Dorothy Was Different

by O.Y. Dalziel

 

Chapter Seven

A Firm Foundation

 

To her eternal credit, Dorothy did not laugh. With yet another of her amazing transformations she composed her face to the look of polite enquiry that she had used in the shop. This was too much for me. Her change of expression turned the handle; engaged the gears; opened the floodgates, and allowed words to come pouring out of me in a never ending cataract. My hopes - my frustrations - The difficulties I had encountered on my own, and my desperate search for someone who would help me. I could not stop talking, and it was such a relief to let it out of my system.

She listened patiently; hearing me right through to the end and watching me closely all the time.

"There's no doubt about it." she commented, drily. "You certainly have got it badly! Most of the men that call here just seem to want to buy a corset, and then get out of the shop as soon as possible. It's a pleasant change to meet a man who can explain what it feels like to wear a corset, and be tightly laced. I find it very interesting indeed."

"Don't you feel the same?" I protested, desperately.

"You wear corsets yourself. Doesn't it give you the same pleasure?"

To my amazement, she retorted, grimly:

"I had to wear a corset, and very much against my will at first. I was forced to - whether I liked it or not!"

This was an interesting revelation; and it made me want to hear more.

"Tell me all about it." I invited eagerly, but she shook her head in refusal.

"No; not now - perhaps another time. Now then; the bedroom's through that door. I suggest you go in there; take off That Thing, and put on your new one. Call me when you are ready and decent again, and I'll help you with the lacing."

The bedroom was simply furnished, with a double bed; a wardrobe with a big mirror; and a dressing table, with three mirrors. Two full length mirrors had been fixed on opposite walls, and a long tilting mirror on a stand, was strategically placed near the centre of the room. This combination of mirrors made everything much easier to manage; and by doing some careful manoeuvering I found a position where I could see my front, back, and sides, all at once.

My emotions had by this time become mixed into a new cocktail; simmering and seething beneath my safety valve. Eager anticipation, combined with extreme apprehension; shaken and stirred into a bubbling broth. Here was someone who understood me - someone who might help me. On the other hand; bitter experience had taught me that any apparent sign of enjoyment was guaranteed to be countered by some form of dreadful reaction. What would it be this time? Would it be something cruel beyond belief? Was she, perhaps, going to throw the bedroom door open at the crucial moment; revealing me, in my corset, to her mocking and laughing friends; who were sure to be waiting outside for just this moment?

It is said to be physically impossible for human hair to "Stand on End." Please believe me when I say that mine did! All the hairs on my head and body stood upright; stiff; straight; quivering slightly at their tips, and making me prickle all over. My jaw started to ache, and I found that I had my teeth clamped tightly together to stop them chattering!

My raw and roughened nerve ends suddenly twitched; sending my muscles into uncontrollable spasms and making me stagger about like a badly manipulated marionette! What should I do? Advance - or retreat? There would never be another chance like this! It was no good - I had to go on!

I dropped my trousers; stepped out of them; put them on a chair, and rolled my shirt up around my chest. My suspenders were soon unfastened; the old corset removed, and the new one taken from its wrapping paper. I opened the busk and hooked the suspenders into the loops; loosened the lacing, and was able to wrap the new corset around myself for the first time. It felt cold; slippery, and very stiff at first, but the busk was easily clipped together. I threaded the lower front laces through their holes; drew them partially closed, and then studied myself with great interest.

I knew, immediately that this was going to be good. The corset bore a strong resemblance to my mental picture; embraced me comfortably, and covered me completely from the middle of my chest to low down on my hips. The donning of this new protective armour had helped to calm my frayed nerves, and I was busily checking that it was correctly aligned at the waist when Dorothy called:

"Are you ready?"

I made my voice work again:

"It's on."

She came into the room, and studied me in a calm and professional manner:

"That's more like it!" And then, before I could say anything in reply:

"Stand still a minute."

Her fingers touched the middle of my back, and I stiffened; instantly becoming icy cold all over! Her first pull on the laces caught me off balance, and made me take an involuntary step back and brush against her. Her immediate reaction was to give me a sharp push forward, so that I rocked unsteadily back and forward. She spoke with professional detachment:

"Wait a minute; it's no good like this. Look - hold on to those two handles; they should steady you."

A pair of metal handles had been screwed to the wall; at either side of one of the big wall mirrors; set about two feet apart and roughly on a level with my shoulders. She gave me time to take a firm grip before she began again. I could see her face in the mirror, and her brow was furrowed with concentration as she worked behind me. She had surprisingly strong fingers, and I felt the laces moving quickly; hot with friction where they rubbed against my skin. I became aware of the corset closing tightly and yet comfortably around my hips, as she worked upwards towards my waist. After a short session of pulling, she paused, and asked:

"How's that?"

"Lovely! Please go on."

"All right; I'll take in the top half now. Hold on for just a minute longer."

She pulled again; higher up my body, and the corset began closing firmly around my rib cage. It gave me a new and unique feeling that was quite different to any previous sensations.

"That's about it." she said. "Just the waist now. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

She pulled strongly and steadily at first; changing to a short series of wrist movements; moving closer to me; tightening, and making minor adjustments while I still maintained a firm grip on the handles in anticipation of further pulling. To my great disappointment, she stopped, and began to tie a knot in the laces.

"Go on." I pleaded. "Tighter - please, tighter."

She was firm in her denial:

"No. It would be foolish to do any more. That's quite enough for the first attempt. It's better not to stretch it too much, and it will take a short while for it to mould itself to your body."

She was tucking the laces in at the back, as she spoke.

"Now; go and stand between the mirrors, and have a good look at yourself."

Walking was a pleasure; and there was none of the unpleasant rubbing around the top of my legs. The small elastic panels expanded and contracted; allowing me to stride freely; and the front bone held me upright. The flexible bones were supporting me firmly and closely, right round my body; whilst still giving me a reasonable ability to twist and bend. I was pleased with the general sensations of tightness and support, but was aware of some slight disappointment when I took a closer look in the full length mirror.

It was the stockings that now spoilt the whole effect; hanging loose and wrinkled on my legs, and making me appear untidy, and unfinished. The suspenders were dangling limply, and without purpose. I bent forward, against the resistance of the stiff corset, and managed to attach the two front suspenders to the stockings. The side suspenders were not too difficult; but the two at the back were hard to reach, and impossible for me to fasten. I left them dangling for the moment, and pulled on the front laces until they were tightly closed up; before finally tying a knot. This stretched the elastic panel, and made the lower part of the corset fit very snugly and comfortably;

Dorothy stood and watched me, without making any comment or offering to help, so I continued with my scrutiny; running my hands up and down the smooth satin; finding it pleasantly slippery to the touch, and free from any tendency to form wrinkles.

