Dorothy Was Different

by O.Y. Dalziel

 

Chapter Nine

Judgement Day

 

I stuck it for three whole weeks; weighed down by misery and bitterness. Deep; internally festering bitterness. I snapped at anyone who came near me, and then started being rude to clients at work. I had been Wronged; unjustly wronged; and I had to take it out on somebody, however innocent they were.

Complaints started to reach the Branch Manager, who called me into his office and made me stand to attention in front of his desk while he gave me a severe dressing down. My defences were firmly fastened in place, which meant that he got nowhere. As far as I was concerned, he could stuff his head into a bucket and jump over the nearest cliff! I did not say so, because there was no need - my face said it all! The Army called it "Dumb Insolence," and I had always been a skilled practitioner! He fired his parting shot, at the top of his voice:

"Unless there is an immediate improvement in your general conduct, you may consider yourself to be under notice of instant dismissal!"

It was an empty threat because I was good at my job, and was confident that the Board of Directors of the Insurance Company considered me to be indispensable, so I looked down at him and sneered:

"You can please yourself; I don't really care."

So he did "Please himself," and sacked me; on the spot!

 

And Head Office confirmed his decision.

 

**

I stood on the pavement outside the office, trying to decide what to do next; mentally adding up my worldly goods, which amounted to one worn out van; the few clothes I stood up in; and a small - a minuscule amount of cash. I finally decided it was best to go home and let my mother enjoy her brief moment of triumph. She would certainly take the utmost pleasure in rubbing my nose in it! After I had surmounted that hurdle, perhaps I could join the Foreign Legion and try to forget!

To my surprise Mother accepted the news quite calmly; giving her opinion that it could turn out to be a blessing in disguise, and suggesting that I might be able to find a better job before long. I went up to my bedroom and began leafing through my scrapbook, in an attempt to unscramble my confused thoughts and find some form of inspiration. As I lay on my bed, studying the pictures of corseted ladies, they all began to look like Dorothy! Same face; same hairstyle; and each one was looking at me, accusingly; and saying:

"Who do you think you are?

Who do you think you are?"

This was of little help, so I shook my head; trying to drive the faces away. A new face came, unbidden; the Branch Manager, red in the face and quivering, with his pointing finger wagging at me:

"Pull yourself together - Pull yourself......"

I snapped out of it! That was it - my mind was made up! I knew exactly what I had to do; take him at his word; exactly that. No more, and no less!

I quietly closed my bedroom door, and pleasantly anticipated what I was about to do. I stripped off all my clothing, except for my old corset; took my new corset out of its hiding place, looked at it lovingly and carefully prepared it by attaching all the suspenders; lifting the adjusters, and letting out the elastic on each suspender to its fullest extent. I opened the back lacing as far as possible, leaving the merest loops at the waist, and then the corset was ready and awaiting my pleasure.

I first put on a brand new pair of lisle stockings; rolled each one down, slipped my foot in, and unrolled it up my leg. I worked slowly, carefully and deliberately; very aware of what I was doing; making sure there were no wrinkles and each seam was arrow straight at the back, before finally pulling both stockings well up at the top.

I took off my old corset; dropped it on the bed, and like a hermit crab exchanging one outgrown shell for a newer and better one, took up the new corset; slowly wrapped it round my body, and clicked the studs of the front busk together. The lower front laces were left opened to allow me to bend, and I made sure that the front busk was vertically aligned at the centre front. My movements were deliberate and meticulous, as I finally made quite sure that the waistline was in the correct position.

All the suspenders were then firmly attached to the stockings, with a good section of stocking being tucked around each rubber button and pushed well down into the wire clips. I pulled carefully on each of the suspenders to make sure they were all safely secured to both corset and stocking, and neither end could become detached.

And then; with the greatest attention to detail, I began to obey the Branch Manager's instructions, and "Pull Myself Together!"

**

I first took a firm grip on the front laces and began pulling; drawing the two lower front edges of the corset together until they met. The powerful rear elastic panel began to stretch and grip me firmly; giving the familiar and welcome compacted feeling. I tied a firm knot at the front, and then reached for the lowest section of the back laces and again began to pull. I continued working slowly upwards, one hole at a time; making sure that the two edges of the corset were completely closed at each hole. Every inch of lace was carefully gathered in; I did not allow even a fraction of slippage, and the combined grip and lift was heavenly.

It was becoming a most comfortable feeling, so I drew it out; enjoying every minute and exulting in the many pleasant sensations. The corset closed more tightly about me; urging me to pull even harder, and I continued to work slowly upwards until I reached the waist level. After tying a temporary knot, I ran my two index fingers up and down the closed lacing searching for any gaps. They were minimal, and I was satisfied.

I turned my attention to the section above my waist, which had always been a great deal harder to manage. I often had to give up while the laces were still partly opened, but now my determination gave me new strength and I pulled slowly and carefully until the top section was absolutely closed.

