when the finished assembly bore a surprising resemblance to many of the front laced corsets I had seen on display in the shop windows!

My cautious progress had been very encouraging, up to this point, but now came the supreme test - Could I put it on - Would it fit me? My degree of tension and apprehension began to rapidly increase. Everything remained quiet; there was no sign of Mother; so, praying that there was still sufficient time I dropped my trousers and pants to the floor, stepped out of them, picked up the modified belt, and wrapped it round my body.

The immediate result was much more encouraging. The laces were opened to their fullest extent, which meant that the two panels were about three inches apart. The line of hooks came quite close to the eyes at the top edge of the corset, and by tensing my muscles and pulling my stomach in I was able to fasten the top hook and eye together, without much trouble. I ran my fingers down the line of hooks and eyes, and the lower I went the closer they came; overlapping slightly towards the bottom edge and encouraging me to proceed further. I worked upwards from the lower edge and fastened all the hooks and eyes together, carefully checking that each was properly secured.

Finding the correct position for the fastenings and laces proved to be rather difficult, and I spent several minutes sliding the garment to my left and right around my body until I was able to find a position that resembled many of the shop window models; with the open lacing running down my centre front, and the hooks and eyes about two inches to the left of centre. Several of the hooks and eyes had become unfastened during the sliding process, so I carefully re-secured them all, and finally turned my attention to the lacing.

I had no previous experience of lacing a corset, and nothing for guidance, so my early efforts could be described as little more than fumbling guesswork. Taking a section of lace firmly in my right hand, and the corresponding section in my left hand at a point towards the lower edge, I slowly and carefully pulled both laces. As they moved freely through the holes the two front edges began to move towards each other, and I felt the lower half of the corset starting to close around my body; holding me gently at first - and then more firmly!

A steady tension was maintained; the lower laces were fully closed, and the bottom edge had become quite a tight fit. I maintained the tension on the lace with my left hand; released my right hand, and everything remained firm. I moved my right hand to a new point higher up the run of laces, took a fresh grip, and pulled up all the surplus lace. The lace felt hot where it was rubbing against my skin, but it was not unpleasant as it ran through the holes.

I moved my left hand upwards until it was in line with my right hand, and again pulled the laces. This gave me a very pleasant feeling of compression and support as the corset, by slow degrees, began to close around me. The tightening process was repeated at a higher point, until I was able to draw all the surplus lace through the topmost holes. After I had taken a short rest, I gripped both laces as firmly as possible and pulled with all my strength; before finally tying the laces into a secure bow. There was a great deal of surplus lace trailing on the floor, and, after some thought, this was wrapped several times around my body and knotted. Now it was time to analyse and examine my feelings.

I was conscious of a deep sense of satisfaction, because my efforts to redesign and adapt the belt had been more of a success that I had anticipated. I had never even dared to hope that it might fit as well as it did, and it gave me a new sensation of well-being. It was good to be alive! Suddenly life was pleasant. I was being held comfortably and firmly all around the lower half of my body, and it was almost like being hugged by Matron all over again; but with the added flavouring of personal achievement and satisfaction.

The bottom edge of the corset fitted neatly round the lower part of my rump where it joined the top of my legs; and the top edge rose to just above the level where my natural waist ought to have been - if I had any sort of a natural waist! Normally I was straight up and down, but now I felt as if I had a new and moulded shape.

After a short and enjoyable session of running my hands all over the taut material, and tracing each of the vertical ridges of the bones at the back and sides, I decided to have a good look at myself with the corset on. My own small mirror was quite inadequate for the purpose, but the large mirror, in the door of Mother's wardrobe was ideal. I walked out of my bedroom and along the passage towards her room, and was aware of a new and extremely pleasant sensation. The whole motion of walking was totally different! My lower body was held tightly and now moved as a composite unit, with the stiff corset serving to hold me firmly upright. My stomach was nicely pulled in, and I felt really fit and well.