"Well - do you like it?" she asked.

Did I like it?

Of course I liked it! I was totally entranced with the view in the mirror, and was unable to answer her immediately. The top of the corset came just below the nipples on my chest, and was slightly higher than I had first intended it to be. It tapered smoothly down to the waist, which was now very clearly defined and noticeably smaller than my 'Elfrida' corset. My whole shape was much more streamlined than it had been with my previous attempt at tight lacing. There were no creases at the waist, and the lower front, held firmly down by the tension of the suspenders, showed no tendency to bunch up.

The lower edge was exactly where I had designed it to be; nicely clearing my veiled genitals at the front, and fitting snugly beneath my bottom at the back. My specially inserted strong elastic panel seemed to be performing its planned function, and I certainly felt comfortable all over, without a trace of pain. I gave Dorothy my answer:

"Yes - oh - yes! It's perfect, everywhere. Much better than I had ever dared to hope for."

She walked around me; looking carefully at all the various innovations, and then said:

"It really is a very good design. When I first looked at your drawing, I was convinced that it was absolutely impractical. We were desperate for your order, so I said nothing at the time. That's one of the reasons I invited you here tonight - in case it didn't fit! I thought I might be able to alter it for you; but now, I must admit that I really am most impressed. Did you design it all by yourself?"

I described my method of combining the different features from my selection of pictures, but told her that the general composite design had been in my mind for a considerable time.

"I like the detachable suspenders." she said:

"But I'm not at all happy about those awful thick stockings. Will you try it without them."

I unfastened the suspenders.

"Now; sit down on that chair, and stand up several times."

I did as she said.

"Does it ride up?"

It did not.

"You see. I was right, you shouldn't need stockings any more - unless you actually do like wearing them."

I did not reply to this, but simply removed the stockings and detached the suspenders.

"That looks much better," she said; "more manly, somehow. Previously it was neither one thing nor the other! I'll leave you to get dressed again, and you can come back to the other room when you are ready."

I re-dressed; pulling my belt much smaller than ever before; smoothed myself down, and went back into the sitting room. Dorothy invited me to sit down, adding the suggestion that I might find it more comfortable in an upright chair; because the corset, being new, was bound to be stiff at first. I chose one of the dining chairs from around the table, and carried it across the room; bending carefully; sitting down rather gingerly, and keeping my back straight.

We chatted in a friendly way, as though we were both trying to make the pleasant moments spin out. I was very conscious of the all-encompassing feeling of support and restraint. Dorothy was easy to talk to. She had a pleasant manner, and it was becoming a most enjoyable evening for me.

I began to mentally run through my list of personal desires:-

1. To wear a tight corset.

2. To talk frankly and openly to a woman who could accept my need to wear corsets, without displaying the conventional signs of distaste or revulsion.

3. To discover that I was not the only man who had this problem.

But - most of all:

4. To be understood - and accepted.

Now; for the first time in my life, I had Everything!

Dorothy told me: "You know, you can still pull in the waist a few inches more; but I don't advise it just yet. It would be better for you to wear it like that for a few days, until you become more accustomed to it. Use a tape measure whenever you put it on, and it will help you to keep to the same measurements."

She made it all sound easy, until I thought of the many problems about dressing at home and; more importantly, not being discovered whilst in the process!

"I don't know if I can manage to do it by myself." I said.

"You see, I live with my mother; and she doesn't know I like to wear corsets. I shudder to think what she might do to me if she ever caught me with them on."

"I live here all on my own." Dorothy replied.

"I don't often go out and I do get dreadfully lonely sometimes." Then, tentatively:

"You could come here again - if you like."

"Oh! Could I?" I cried. "And do you think we could do this again?"

Her face suddenly took on a disappointed look, and she said:

"Well; that wasn't exactly what I had in mind. But I suppose we could; if it really means as much to you as that."

She thought for a moment. "Tell you what; give me a ring; here's my 'phone number."

She gave me a gilt lettered, deckle edged business card, with her name and telephone number on it.

I suddenly returned to reality, and realised that I would have to hurry if I wanted to catch the last bus.

"I must go." I said. "I think I'd better take it off. I told my mother I was going to a show, and she's bound to ask me all about it."

"You are silly," she remarked; "still tied to your mother's apron strings."

We both laughed at the unconscious play on words, as the connection between corset laces and apron strings suddenly struck us at the same time.

"How old are you?" She enquired.

"Twenty four."

"Surely it's about time you led your own life, and got out and about a bit. Have you no girl friends?"

"None at all. The few girls I have spoken to, all seem to find me a bit odd. In fact you are the only girl I have ever been able to talk to, seriously, and at any length. I would like to see you again - if you think you can put up with me."

"Well, it's up to you. You have my invitation; but you will have to make your own arrangements about coming here. Let me know what you decide to do."

There seemed to be nothing more to say; so I went back into the bedroom, and made the change from the new corset to the old one. I thanked Dorothy for her help; looked forward to our next meeting, and then went home; hiding the new corset in the wash boiler before going into the house. As soon as I stepped through the door, Mother pounced on me, and cross-examined me. I gave her what I hoped would be a convincing description of the show, and finished by saying, somewhat defiantly:

"I met a girl there. She was rather nice, and I'd like to see her again."

There was an immediate barrage of questions:

"A GIRL! - What's her name?"

"Dorothy."

"Where does she live?"

"Over her shop."

"What kind of a shop is it?"

"Ladies clothing - I think."

She went on and on; demanding answers, and I became more and more reticent, until eventually I was able to escape to my bedroom.

**

I rang Dorothy two days later, and enquired:

"How about this weekend; are you free?"

"Well;" she replied; "We're open all day Saturday, so I'm tied to the shop counter until closing time; but Sunday is always blank."

"Could I take you to a show on Saturday night?" I suggested.

She was quite agreeable, so we talked about the various shows that were on, and eventually arranged that I would go over on Saturday afternoon and meet her after the shop had closed. I reserved the theatre seats by telephone, and told Mother I would be late returning home.