I achieved the final total closing of the waist by wrapping the lace loops around both hands, and pulling powerfully out to either side. The loops were crossed over, and the pulling procedure repeated. I was able to close it a little more with each pull, and managed the final closure by wedging my elbows between the taut laces; forcing my arms outwards; wriggling my hips violently, and bending forward as I struggled to close the laces.

After a considerable effort I was satisfied that there was nothing more to be gained, and the corset was absolutely as tight as I could make it. I took the laces once around my waist, and tied a secure knot at the front. I would normally dispose of the surplus lace by wrapping it repeatedly around my waist, but this had the disadvantage of thickening the waist, and my primary objective was to reduce myself to an absolute minimum; so on this occasion I took the surplus lace up to the top of the corset, and forced it down behind the front edge against my chest. I finally took the short ends of the front lace, and tucked them up inside the lower front edge of the corset, so that no surplus lace could intrude upon my now perfect image.

When the laces were safely secured and stowed, I began to adjust the suspenders; pulling each one up as tightly as possible and securing the adjusting clip. I went around them all twice, gaining a little more with each pull until both stockings were very tightly stressed. I finally spent a few minutes in total enjoyment; running my hands up and down the smooth slippery satin; feeling the bones and ridges and kneading and squeezing my small waist to try and make it even smaller; extracting the maximum pleasure from each individual action.

And then - I was right where I had always wanted to be; Safe; Secure; Protected from the Cruel World; Firmly supported and smoothly shaped; inside my own personal, private, comfortable and well reinforced shell. Nobody could see what I was doing, and Dorothy was the only person who knew my secret. Pure Heaven would be just like this! All I had to do was pick up my tape measure, pass it slowly round myself; carefully draw it tight and take the precise measurement of my new waist.

 

I was just bending forward, to read the figures on the tape measure,

when the bedroom door opened and Mother walked in!

 

**

I used to be a keen cinema-goer in my younger days; preferring the all-action films that usually had spectacular Special Effects. It was interesting to see how various film directors highlighted all the different parts of the action, by concentrating your attention on one object and gradually building up the tension.

One popular method was to utilise a slow motion sequence; where the tension was carefully built up by slowing the speed of the action. The camera would repeatedly zoom in to a particular object, and you could be certain that it would either collapse dramatically, or explode. The background music would rise to a crescendo as the moment drew near, and the final scene would sometimes be played in a jerking sequence; one frame at a time; freezing and holding momentarily, until the action at last erupted to the accompaniment of thunderous special effects noises; leaving you mentally bruised and battered by waves of sound from the assorted cacophony. There would then be a short pause before the story line flowed on again.

And that is precisely what happened to me!

I was totally lost to the Real World; enjoying a pleasurable sensation of superbly corseted euphoria. Carefully bending forward; leaning against the strong support of the tightly laced corset and sliding the measuring tape around my body in full anticipation of an encouraging reduction of my waist measurement. I was calm; serene; and, above all - deliriously happy!

The unexpected rattle of the door handle caused my head to jerk upright, and my senses to sharpen. My eyes flicked from the measuring tape to the door handle. They zoomed in to a close-up of the handle, which started to turn in slow motion.......

In a rapid series of single frames the door began to open,

and - Mother - stepped - in-to-the-room-m-mmm!

 

Her eyes focussed on me.

For a split second of time,

everything froze to brittle stillness.

 

The only thing lacking, was the background music!

 

I suddenly became aware of a completely new and most peculiar Special Effect. It was something that no film director could ever have visualised in even his wildest dreams. Uncanny! I Could See Myself! Through Mother's Eyes; just as she was seeing me! It was as if I was standing on the other side of the room and looking back at myself; with the focus needle point sharp; every detail in unblemished crystal clarity and the most glorious Technicolor.

There I was; standing up at the side of my bed in full view; my body framed by the brown painted window frame, and backed by the red brick of the wall outside. I was dressed in a full length, white satin, back lacing corset, that tightly enclosed me from the middle of my chest to just below my hips; and a pair of lisle stockings that were supported by six tautly stretched suspenders. The corset was pulled in very closely at my waist, with the straight lines of the window frame only serving to accentuate the curved and smoothly tapering lines of my body; and the material of the stockings was pulled up to sharp points where they were fastened to each of the stretched suspenders.

My normally pale face was visibly starting to flush with shame and embarrassment, and there was stark terror in my eyes. A fabric tape measure was dangling limply from my left hand, and the only sign of action was my right hand; as it moved quickly across my chest with fingers outstretched, in a futile attempt to screen myself from sight. Another corset of a different type had been discarded fanwise on the bed, and all my clothes were in their customary untidy heap at the foot of the bed.