I turned into Mother's room, glimpsed myself in the mirror, and stopped - appalled! It was not a bit like I had expected, and everything looked so totally wrong! Altering the design had also altered the styling, so that I now looked both twisted and distorted. I had mentally visualised myself with a smoothly curved and symmetrical outline, similar to all the shop window models. I was not! Now; one side of me was rounded, whilst the other side had become flattened. A single suspender was dangling forlornly down at the centre front; all the other suspenders were out of alignment; and at one point the laces were not fully closed, allowing my flesh to protrude and become formed into swollen and diamond shaped red lumps, that poked through the crossed lacing and looked revolting!

The whole exercise had been a complete waste of time and effort. My feelings of happiness; elation, and well-being drained away as though a sluice gate had been opened, and were replaced by my customary self-doubt and insecurity which was now compounded with plain hopelessness, and I was instantly reduced to a state of bottomless abject misery.

I spent a few minutes tugging at the knots and twitching at the laces, and managed to loosen the corset enough to make it possible for me to unfasten it and let it fall to the floor. I took it back into my bedroom and began to half-heartedly rebuild it, and try to restore it to its original condition. When it looked about right I returned it to Mother's drawer, taking great care to rectify any obvious signs of disturbance. The only other corset in the drawer was made of bright pink and shiny rubber, pierced with numerous small holes in geometric and fancy patterns. I tried wrapping it around my body, but it was much too large for me, and the pungent rubbery smell was most distasteful. I left it where it was; closed the drawer, and went away.

**

Corset Diary

In answer to your recent enquiry about my method of self-lacing. I have strong metal hooks screwed into the two door posts of my bedroom door. After clipping up my corset busk, I pull on both the lace loops, to take in the slack, as you might say. Then I put the loops over the hooks, and walk forward, slowly, reaching up behind my back, and tightening and adjusting each section of crossed lace, above and below my waist, one at a time. The action of walking away takes care of the surplus lace for me, and the hooks act as a "Third Hand." You will be able to watch me, when you visit. It will be easier for me to give you a demonstration, rather than try to explain the procedure on paper.

*****

My hyperactive imagination had continued working at its fullest capacity ever since my first brief contact with Matron, and all my interest had been concentrated upon her. General appearance; carriage and deportment; method of walking. How did she feel, I asked myself; comfortably secured inside her own tightly corseted environment? I was well versed in the art of slipping in and out of the world of my "Hero," and I now began to try and move inside the body of Matron; so that I could share and enjoy all her many pleasant sensations.

What must it be like, I asked myself, to spend your working life with the lower part of your body restrained within a tightly fitting garment, strongly reinforced with rigid whalebone or metal boning? Matron wore her corset every day, so presumably it could not be unpleasant. Many of the advertisements in my scrapbook had suggested that most women enjoyed wearing some form of corsetry; so what was so unusual about the practice? Why was corsetry surrounded with so much mystery? Why was I - a "Mere Male" - not permitted to go into corset shops? What was the strange dark secret that was always kept hidden from me?

My thoughts were continually developed on these lines, with the picture of myself wearing a corset as the central theme. Consequently; when the time came for me to actually put the thoughts into practice and wear the maternity belt, I was to some extent ready and mentally prepared for the various pleasant physical sensations I was about to enjoy.

It was initially a great source of satisfaction when I discovered that the realisation gave me quite a close approximation to my imagination. Fastening the hooks and eyes had presented no problems; and the manipulation of the laces, although it could not be described as "Second Nature," had still been easily managed. My most pleasant feelings had come from the increasing tightness as the laces had been pulled. It began low down on my body; moving higher as I took a fresh purchase on the laces. Each pull gave me an encircling sensation of tightness and restraint; clearly to be felt all around me. Very new; and deeply satisfying. A firm "Hold;" which was accompanied by what I could only describe as a "Lift." My muscles were receiving strong support, and as this support progressed higher it lifted my body; making it feel much lighter. This new sense of lightness brought with it an unusual impression of well-being, which was an invitation to continue the lacing process in the hope that it would produce further pleasant sensations.