This was meant to be the first of many Special Occasions, and I decided to wear my new corset. I had managed to retrieve it from the outhouse, and it now rested securely in my hiding place. I rose especially early before Mother was about; followed my regular routine and put it on - though not without some difficulty. I had a few problems with the adjustment of the back lacing, but eventually managed a reasonable fit. It was very comfortable; restraining and supporting me well. The flexible bones allowed me to twist, and the strong bones at the back held me upright.

I wore it all morning without discomfort or discovery, and set off to meet Dorothy in the late afternoon; loitering near the shop until I saw Freda going home. I hurried across; knocked on the door, and Dorothy let me in; leading the way up the stairs to the sitting room. I admired the way that she walked, particularly up and down stairs. It's hard to describe, but she moved as a compact unit; without any loose ends and I wondered if I looked like that!

After the usual greetings, she came straight to the point:

"Have you got it on?"

"Yes."

"How does it feel?"

"Marvellous."

"Did you manage to lace it by yourself?"

"Yes - but it's difficult."

"Ah, yes. It's mainly a question of practice. You will find that it becomes easier as you go on. You'd better let me look you over."

I stripped off my jacket and trousers; removed my shirt and vest, and she examined me:

"Not bad - for a novice. But it can be improved. We'll do it in here. Hold on to the door handles, for now."

I stood, end on to the open door, holding a handle in each hand, and she stood behind me. I felt her undoing my knot and rearranging the laces. After a few short pulls and tugs it all felt much better; increasing the wonderfully secure feeling.

"I've had it on all day, so far." I said. "Would it be possible to reduce the waist a bit more?"

"Oh yes." she replied. "It can come in a good two or three inches yet. But I really think you ought not to overdo it."

"Go on - please go on." I begged. "Please pull me in some more. I must know what it's like."

"Very well then; but don't say I didn't warn you. It might not be easy for you. Hold on, tightly now."

She began to pull and tug again; much harder, this time; first below the waist, and then above it. When she paused, it was heavenly! It was - I don't know - it was exquisite! I took my hands off the door handles, and began sliding them up and down the smooth and slippery satin; from my ribs, into my waist; out over my smooth hips, and then back in again to my waist. It did not ride up; there were no creases or wrinkles; and I had no pain. It just gave me heavenly, delicious, comfortable support.

"That's really wonderful!" I cried. "I can't find the words to describe it. I never thought anything could be as enjoyable as this. Thank you so much."

She was forthright:

"I haven't finished with you yet! I've only been taking up the slack over your hips and chest. I still have to pull it in some more, if you want me to fully close your waist."

Then, in more reasonable tones:

"Are you quite sure you want me to go on, or have you had enough?"

I had very mixed feelings! I wanted her to go on, oh yes! I wanted it to be as tight as possible, But, could I stand it? Would I be able to bear the pain that must surely come, and not have to beg her to release me.

It was no use; I had to know:

"Go on." I entreated. "Please, go on."

"Very well, then." she said. "Take a deep breath, and hold on - very firmly."

I breathed in, and said: "Ready."

She certainly was an experienced lacer. I hung on, grimly; feeling her wrists pressing against my back as she worked hard to draw the corset closed. Several short and repeated jerking movements, which were alternated with a longer pull as she gained a further length of lace. She finally crossed the laces over, gave a last tug, and said:

"Let go of the handles, and take a lace in each hand. Here you are; be careful; don't let them slacken at all. Now, you can pull in the last inch yourself, if you really want to."

I was still free from pain, and took her words as a challenge. I would show her what I could do, and would not be beaten this time! Holding both laces firmly, I flexed my muscles and first pulled outwards; then wedged my elbows between the stressed laces and pulled again. I actually felt the two halves of the corset coming together at the waist, and experienced a strange mixture of satisfaction as they did so. There was still no pain.

"Very good. Well done!" she said; and her voice was full of admiration. "It's nearly closed up at the back. Let me tie the knot for you." After she had firmly secured the knot, she spent a short time tucking in the surplus lace, and said:

"Now; you can go through to the bedroom, and look at yourself in the mirror. Take your time, and have a good look. I've put some papers on the floor, and I want you to be certain to stand on them - in case anything should happen. Will you do that?"

It seemed to be a strange request, and I had no idea what she meant, but I did as I was told; picked up my bundle of discarded clothes and walked into the bedroom. She closed the door behind me, and waited outside. The motion of walking gave me a renewed sense of well-being, and I walked upright with my shoulders pulled well back, feeling much taller.

There were several sheets of newspaper spread upon the floor, in the position that allowed me to see all sides of myself in the mirrors. I stood on the paper, and I looked! I looked, gazed, stared; enthralled! It was all me! I knew it was, by the ugly face. But, most of it was a new and beautiful me, with smooth, flowing curves, and a waist that seemed to taper away almost to nothing. Smooth ribs; smooth hips; without the slightest sign of a crease or wrinkle; no surplus flesh bulging over the top, and no tendency for the lower front to bunch up. The lacing was almost fully closed from top to bottom, and, when viewed from the side, I had a straight front, without the hint of a bulge.

Faultless! Perfect Satisfaction; at last!

 

WRONG!

 

A most embarrassing complaint began to develop, and I was painfully aware that my penis was becoming strongly and potently erect! This had happened on two previous occasions; once at home during an exciting dream, and again while I was watching an interesting film at the cinema when a lady was being tightly laced. I had first learnt about this condition when I was in the Army. The other men had made frequent mention of it, and had related it to the sexual stimulation they had enjoyed during their numerous encounters with unspecified women.

It was corsets; not women, that did it to me!

I felt the erection growing to a monstrous size, and was unable to suppress it as it forced itself clear of the leg of my underpants. The thrill of seeing my new self from so many different angles made everything explode into a climax of delicious nerve tingling sensations, leaving me without any vestige of control, and - as I had heard it called in the Army - I "Shot my load" on to the newspaper!

I must have made an involuntary noise, because the door suddenly opened, and Dorothy walked in. My embarrassment increased to an impossible degree, and I turned away from her; grabbing my trousers, and struggling into them; a brilliant brick red in the face; hopelessly ashamed at my loss of control, and automatically tensing myself in anticipation of her scathing remonstrance. Her reaction astounded me! In a very matter-of-fact way, she said:

"It's exactly what I expected. That's why I put those papers there, to protect the carpet. It's the excitement, you see."

"I'm so sorry." I said, contritely. "Shall I take it off? I didn't want anything like this to happen, and it seems a poor way to repay your kindness."

She smiled, and said: "Don't be silly. No, you can keep it on, you obviously enjoy it. Just get dressed again, and let's have a chat."