That was the general picture as Mother saw it; but, being a woman, she could probably also sketch in several more fine details that I had missed!

My mind was racing at fever pitch; I wrote several new scripts, and promptly ripped them all up. My whole catalogue of explanations and excuses was visually scanned from end to end, but it contained nothing that was remotely adequate for this occasion. Mother stood between me and the door, so any escape was impossible - unless I chose to jump out of the window!

I acknowledged defeat and slowly relaxed; dropping both hands to my sides and releasing my hold on the measuring tape. It fell on the rug with a thunderous crash, which was followed by many long moments of silence as I stood in submission, awaiting my fate.

Mother reacted strangely. Only her eyes moved, and she looked upwards as though seeking Divine Guidance. Her face was deadpan; her voice flat and apathetic when she spoke; calmly, quietly, and with a whole wealth of meaningful resignation:

"I was afraid it would be something like that.

You'd better put some clothes on.

I think it's about time we had a talk."

Disobedience was out of the question, so I put my vest and pants on over my corset, and followed these with my shirt and trousers. Mother stood by the door, watching me impassively until I had fastened my belt and put my slippers on, and then she turned and walked out of the room.

I followed her; immediately feeling the embrace of the tight corset and the pull of the stockings as I walked downstairs. There was some frictional resistance between my trousers and the stockings, especially around my knees. By complete contrast, the smooth and slippery corset allowed my trouser top to slip around on my hips in a strangely reassuring way.

Mother walked into the sitting room; sat down in her chair at the side of the old gas fire, with her back to the window. She pointed to the other chair in the corner and commanded:

"Sit down!"

Then she added, in tones of deepest sarcasm:

"Oh - I'm so sorry - how very thoughtless of me.

I should have realised how difficult it could be.

I presume you can sit down."

So that was how it was going to be! "Trial by Ordeal!" The chair had been in the house when we moved in, and was well known as a "Man killer." It was an old armchair; with frayed brown upholstery and a worn and sagging cushion. At first sight it looked quite comfortable, but the main problem was that all the springs and inner supports had long since broken, so the cushion collapsed under you when you sat down. Without warning you suddenly sank into the box-like framework of the chair - and kept on sinking. You finished up tightly jammed into it, with your body folded into a sharp letter N, and your knees almost under your chin! Strangers were always warned off the chair, and it was only pressed into service in emergency. Every spare cushion in the house would be piled on to it, and squashed down to make it serviceable for a short period of time.

I had no defence, and would cheerfully have sat on a bed of nails if Mother had ordered me to. I moved to the chair and cautiously sat down; perching myself on the forward edge of the wooden frame and resting both forearms on the arms of the chair; determined to support my body weight without sinking into the frame for as long as was necessary, and praying that it would not take too long.

At times like this, it was Mother's customary practice to keep me in suspense for a while; until she was quite ready to say what was on her mind; and she would pull no punches! Was there still a faint hope for me? If I was suitably contrite; promising solemnly never to do it again; was it possible that I might be able to secure my release with nothing worse than a caution.

Mother took her time; selecting her ammunition with great care, and testing each separate missile for its balance and accuracy. She loaded every one of her guns; double shotted; with grapeshot for full measure! She aligned her sights, taking a very careful aim upon me, and then - She FIRED:::::::!!!

A full broadside; with all guns blazing!

"You've always been queer about corsets, haven't you?"

I jumped out of the chair in utter disbelief, and stared wide eyed at her:

"How could you possibly know that?" I cried.

She smiled, grimly; pointing imperiously towards the chair and causing me to sit down again without thinking; one hand clutching my forehead. I sank into the armchairand the cushion collapsed beneath me. I folded up - and before I could stop myself - continued to sink helplessly!

The first thing that came to my notice was the sudden strain on the back suspenders. They began to creak alarmingly; and continued to stretch as I sank lower. They were being stressed to a tension that was well beyond any anticipated limits, and I knew that no design would ever be able to cope with such an impossible overload.

Mother answered my question:

"I've always known! Ever since the first time.

How old were you? About ten, or eleven."

I nodded dumbly, and she continued, remorselessly:

"You always were an untidy child, and I knew someone had been wearing my maternity belt. Of course, it could only be you, and you had another go later on, didn't you?"

By this time I had sunk to my lowest possible level in every sense of the word, and could make no reply. One of the broken ends of the chair spring had begun to dig painfully into my bottom, and I dare not move a muscle.

Mother was still speaking:

"I hoped you might grow out of it; people sometimes do grow out of things; but it was a vain hope. And after that; when we moved to Father's, and Auntie told me she felt sure somebody had been going through her clothes; I knew it was impossible!" And then; with the greatest of emphasis:

"I have never been so ashamed in all my life. What on earth made you want to do such a stupid thing? You must have known you would be caught, sooner or later."