On that first occasion, my sense of smell had generated only some unwelcome associations. My own personal aroma of "Sweaty Fear" had been induced by the unfamiliar activities, and compounded by the ever-present threat of discovery. A whole new series of nervous reactions had been triggered off; causing my body to break into an unpleasant sweat, which I could clearly smell when my arms moved and as my hands were pulling on the laces. The smell of the rubber corset continued cloying in my throat; and it lingered on my fingers as an unpleasant reminder long after I had put the garment back in the drawer.

It was the sudden and unexpected "Sight" of myself in the full length mirror that had given me the greatest disappointment of all. After lacing myself in as tightly as possible, I spent some time rubbing my hands over the smoothly stretched material, and comparing myself with Matron. Exploring the ridges of the bones as they made a series of raised and equidistant ripples around my back and sides. Feeling the taut material as it pulled my stomach in at the front. Running my fingers up and down the line of crossed laces, so often seen in the shop windows, but until now so unattainable. When I looked downwards, I could not see the lower half of my body, because it was being pulled in and obscured by the overhang of my rib-cage.

Whenever I conjured up the mental picture of myself in a corset I always visualised someone similar in shape to many of the smoothly contoured ladies in the advertisements, with a pleasant series of flowing and co-ordinated curves on either side of my body and a slender silhouette tapering to the waist. The clear mental picture remained with me when I was walking towards Mother's room, and was greatly helped by the many pleasant sensations of embracement and movement that were being induced by the motions of walking.

Turning through the doorway of Mother's bedroom, and unexpectedly glimpsing myself in her full length mirror, had given me the earliest, and consequently one of the greatest, disappointments of my young life. As my story unfolds it will soon become clear that there were many worse disappointments still to come, but this was the first one - which may explain why it still remains so fresh in my memory.

That first early experiment added more fuel to the small, flickering flame that burned inside me, and it was quite obvious that I would have to find some way of repeating it. Corsetry was beginning to take a firm hold on me, and there were some clear indications that it was going to play a great part in the story of my life. It was rather a long time before I could make any further progress, and it came as a considerable surprise when, without any warning, my Mother, announced that we would be moving from our present home, and going to live in the north of England with her Father, and his second wife.

When I look back over the years, I often wonder if she would have been quite so ready to make the move, if she had known that her action would provide me with the means that enabled me to take the next step forward!

**

Corset Diary

Some random thoughts: I still want to try and lace myself tighter, because I would like to be as I was some years ago, with a Twenty Inch waist beneath my corset, and measuring twenty two inches over the corset. I will have to do it slowly, and it may well take me several months of lacing.

*****

Grandad and "Auntie," (as I was taught to call her) lived in a large and rather old house which had lots of bedrooms. Grandad was a tall and elderly gentleman with white hair. He was well dressed, and displayed a gold watch chain across the waistcoat of his suit. I had never been quite sure what he did for his living, because he was always vaguely described as "Holding a Most Important Position in Textiles."

Auntie was a slim, middle aged lady with a very "Refained" voice, and noted for using long words, when short ones would have been just as effective. She had no children of her own, and I quickly formed the impression that she did not like me. She had a thin, pursed, disapproving mouth; her facial expression would always harden at the sight of me, and she never gave any sign of pleasure when I was around. I was tolerated - but that was as far as it went. Grandad was a very busy man, who left for work early in the morning and did not return until late at night. He seemed to spend most of his weekends at "The Club," so I hardly saw him at all.