I re-dressed; picked up the papers, and crushed them together to hide the shameful evidence; then went back to the sitting room, wondering what she would say. She merely resumed the conversation by telling me:

"I felt sure you were going to ask me to pull you in, tonight. That's why I put the papers down; in readiness for you."

"I really am so truly sorry." I said, ruefully. "I am positively ashamed of myself. I was afraid you would be furious, but you are acting as if it is nothing unusual. Has this sort of thing ever happened before?"

"Well, yes it has. But not with me - if you know what I mean." she said. "I know that sounds rather contradictory but I'll try and explain. Like I said; most of the men who call here just want to buy a corset, and then get out of the shop as quickly as they can. However, a few of them always insist on being fitted. Daddy used to deal with the men's fittings, but Mummy tried not to get involved with it, when she took over. If a man was insistent she would always add an extra charge, to try and put them off; but they usually paid up quite cheerfully. I have always refused to do men's fittings - except for you. I must have lost a lot of customers, and I'm beginning to think that is why the business is declining."

She paused, and then continued:

"This is the point I'm making. Something like this would often happen when either of my parents laced up a man. It only happened with the men - I don't know why it did. Daddy called it e-ejaculating, I think. Does that sound right to you?"

"That's right." I said. "I've heard it called by that name. It has several other names, and some of them can be rather indelicate; but I am sure that ejaculating is the proper medical name. Actually, I understand it's quite a normal thing. It's a way for a man's body to relieve itself - or something."

Now that I look back, I cannot help thinking how innocent we both were! But then, neither of us had any brothers or sisters; Dorothy had no parents; I was unable to talk to my mother about this sort of thing; and all I had for guidance was my Army experience. I must make it quite plain, here and now, that I had no previous practical experience of what might be termed "Matters Sexual," and what little knowledge I had on the subject was theoretical - and most probably totally incorrect - because it was based on "Barrack-room Hearsay!" And when Dorothy and I were married, and it was time for me "To boldly go where no man had gone before" - I did not know where to go! It was becoming more and more obvious that we had both led very sheltered lives, but we still had a great deal in common, and our friendship was developing along pleasant lines.

She made us a cup of tea, and we continued to sit by the fire and talk companionably; trying to discover more about each other. She rocked gently back and to in the old rocking chair; and I sat rigidly upright; conscious of the pleasant gripping and holding sensations all over my body, and the way any involuntary movement served as a reminder of my newly restrained state.

It was becoming a very pleasant evening, and I had not noticed the passage of time; suddenly realising that it was quite late, and I had a bus to catch. Without thinking, I jumped to my feet, and said:

"Look, I'm sorry, but I must go. Oh! It's starting to pinch a little! Do you think you could loosen it off a bit, and make it easier for me to undo the laces at home."

"I'll undo the bow and loosen it," she said.

"Then you can wrap the spare lace around your waist, and knot it at the front."

After she had finished this modification:

"All you have to do, when you want to take it off, is pull the knot here, and loosen the laces at the back. That's all I do each night. You'll see, it will soon become easy."

"I wish I could watch you." I said, wistfully.

"That's enough of that, now." she rebuked, gently.

"Off you go, see you again."

I was suddenly stricken with remorse:

"I've just remembered! I was going to take you to a show! I had booked the tickets, and everything."

"Never mind." she replied. "Perhaps another time. It has been pleasant, having company for a change. Normally I just sit and read until bedtime; will you come again?"

"Yes please." I said. "And I'd like to talk to you about the shop. I have some ideas that I think might help."

I said good night to Dorothy, and had to run to catch the last bus; which proved to be a somewhat breathtaking exercise in the tight corset! Time had passed all too quickly, but it had been a wonderful evening, and I could not wait for the next occasion.

**

We continued to meet at the weekends, and our friendship developed. We did once go to a show, and both enjoyed it very much. We spent most of the time talking in Dorothy's flat, and were pleased to find that we had many things in common. We both enjoyed "Playing with words," and making puns, and double meanings. I could do it with a straight face; often slipping something into the conversation, and then watching Dorothy with interest, until she suddenly realised what I had just said. She would always give herself away by using a special sidelong look which was all her own when she was about to make clever use of a word. Anything related to corsets, laces, stays, girdles, and things of a similar nature, was meat and drink to us, and just asked to be twisted in some way.

We were both avid readers. My preferred choice was for "Blood and Thunder" all action novels; with a Hero who was a "Man of Steel," and worldly wise in all things. Dorothy liked the lightest of romantic fiction, full of dewy eyed and beautiful heroines, who could captivate tall, dark, and handsome men.

We had each developed a similar ability to slip into our own "Secret Worlds," and let our thoughts take over, whenever the stern realities of life became too irksome. We liked similar foods, but were not interested in smoking or drinking, and had both suffered hardships in our childhood. We had been lost and alone when we first met. Two young and simple people, who wanted something out of life but who were not sure what it was that we actually wanted.

I wore my new corset whenever I visited Dorothy, and as often as possible on other occasions. I soon found solutions to the various problems; overcoming my previous difficulty with the back suspenders by fastening them to the stockings, before making the final adjustments to the laces, and while it was still comparatively easy to bend. The back lacing did become easier with practice; but it still took a lot of time and patience to put the corset on, and adjust the laces satisfactorily. This often meant that I had insufficient opportunity in a morning, and I eventually compromised by wearing my front lacer every day, and changing to the new back lacer on special occasions.

I managed to prevent Mother seeing me, although it was a close run thing once or twice! I wanted to try Dorothy's suggestion of screwing two hooks into my bedroom door frame, and looping the laces over the hooks to help me with the lacing, but Mother would soon have started asking difficult questions, so I refrained.

One Saturday night, when Dorothy was quieter and more subdued than usual, I said:

"Something's wrong - what is it?"

"It's the shop." she confessed. "It's not doing at all well. The Bank Manager rang again yesterday about the overdraft, and I don't like talking to him."

It was obvious that she was very depressed, and I did my best to give her some measure of comfort, in my usual ham-handed and inexperienced way.

"It will be all right; you'll see. Things always work out for the best."

She looked at me, unhappily:

"Oh, you don't understand, do you? I'm in all sorts of terrible trouble at this moment. I was hoping you might be able to help me - you said you would."