I was allocated a room for my own use when we first arrived at the house. It was apparently known as "The Box Room," although nobody ever bothered to explain why. The room was quite small, and you had to take great care not to fall down the two steps that were immediately behind the door. There was just enough space for a small single bed, and an old chest of drawers - if it could be dignified by that title. It was a rather low, wooden structure, and it was true to say that it contained two drawers; but you had to get down on your hands and knees to open them. The top piece of wood was a different colour to the rest; and I formed the opinion that the unit had once been part of a large wardrobe that had been cut down and converted to its present state. I discovered an excellent place to hide my scrapbook in a large cavity conveniently sited between the underside of the lower drawer and the bottom of the chest, making it easy for me to conceal the book when it was not in use.

The only other notable feature about the room was the sloping ceiling. It was possible to stand upright with ample headroom, just by the door; but the ceiling sloped sharply down towards the bed, making it necessary to approach with care and perform a special twist and roll in order to get into the bed at night. The other essential was to remember not to suddenly sit up in bed without thinking, and I soon learnt the correct procedure, after a few violent cracks on the head!

Inevitably, the same old yearning feeling began to creep over me, and I maintained a surreptitious watch on Auntie; trying to discover what type of corset she wore. My efforts were hampered, because she presented a smooth and unbroken bodily profile; free from bulges or ridges, and giving me no help at all; so, once again, I had to resort to sterner methods.

Grandad and Auntie occupied separate bedrooms, and although I had taken every opportunity to look inside Auntie's room, I had never been permitted to cross the threshold. It was a proper "Ladies Room." Fluffy; frilly; feminine, and decorated in various shades of cream. A thick and fluffy carpet covered the floor from wall to wall; the curtains were a matching cream, with a frilly pelmet at the top; and a small stool that stood near the dressing table was upholstered in the same cream coloured material, with a peripheral frill concealing its legs. There was a large wardrobe, and two built-in drawer units all made from the same light coloured and polished wood as the dressing table. Three full-length cream tinted mirrors were mounted along one wall.

I remained in a constant state of readiness, and one day my patience was rewarded when I had the house to myself for a short while. I tiptoed into the room, and was surprised to discover that it was much bigger than it had first appeared to be. The bed had been partially concealed behind the opened door, and was a large and imposing unit; made of the same light wood as the rest of the furniture and having a bedspread that matched the curtains. There was a faint smell of perfume hanging in the air, and it kept intruding upon my highly stressed senses. Nervous tension set me shivering, although the room was quite warm; and I was screwed up tight in fear of being caught trespassing in this most sacred Holy of Holies.

I kept my ears pricked; alert for the slightest sound; walked across to the main fitted unit and carefully slid open the top drawer. It contained an assortment of gloves and scarves; so I closed it, and selected a lower drawer. This was tightly packed with numerous fluffy and unidentifiable woollen garments in a variety of pastel colours; but there was nothing to interest me.

I finally found all the corsets in the bottom drawer. Auntie, with her preference for long words, had once referred to them as "Foundation Garments." There were five; all of different types, and lying folded one on top of the other with almost military precision; neat, straight, and parallel with the front of the drawer.

The topmost garment was lifted out, examined, and quickly identified, simply because there was a picture of a rather similar item illustrated in one of my many advertisements! The now familiar pink colour; made of a powerful knitted elastic material, and resembling a wide pink belt. When it was laid flat, the two sides were almost parallel, and there was no apparent styling or shaping. It had no boning, and the only additional features were four suspenders; attached by short pieces of ribbon to the lower edge of the belt. All the metal suspender clips were painted pink, and the buttons were made of rubber. My advertisement had described the garment as being a "Roll-on Girdle;" adding that it was "Comfortable for day-long wear," and promised "A Fashionable Elegance and Style;" so it appeared to be exactly what I was looking for!

The next item presented me with a problem, and it took some time before I could give it a name. Some later research enabled me to identify this garment as a Pantie Girdle. It bore a strong resemblance to a miniature pair of elastic underpants, and, in effect, that is just what it was. There was a pink, double thickness belt of elastic at the top, and all the other sections of the front and back were made of thinner, and closely woven elastic.

A piece of soft, pink, shiny and unstretchable material passed underneath between the two leg holes; joining the front and rear halves together, and the garment had four suspenders, but there were no bones.

Next came a rubber corset; similar to the one I had found in Mother's drawer, but this was newer, and did not have the unpleasant rubbery smell. Made from smooth pink rubber; pierced with many small holes, all arranged in evenly spaced decorative geometric patterns around the four panels that made up the garment. The panels had been sewn together and reinforced with a strong strip of cloth at every seam, and my exploring fingers discovered a flexible bone concealed within each of the joining strips. The inner surface was lined with soft and fleecy woollen material. It had a pleasant feel, and was warm to the touch. The corset fastened with a row of shiny and conventional hooks and eyes, backed by the familiar strip of velvet or plush insulating material.

The positioning of the suspenders suggested that the corset was designed to be worn with the row of hooks and eyes about three inches to the left of the centre front of the wearer when it was correctly fitted. I laid the opened corset flat on my bed, and carefully fastened all the hooks and eyes together. Then I inserted both my hands inside the closed corset; pulled outwards, and discovered that it had been cut and shaped to have its fullness over the hips; and, although it curved inward towards the top it did not appear to rise higher than the waist level. The suspenders were the normal elastic type, with no unusual features.

The next model was a new, and rather interesting variation. It was apparently known as a "Corselette." Made from the same strong knitted elastic as the roll-on girdle, and of similar construction, but it rose much higher, and was topped with a lacy and delicate brassiere mounted upon its upper edge. The brassiere was supported by two thin shoulder straps made from shiny pink ribbon. It was the first brassiere I had ever seen, and was most exciting! The elastic around the waist had been knitted into a contrasting pattern; forming a strong integral belt about three inches wide. When I carefully stretched the material at this point I found it to be much more resistant than the elastic on the roll-on.

The final item was wrapped in tissue paper, and was extremely interesting. I had seen many pictures of Victorian corsets, with their mass of complicated heavy boning and lacing; and this looked like a modern copy; but without any of the lacing. It lay folded and flat in the drawer, and when unfolded was obviously designed to be really closely fitting at the waist, because it was much narrower where the waist would be.

The material was black; shiny and slippery smooth, except for a wide and strong black elastic panel the full length of the back. It fastened with a row of heavy duty hooks and eyes, all down one side, and there were only four flexible and thin bones, one on either side of the elastic panel, and one down each side, slightly towards the front. There were two, shaped, half brassiere cups at the top, and a decorative strip of lacy material some three inches deep around the bottom edge. It did not extend as far below the waist as the other corsets I had seen, and the four stocking suspenders were long and narrow.

The whole garment had been beautifully made and finished, and the manufacturer had combined grace with both style and strength. I was most impressed with this model, and studied it at length; trying to conjure up a mental image of myself wearing it, with my whole body being moulded to new and wonderful contours; smoothly sculptured, and comfortably supported.

It was long past time for me to conclude this first exploration, so I carefully folded the garments and put them back in the drawer, taking great care to leave everything just as I had found it. Then I went away, and had a good long think! Somehow I HAD to find a way of wearing all these new and exciting discoveries as soon as possible. The first essential was to have a short period on my own, but there always seemed to be people going about their business in this house! Wherever I went, I was sure to find another person, usually adult and female, engaged in some form of legitimate occupation! It was all so very frustrating!

**

One day, the adults sent me out of the room, so they could have a private discussion about a forthcoming social occasion. The lessons I learnt in hospital now stood me in good stead, and I was soon able to find a suitable spot where I could hear, but not be seen. I was surprised to discover that I was the subject under discussion. Would it be safe to leave me alone in the house? I quickly realised the many advantages of a whole evening to myself, and did my best to influence all the adults by being well mannered, and on my best behaviour for the next few days. I also began a period of pleasant mental anticipation.