"I know I did, and I will help you." I protested; "but it isn't as easy as that. Let me try and explain what I mean: I know enough about business to realise that if the Bank Manager is pestering you, it usually means that he wants his money back! You have told me that the business is declining, and it's rather obvious that the money's not coming in, and so he's not going to get it back! That much is simple; but now we come to the hard part. It's not the kind of business where you can economise by reducing the Staff - except of course Freda; it looks as if she may have to go, unfortunately. I haven't much experience of shops, but it might give me a clearer picture if you could tell me something about the history of the business, and how it all started."

Dorothy assembled her thoughts, and then began:

"Many years ago, Daddy used to travel around the town calling on the larger Hotels and Boarding Houses. He was selling bedding and table linen, and carried his samples on a bicycle. Apparently he was known as something of a character, hereabouts, and he did very well in the early days when the hotels were being built, and the town was developing as a holiday resort. He bought this shop at about the turn of the century, and shortly afterwards took on Mummy, so that she could mind the shop while he travelled around.

"Mummy was a trained corsetiere, and had a good business head; so she began the corsetry department. They had these upstairs rooms converted into a flat; got married, and moved in here. I don't think they ever intended to have any children. In fact, Mummy was forty one when I was born, and I sometimes think I must have been a mistake. The business was their whole life, and took up most of their day. They had little time to spare for me, and I was left very much on my own."

**

I have; since my early youth, concentrated on cultivating an expressionless face for use in times of stress or adversity, and can remain dry-eyed at such things as funerals or weddings. Schoolmasters would become empurpled; doubling and redoubling their punishments in their efforts to make me show some reaction or fear. The most ruthlessly applied authority or corporal punishment failed to make me quail or tremble, and I kept my public displays of emotion firmly suppressed and battened down. I was The Iron Man - until I met Dorothy!

Forlorn. That was the word that came to my mind, as I looked at her. The poor girl seemed so sad; so lost, and alone; and I became conscious of a strange feeling of personal emotion, almost of compassion. Prickling eyes; a mobile lump in my throat, and, in spite of all my efforts a sensation of sympathy swept over me. Her sad story hit me quite hard, and without any conscious thought I rose to my feet; holding out both arms to her to try and offer her some comfort. She stood up; walked towards me; snuggled her body close to mine, and put her head on my chest.

It was our first physical contact; and, in an effort to console her, I put my arms around her waist........

In an instant I was carried right back to my childhood! She felt exactly the same as Matron! Rigid - and yet, flexible!

 

I COULD FEEL HER WELL BONED CORSET!

 

A strange emotion, centred somewhere within my groin, began to expand and radiate throughout my entire body. Something new and hitherto unknown stirred; moving restlessly inside me, and I knew in that moment that Dorothy was the girl I had always been looking for - the girl of all my dreams and desires.

My emotional weakness caught me off balance; and to add to my discomfiture, Dorothy suddenly began crying bitterly. I was completely at a loss, because it was not in my nature to say sympathetic things. I knew what I should be saying; there was no doubt about that! I recalled some words from one of the few romantic books that I could ever remember reading. The hero was holding the heroine closely, just as I was, and saying to her compassionately:

"There, there; poor child. Leave it all to me.

Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

I tried to emulate the hero, but, as usual the wrong words came out::

"Let it go, love. You'll feel better."

To my surprise, it seemed to be just what she wanted to do; and she dissolved into floods of tears, still holding on to me. After a while, she began to calm down; and, lifting her tear stained face to mine, said:

"Thank you so much for listening to me. I do need someone's help, desperately; and I've no-one I can turn to at all. I don't know what to do for the best, because things are all in such a tangle."

All I could do was to stand there; supporting her, and outwardly trying to give my impersonation of the dominant and masterful male; keeping a cool head in times of crisis; ready to deal with any emergency. Inwardly I was a confused mess of mixed emotions; principally revelling in the marvellous sensations of being able to touch and feel her corseted body. I don't know if she was aware at the time of the pleasure she was giving me; but certainly the pleasure was all mine! Although, in truth, it was me that was supposed to be helping her - and not the other way round!

After a while, she stopped sobbing, and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. She recovered a little, and then said:

"You were quite right to tell me to let it go. Now I feel as if I have cried it all out of my system, and can look things in the face again." Then; suddenly human, she pulled away from me.

"Oh, I must look a mess."

"Not at all." I said. "You look lovely."

I took refuge in the universal panacea:

"Tell you what; we'll have a nice cup of tea, and see what we can work out."

Dorothy went to tidy herself up, while I brewed the tea. When she returned we moved the two chairs together, so that we could sit side by side; staring into the fire and just enjoying each others company. She fell into her habit of rocking gently in the old chair, and I began to turn things over in my mind. After this period of companionable silence I began by saying:

"I've been giving your problem a great deal of thought just lately; and I'm sure there must be some solution. I think your Father and Mother were right about the basic foundation of the business. It is a good idea to have two strings to your bow, and run the shop as if it was two independent units. Bedding and corsetry; separated, and yet interlocking. It would mean that each would be able to support the other, to cater for the fluctuations you might expect to find in any holiday town. I presume you must alternate between busy times and quiet times, as the holidaymakers come and go."

"How clever you are!" she cried. "That's just the way it is - a, sort of, 'Seasonal Flow!' Daddy was always at his busiest in the Spring and Autumn, when the Hotels were re-stocking; and Mummy was kept busy in the Summer with the men visitors, and in Winter with the ladies. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could start the business going like that again. Do you think we could?"

I liked the way she kept saying "We." It was as if I was already a part of the business, and it seemed to arouse all my latent determination and make me feel as if I had a mission in life. I answered her by saying:

"I think it can be done; but it will call for a great deal of hard work - really hard work. Somehow, we must find some way of re-starting the bedding connection, because it's quite obvious to me that your corsetry is not strong enough to support you on its own. By running corsetry and bedding together, we might do it; but it will mean us starting right at the very beginning again, by canvassing all the Hotels and Boarding Houses and trying to quote them prices that are lower than those of our competitors. It is going to be a formidable task, but it's the only way.

"I've never actually sold bedding, but I can sell Insurance, and I know how to talk to people. Do you think you could work out a list of the most popular items, and some prices. Keep it as close to the bones as possible, because we must start by working on a narrow profit margin. No pun intended, but I want the business to have a firm foundation again.

"You let me have the list; I will work on it, and have some copies run off; and then we can distribute them to as many of the Hotels as possible, and see what happens. It's going to be hard work for both of us, at first - I must emphasise that; but, if we can pull together, we might manage it. If we start by reviving the original bedding connection, we can then move on to tightening up your corsetry. That's what I want to do, most of all; but we must walk before we can run; and the first essential is to ensure that we have some sort of cash flow.