When the day finally arrived, there was much to-ing and fro-ing between various bedrooms and the bathroom, as the adults made themselves ready; until at long last they assembled in the hall looking very well dressed. Grandad presented an imposing figure in his full evening dress, with a stiff white shirt front and white bow tie, and displaying a medal on a wide ribbon around his neck. Mother was wearing a long black frock that made her look smarter than usual, although she still looked dowdy compared with Auntie.

Auntie also wore a long black frock, but hers had shiny silver streaks woven into the material. The frock had no top to it, and half her bosom was showing. Her figure was now well outlined at the waist, and her skirt swished about in wide flares and ripples as she walked around. She donned a short fur coat, to complete her ensemble. Both ladies had new hair styles for the occasion, and my mother looked different with her hair up on top of her head, and was almost good looking!

I was given stern instructions to behave myself, and not to answer the door if anybody rang the bell; the car finally arrived for them, and off they went, leaving me alone. I quickly ran upstairs and opened the door of Aunties' room, to be met with a much stronger and heavier blast of her perfume, which nearly made me have a severe attack of coughing. I choked it back, and tiptoed over to the drawer unit, shivering with anticipation; opened the drawer, and then had yet another disappointment.

It had been my intention to begin with the tight Victorian corset, and much of my time, over the last few days, had been spent deep in thought about the many pleasures to come. I had foreseen perfection within my grasp, right from the very outset! But no! It was typical of Auntie to decide to wear the special one on this occasion, and deprive me of my pleasure; so I chose instead the roll-on girdle and removed it from the drawer; taking it into my own bedroom and spending some time closely examining it, in an attempt to find the correct method of putting it on.

Identifying the top and bottom was easy, because the suspenders were always at the lowest edge; but to decide which was the front and back proved much more difficult. The material had been formed into a uniformly knitted cylinder, with no seams or distinguishing features of any kind. I tried laying it flat in various different positions, until eventually the suspenders aligned themselves into a balanced pattern, and indicated that the front would be at the point where two of them were closer together. I carefully read the manufacturers label, looking for any instructions, but this was of little help. It told me how to wash it - but not how to wear it!

The garment was called a "Roll-On Girdle," which inferred that the prospective wearer would have to somehow roll it on to his or her body, and this, in turn, suggested to me that it would first have to be "Pre-rolled." Holding it by the top edge, I began to roll the material downward. It looked encouraging, so I continued rolling until I was left holding a small and thick elastic ring, from which the four suspenders shyly protruded.

I removed all my clothes; dropped them on the floor; held the elastic ring firmly in both hands, bent down, put one foot in; followed it with the other foot, and tried to stand up straight and pull the ring up my legs. It was easy as far as my knees, but then it became much harder. I heaved, strained and struggled to raise it up to the correct position, but it was no use. It finally stopped halfway up my thighs, and I found that both my legs were now tightly pressed together and it was impossible for me to move; so obviously something was wrong.

It took a great deal of effort to remove it, but at last I was able to take it off, unroll it, and start again. For my second attempt, I simply held the flat garment by the opened top; put both legs in, and pulled strongly upwards, wriggling and squirming until it was in the correct position, with the top edge just above my waist, and the bottom edge low down on my hips. This gave me the familiar pleasant compacted feeling all around my body, and there was no doubt that it fitted me very well. My problems started when I decided to have a good look at myself in a full length mirror, and found to my surprise that ascending the two steps out of my bedroom had suddenly become very difficult!

I tried to lift one leg up on to the lower step, but the strong elastic promptly pushed it down to the floor again. Several attempts were frustrated, and I finally had to overcome the problem by using my hands to lift my legs up the steps one at a time! I first spent a few enjoyable minutes walking up and down the landing, feeling the unfamiliar gripping sensations on different parts of my body, and then stood for a long time in front of Aunties' mirror, admiring myself. The girdle gave me a pleasantly smooth line over my hips, and an encouraging suggestion of narrowing at the waist. The suspenders were correctly positioned, and, with the exception of my partly visible and dangling genitals, I bore a strong resemblance to the ladies in the corset advertisements. .