"I will be here again on business on Tuesday. Will you let me have the name of your Bank Manager. You 'phone him, and ask him if he will see me, and I'll talk to him, and try and restrain him. What we need most of all, is to draw in some customers, and, if they won't come to us; we'll have to go to them."

"But - stop there, a minute," she protested. "It's all very well you talking about 'Pulling together, restraining the Bank Manager, tightening my corsets, and giving me a firm foundation' - what about you? You can't take on all this extra work, can you?"

"I'll have to, for the present." I replied. "If things develop as I want them to I can look for a place to live nearer here. I'm sorry, it's getting late. If I want to catch the bus, I'll have to go."

I could not resist putting my arms around her waist again, and holding her. It was a wonderful feeling, and I felt another erection starting. She became aware of my hardness thrusting against her, and pulled away, saying:

"Careful now. Please don't spoil things." And, sadly, off I went, to catch my bus.

I thought a lot about Dorothy, that night. The poor girl was so lost, and alone - so vulnerable. I wanted to be able to help her, in the same way that she had helped me. In fact, she was the only person in the whole world who had ever helped me. She could accept my strange desire to wear corsets; and this alone made her unique among women. She did not laugh at me, or make barbed and wounding attacks on me like most girls did. I liked her direct and matter-of-fact way of dealing with the things that other people had always considered to be queer, unusual, or wrong.

When I was safely shut inside my own mental cocoon, I summoned up the memory of Matron, and compared it, step by step, with the memory of Dorothy; finding that there were many interesting comparisons. Matron was tall; she had been standing at the side of my bed; and my main point of contact had been on her lower back; below her waist.

Dorothy had been standing close to me, and was not as tall as me; so my hands were around her tiny waist. I remembered the stiff boning of Matron's corset, but there had been no lacing at the back; whereas, with Dorothy, I had been able to identify the criss-crossed laces, and the narrow bones at either side. There had been the small lump, where the laces were knotted; with the laces themselves feeling quite tautly stressed, and almost fully closed at the waist.

I decided I would extend my search at the earliest possible opportunity, and tried to conjure up a picture of her corset. It appeared to be similar to mine; high above the waist; well boned, and back lacing. What colour was it, I wondered. She said she had started to wear it when she was eleven, and if she was my age, that would make it - how many years?

I liked her deep voice, and the way that she never shouted at me. Her favourite expression was "All right." She had used it in a variety of ways, but usually as a form of agreement. Somehow the words described her very well. She was Dorothy; she was my girl friend, and she was "All right."

 

Still in that pleasant frame of mind, I drifted off to sleep.

 

*****

 

Chapter Eight

 

Torn Asunder!

 

I went to the Bank, and gave the Manager a broad outline of my aims; intentions; and proposals for the future. He listened politely, and it transpired that all he really wanted was some firm answers and reassurance. I think I may have managed to convince him of my sincerity, which gave us a short breathing space. I visited the shop to tell Dorothy that I had managed to pull a few strings, and found that there had been a new development.

Dorothy invited me upstairs; closed the door to the shop, and said, quietly:

"Freda wants to give in her notice. What do you think, should I let her go?"

"Yes." I said. "But try and do it in a nice way."

"Of course I will." she answered, tartly. "What do you think I am?"

With a stupid expression on my face, I replied:

"I think you're lovely."

I reached forward, and placed my hands lightly upon her waist. She stiffened at first, and then relaxed; giving me a quizzical look. She said:

"You like doing that - don't you?"

I had to answer:

"Yes - very much!"

"All right." she said, resignedly. "Go on, then; if that's what you want to do."

And there it was again, "All right." It certainly was a favourite expression of hers.

My years of bitter experience should have told me that something will always go wrong whenever I show signs of enjoying myself. I was just about to hold her tightly, and enjoy the pleasure of running my hands over her corset, when the shop door opened, and Freda called:

"Customer."

"Coming," replied Dorothy.

She pulled away from me, and I had to go. It really was becoming most frustrating!

 

**

We spent the whole of the following Sunday delivering our advertising letters. This meant that we had to make personal calls at all the Hotels, which took some time, and we did not get as far as I hoped we might; but at least we had made a start. It took a few weeks before we had covered the most popular area; and by then a trickle of enquiries had started to come in. We sent telephoned or written quotations, and in due course were able to secure a few definite orders. We used a local carrier for our deliveries, but the cost of this rapidly ate into our meagre profits.

It was essential for us to remain competitive, so I decided we would have to do our own deliveries. Dorothy's father had done his deliveries with a bicycle, and the machine was still in the storeroom, but it was well past its prime, and I did not feel disposed to press it into service, so - I bought a van.

It sounds simple, when it is reduced to a short sentence, but in actual fact there was much more to it than that, and the van was soon to play a major role in our plans.

It was a remarkable vehicle, and I remembered playing with a metal toy model of something rather similar when I was a small child. A small, and very old, red painted van; which had, over many years, played an important role in the service of the Postmaster General. The vehicle had been listed in microscopic print towards the tail end of a full page advertisement for a "Disposal Sale of Surplus Motor Vehicles." The advertisement had stated that all vehicles were to be sold "As Seen;" so I visited the site, and carried out a brief inspection.

I eventually found my chosen vehicle standing in a dark corner. It had a beaten and exhausted look, and had obviously lived through better days. The recorded mileage could only be described as "Highly imaginative," and about the only thing that could be said in favour of the vehicle, was that it appeared to be in one piece. I sent in a modest and tentative tender, and was greatly surprised to learn that my offer had been accepted, and that I had become the registered owner of the vehicle, "Subject to the immediate eradication of all present distinguishing marks."

The Army had given me some instruction in the basic techniques of driving various classes of motor vehicles, but I soon found that it was necessary to un-learn most of what I had been taught. Starting the engine had to be accomplished by the combined usage of a crank handle; a strong right arm; and an even stronger flow of loud and pungent invective and contumely! Once the engine had been persuaded to start, it was imperative to watch the oil pressure gauge with the unblinking vigilance of a basilisk, until the needle wearily lifted itself from its peg, the various death rattles subsided, and the smoke had cleared. After a decent interval, it was permissible to drive away.