Of course, there had to be some faults - and I soon discovered them! As soon as I bent forward, the top edge of the girdle promptly curled over at the front, and quickly formed a hard, thick, and powerful ridge, which dug into my flesh under my ribs, and became really painful. Sitting down on my bed caused the bottom edge to curl up in a similar fashion, making another painful ridge across the top of my legs. I could think of no way of securing the top and bottom to prevent this problem, so I decided that this was not the right garment for me, and with some difficulty took it off, straightened it out, and put it back in the drawer.

I chose the rubber corset for my next attempt, and carried it into my room for closer inspection. There were no elastic panels or adjustable laces, and although it was made of rubber, it did not have the same stretchable qualities as the roll-on. A strong pull at either end proved that the rubberised material had little "Give", and there was a wide gap between the hooks and eyes, when I wrapped it around my body. In spite of this drawback, I was determined to master it, and add to my new fund of knowledge and experience.

It settled naturally into the correct wearing position, and the fleecy lining felt comfortable; cosy and warm against my skin. I tried to understand the reason for the numerous small holes pierced in the rubber, but their purpose eluded me. I took a firm grip on the outer edges, pulling them towards each other, and more by luck than good management was able to fasten the bottom hook and eye together. So far - so good!

The next two higher hooks and eyes were fastened without undue difficulty, but, after that, it all became much harder. The struggle continued, but I could only hold each edge of the corset between my finger and thumb, and was unable to apply full force with them. It became even harder over my hip bones, and made my fingers ache with the effort. The inner lining was becoming extremely hot; causing me to sweat, and my damp hands continually slipped off the warm, smooth rubber. Time was passing more quickly than I expected, and I was becoming worried about my predicament.

My fingers were extremely sore, and I had to stop and rest with the corset only partly fastened. I dried my hands by rubbing them on the counterpane of the bed; took a short breather, and turned again to my work. It became a little easier, once I had managed to get past my hip bones, and I struggled on up the endless line of hooks and eyes - having long since lost count - until I neared the top. I could not see the final fastenings, because my waist was being really well pulled in, and I had to manage by touch until all the hooks were secured. It had been hard work; my fingers were aching; but I was pleased with my success and wanted to have a good long look at myself in the mirror!

Ascending the two steps out of my room required an even greater effort this time and my legs were rubbing together at the top as I walked, but the sensation of tightness at my waist and the compact feeling round my hips was most enjoyable. My image now reflected a pleasant picture in the mirror; a smooth hip line; waist well pulled in; flattened stomach, and erect carriage. My first attempt at sitting on the bedroom stool was frustrated because of the difficulty with bending; and it could only be done if I moved with care, and sat up straight.

Always the perfectionist, I stood up again and made a further examination of myself in the mirror; turning around, and looking back over each shoulder in turn to observe as much of my back as possible. Here again there was a smooth outline, but now a new complication was arising. A thick and sickly white roll of fat was forming all round my body just above the line of the corset, almost like toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube; with the dark and shiny pink of the tight rubber corset only serving to emphasise the ugly and unpleasant whiteness of my flesh.

There was no obvious solution to this problem, other than wearing a corset that would come higher up my body; and this turned my thoughts to the possibilities of wearing the corselette. I had an anticipatory mental picture of my figure; moulded to a soft silhouette similar to many of those in my scrapbook of adverts; with no creases; no bulges, and just a smooth and flowing line.

The night was now quite far advanced, and for the sake of safety I decided to suspend operations and wait for another suitable opportunity. I had only worn the corset for a brief period, and was surprised to find that taking it off was much easier than putting it on. My flesh had become nicely compacted under the corset, and I had no trouble unfastening the hooks and eyes. I carefully put all the garments back in the drawer, in their correct order, and began thinking about the possibilities of long term corset wear. I wondered what it would feel like to be corseted all day and every day.

It must surely be heavenly!

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