The steering required understanding; which meant that the proposed route had to be planned with a considerable amount of circumspection, and it was vital to remember to "Aim off," well in advance of the target. Second gear could present certain problems, and once selected, had to be persuaded to remain selected! If it was left unsupervised, the gear lever would have a marked tendency to "Do its own thing!" Usually choosing the most inconvenient moment to do it. If there was a co-driver present, it was advisable to delegate this important responsibility to him, or her.

Mother had a Field Day, and she came out with an entirely new and positively remarkable vocabulary when I first arrived home with the van. I was proud of my ability to use words; but her choice might be described as an Art Form. In essence, she appeared to think that the vehicle should be decently cremated in some dim and far distant corner of an extremely remote scrap yard! Her caustic comments changed to more of a grudging approval after I had rectified a number of the major mechanical faults, and performed extensive cosmetic surgery on the bodywork.

I carefully nursed it round several of my less demanding Insurance calls, and the Company paid for the petrol, which was a considerable help. It also made my visits to Dorothy much more convenient; doing away with the need for me to go rushing off to catch the last bus. We used it for all our bedding deliveries and Dorothy soon became an expert at holding the gear lever in position, on my command.

We were a good team, and we owed a lot to that van. Despite its many shortcomings, it proved to be reliable, and never once let us down. As time went on, things began to look a little more promising.

We worked very hard in those early days, and all my spare time was spent either at the shop, or out making deliveries. We were often together, and were obviously becoming closer all the time, although we had little spare time for leisure, and had never spoken about our feelings for each other. It was a pleasant working relationship, and we both seemed quite content to let things go on as they were.

Our deliveries had started at what we later came to know as, our "Busy time;" and after approximately three months things began to ease off, as the town braced itself for another holiday season, with teams of painters hard at work, brightening things up in anticipation of the usual crowds of visitors. This gave me an ideal chance to turn to my own problem - or my obsession, if you prefer to call it that.

I had told Dorothy the bare facts about my deep interest in corsets on the first night we met, and I knew, in general terms, that she accepted my need. I was not sure if she was fully aware of the tight hold it had on me, and I wanted to discuss every aspect with her in order to avoid any difficulties in the future.

One night, when we were in a pleasant frame of mind, and relaxing together, I raised the matter; giving her a detailed account of my experiences, and taking her, step by step through the whole sorry story from start to finish. I highlighted my many desires and mentioned my frustrations; finishing on a high note by saying how much I owed her for her kindness and understanding. I could not nerve myself to put it into words, but I desperately wanted to know if she would consider sharing her future life with a man who was only happy when he was tightly corseted, because it was a matter of the utmost importance to me.

I ploughed through my long and rambling story, and she heard me through to the end without comment. She continued rocking gently in her chair for a few minutes, rapt in thought, until finally she turned her direct gaze on me and gave me her verdict:

"I've thought about it, quite a lot. At first I felt sorry for you, and was glad to be of help. I thought it might only be a passing fancy, but now I can see that it goes a lot deeper than that.

"I don't think there is any real harm in it - not physically, I mean; as long as you don't overdo it. I know it gives you pleasure - I've had proof of that! And I also know it gives you pleasure to hold me; so what can be wrong about that?

"I know that most ladies wear corsets, as a matter of course; so that's all right. I know that a lot of men do, or have done, because we get them in the shop; so that's all right, as well.

"It's just this: Of all the men who have called here, you are the only one I have come to know really well. So, you see; there is nobody I can compare you with; and, honestly, I know so little about men."

I broke in, urgently:

"But - Do you Mind? Do you, deep down, have any doubts or objections? You see, I am beginning to like you very much, and I want us to be together for a long time without anything spoiling it for us. I must know what you really think about it!"

"I was coming to that, in my own way." she said.

"I don't think I mind. No; I can be more definite than that. I am quite sure I don't mind you wearing corsets. I can't see that there is anything wrong in it. I like you a lot; it's pleasant to have you with me, and, if you want my final opinion, it's this: I have absolutely no objections, and if you want to wear tightly laced corsets all the time I will help you in any way I can. I owe you that, for the way that you are helping me with the shop."

"Please don't look upon it as some sort of debt," I protested. "I don't want that! All I want is for us both to be happy together; with nothing coming between us; not only now, but in the future."

"Don't say anything more, now." she pleaded. "Stop right there, and let's both take time to think things over."

And she refused to discuss it any further.

**

Over the next few months, the sales of bedding and linen became more encouraging, and I wanted to expand this part of the business still further when time permitted. My principal desire was to increase the sales of corsetry. Dorothy was quite accustomed to dealing with ladies, but she had always shown a marked reluctance to serve men in anything other than an over-the-counter direct sale. I was of the opinion that there were many more men like me, who would appreciate a confidential and specialised personal service. I wanted to be able to find these men, and cater for their needs as my contribution towards the further reinforcing of the firm foundations of the business.

The whole of my spare thinking time was devoted to this aspect; considering various proposals and deciding which, if any, were practicable. The chief essential would be Publicity, and I began to look at the small advertisement sections of several likely magazines. I investigated the different methods of mail order, and the procedure whereby corsets might be wrapped for safe dispatch, "Under Plain Cover." It would obviously be advisable for us to deal with our customers on a "Cash with Order" basis, until we had managed to establish our "Firm Foundation."

I wanted to talk to the Sales Representative of the firm that Dorothy used for her "Made to Measure" business, and she said he was shortly due to call. It would be essential for me to know if he had the capability and capacity to carry out work of a more than usually specialised nature. I would have to be sure of his fullest co-operation, and noted down some thoughts for future reference.

We would need a simple brochure at first; which should if possible be illustrated and contain some kind of self-measurement form so that we could send it out in response to any enquiries. I had been ready to part with a lot of money in my quest for satisfaction, and, if I was right in thinking that other men might also be prepared to pay well; then we might have the makings of a potentially lucrative market. We could advise all our customers that they would receive a confidential, understanding, and sympathetic service, and from my own experience these were the principal objectives.

I had the enthusiasm; Dorothy had the technical expertise. Her mother had schooled her in the art of fitting, and there was much that I could usefully learn from her. I discussed all my proposals with her, and she was willing to help in any way. She had always wanted to make a success of her little shop, but most of all she yearned to be free from her present crushing load of debt and away from the various worries that beset her.

The shop was well sited in a popular holiday town, which ought to be a considerable advantage. From small beginnings; with minimal expense; a lot of hard work, and a great deal of luck, it might just be possible. Whatever happened, it certainly looked as if I was in for a busy time!

For the present, we concentrated on the bedding and linen orders. Dorothy let me have some of her Father's old order books, and I studied these at night, trying to evaluate the items that had been the most popular, and searching for any clues that the old man had left. I was able to gain several useful pointers, and we began to build up a solid connection with some of the big Hotels in the centre of the town.

Money began to arrive in encouraging quantities, which lifted Dorothy's spirits and, in turn helped me; because I was always happy when she was happy. My life had now reached one of its most pleasant stages, and my whole future was beginning to look really encouraging.

 

Why - oh why did it all have

to go so tragically wrong?

 

**

Mother began to take an interest in my affairs. She had noticed my increased comings and goings, but had not commented, which was in itself unusual. There were all the signs that an inquisition would shortly begin, and one night without preamble she opened the proceedings:

"You seem to be spending a lot of time with this girl friend of yours.

Tell me about her.

What is she like?

How old is she?

Is she a nice girl?"

I dealt with her last question first, and fell right into the trap:

"She's a very nice girl. I like her, and we have a lot in common.

In fact I would go so far as to say that she understands me."

Mother leapt in:

"She? - Understands? - YOU? Huh! does she indeed!

Then she must be something very special, if she can do that!"

That was Mother all over! Never able to resist any opportunity to stick her knife into me, and then give it a few twists for good measure. I refused to rise to her taunt, because that was just what she would have wanted. I merely waited; knowing that there was more to come:

"I'd like to meet this Paragon of yours. Bring her over here one Sunday. You can tell her I have invited her."

I suppose it was bound to happen eventually; and although I stalled her as much as possible she never gave up, so I had to pass on the invitation. I was very surprised at Dorothy's reaction, because she would normally give a straight "Yes" or "No" to any question, and could be relied upon to stick to her decision once it was made.

On this occasion she tried in every way to refrain from answering; first by evasion, and then by talking insistently about tight lacing in an effort to divert me. It was some time before she could be persuaded to give a reply, and it was only then that we got to the cause of the trouble:

"Suppose she doesn't like me?"

"Of course she'll like you!" I protested. "I like you, and I know that she will, as well."

"Yes; but supposing she doesn't." she persisted. "I've heard of mothers like that, who don't want to lose their sons. Suppose she thinks I am trying to take you away from her."

That gave me cause for thought, because it was something that I had never even considered. I stood up, and began to pace restlessly up and down the room, as I mulled it over. Dorothy held on to the advantage:

"And there's another thing; I've never heard you mention your Father? What about him? What does he have to say about it?"

I stopped my pacing, and had to admit:

"Well, we don't mention him. Mother won't talk about him. He left her - walked out on her; about six months after they were married, and before I was born. So you see, I never knew him at all. Mother was always most evasive, and she became extremely cross if I ever tried to ask about him. She used to cry a lot, at night; and nowadays she just seems to be bitter about all men in general. I know she has a poor opinion of me, and she often says that no man can be trusted. But the fact is, I don't know what went wrong between them."

Dorothy's eyes were suddenly moist; and I could feel the tide of sympathy and compassion that was flowing out of her. She rose to her feet; came to me, and put both her arms around me:

"Oh! You poor - poor man!" she exclaimed. "I do feel so sorry for you!"

 

It Was LOVE!!

True Love!

Cupid's Arrow - impaling my heart!

With the possible exception of Matron, nobody had ever embraced me like that and felt sorry for me. I had been mocked by my Mother; thrashed by teachers; reviled and ridiculed by Regimental Sergeant Majors, and suffered the silent sneers of a succession of supercilious shop assistants. I was quite accustomed to kind words like: "Stupid," "Fool," "Idiot;" and similar endearments. They all bounced harmlessly off my hard shell.

Dorothy had penetrated the minute crack in my defensive armour with that one simple expression of sympathy and tenderness, and suddenly I wanted her. Oh, how I wanted that girl! So - Why Not? The time was right; the place was right; and, furthermore, for once in my life I knew precisely what I had to say. The words came from an old book on etiquette; discovered on a second hand book stall. I had taken the trouble to learn them all by heart, to be ready for an occasion such as this.

 

They came from the section, headed:

 

PROPOSALS OF MATRIMONY

 

(From a Gentleman, to the Lady of his Choice.)

 

"Miss (Insert Surname) Or, may I be permitted to call you (Insert Christian name) It cannot have escaped your attention that, for some time past, I have entertained towards you feelings of more than mere friendship. Could you but place your little hand upon my heart, you would sense the fires of deepest and sincerest love that burn and burgeon within me."

"Have you not seen, etched here, upon my most unworthy countenance, the many passionate desires and longings that I hold so dear for you. Give me your heart, I beg you; and let it entwine with mine."

(The Gentleman should now unfold a clean silk handkerchief,

spread it upon the ground, and place one knee upon the same)

"Miss (Insert name) I kneel down before you, in deepest devotion; my heart here - here in my hand. My Darling. My Own and Truest Love. Will you marry me, and make me the happiest man in the land."

 

Apparently this was guaranteed to do the trick! The "Lady of your Choice" would look at you; her eyes would be filled with rapture, and she would clasp her hands together, saying ecstatically:

"Yes - Oh, Yes!"

And there you were. All Set!

 

**

I became the "Gentleman," and addressed my remarks to Dorothy, as "The Lady of my Choice." I cleared my throat; gazed at her meaningfully; tried to look sincere, while holding her hand tenderly, and said, clearly and distinctly:

"Right; then. We'll tell Mother we're engaged! That'll fix it!"

Dorothy jerked away; as if I had slapped her!

She went up like a sheet of flame!

Fighting mad; livid; practically spitting at me!

"We will do nothing of the sort!" she stormed.

"Who do you think you are? Saying things like that!

We're not engaged - and if you don't watch it, we won't ever be!"

She turned her back on me! It was the same old Instant Rejection; something I had become so used to over the years. I pressed the button; snapped my defences firmly into place; put on my stone face, and said, stiffly:

"I think I'd better go."

"Yes - do." she snapped; still not looking at me.

I walked out of the room; out of the shop; and, as far as I was concerned,

Out Of Her Life - Forever!

When I arrived home, Mother remarked;

"You're back early."

And then, with gloating anticipation:

"Is anything wrong?"

I growled:

"We've had a bit of a row; and I don't want to talk about it."

I spent the rest of the day locked in my bedroom; brooding, and thinking the bitterest thoughts about life in general, and women in particular!

  

  

  

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