This was becoming much worse than I had ever imagined. It was a shock to discover that she knew anything about it, and it defied comprehension that she knew so much! Was there worse to come? Did she know that the other corset, now lying on my bed, had been stolen from my Great Aunt?

I struggled to rise from the depths of the chair in order to give the greatest significance to my words, but she extended one finger; causing me to subside again. I leaned forward in my efforts to deliver an impassioned speech in self-defence. The suspenders still held firm; but by this time they had exhausted all their elasticity, and I could sense them twanging violently.

And then, my design fault developed!

 

I could feel the front busk starting to bend. The point of bend was just between the third and fourth studs, counting upwards from the bottom edge. The flat bone behind the busk proved unequal to the added load, and it began sympathetic deformation. Both strips bent, suddenly and sharply, into an arrowhead shape; with the sharp point of the arrow pressing into my soft flesh beneath my ribs. The pain was intolerable, and, to make matters worse my legs were starting to go numb. Mother moaned on:

"So I had to move from there, and come to this awful place; it was all I could afford. Oh yes; it's been a hard struggle, trying to manage on my own with no-one to help me."

I could stand it no longer, and burst out:

"What do you mean? - no-one to help you! What about my Father? You always refused to talk about him. Where was he - couldn't he help?"

Her face twisted with bitterness:

"Your father? - Your Father!"

I thought she was going to spit, but she went on, with the acid bitterness still in her voice:

"Yes; it looks as if you are going to be just like your Father - more's the pity."

She paused for greater effect; and then dealt her final crushing blow:

"You see - He was queer about corsets, too!"

 

**

Olfactory Fatigue is an occupational ailment, and blenders in the perfume industry are commonly prone to suffer from it. The human nose contains approximately one hundred million sensitive cells; and these cells can identify smells. When a powerful odour is allowed to act on the nose for a long time it may paralyse the cells, and temporarily destroy the sense of smell.

That is a fair description of Olfactory Fatigue.

 

I was suffering from Emotional Fatigue!

Surprise; Disbelief; Astonishment; Amazement, Incredulity; all were completely exhausted, and there was absolutely nothing left. I could not have raised the slightest flicker of emotion if my Mother had suddenly donned a Clown's costume, and turned a series of cartwheels around the room; or if she had started to sing a bawdy song while accompanying herself upon a washboard. I was absolutely drained and could only sit and stare at her; now becoming painfully aware that my legs had neither sensation nor feeling, and the broken spring was no longer hurting me as the paralysing numbness crept higher and higher up my body.

Mother adopted a slightly reminiscent tone:

"We met when we both worked at the spinning mill; and were very happy at first, when we were courting. I started to prepare for; and look forward to, a perfectly normal married life. He would often talk about how he liked to see girls with well corseted figures; but I just laughed it off. After we had been married, he changed and began to demand that I should wear a corset. I refused, because I was naturally slim before you were born and had no need of any kind of support; but he kept going on and on about it and we started having violent rows.

"Then he brought a corset home, and insisted that I put it on. It was a frightful thing! All black; with lots of heavy bones; a tiny waist, and laces at the back. I could never have worn it; I would have killed myself rather than wear it!

"He became very cross when I refused, and we had a terrible shouting match. In the end he became so furious that he threw the corset at me, and stormed out of the house; and I haven't seen him from that day to this."

She broke down, then, and began to weep bitterly; trying to speak between her sobbing:

"You asked - asked about your - Father. That's the sort of despicable man he was. What do you think of a man - any man; who could do a thing like that?"

In all common humanity I should have tried to comfort her, and I did try to struggle to my feet; but my legs were dead and I could not move from the waist downward. I gave a sudden lurch forward, and pulled on the front of the chair arms at the same time in an attempt to gain sufficient purchase, but this violent movement proved to be the last and final straw! The two back suspenders gave up the unequal struggle, and both, in quick succession, disintegrated with muffled reports; heard rather than felt! They must have scourged my legs savagely; but by this time all the lower sensations had been totally anaesthetised by the cramped position I was being forced to endure.

I was a captive audience; and had been compelled to listen closely to every word my Mother had said. For all that, the only thing that remained firmly stuck in my mind was her graphic description of the black and well-boned, back lacing corset. My words came unbidden, before I could stop them:

"What did you do with the corset?

Where is it now?"

I ought to have died, at that moment! Mother's head jerked up, and the venomous look she hurled at me should have killed at thirty paces! Her eyes blazed; her lips curled contemptuously, and she showed her teeth. Her voice cut through me:

"Damn you; Damn you, Damn you! Is that the only thing you can think of? It's upstairs; in a locked suitcase. I'm really most surprised you haven't found it already."

In withering tones, she concluded:

"I'll give it to you as a wedding present. You'll look beautiful, when you are laced into it. A picture of loveliness. The Original Wasp Waisted Man! I can see you now! I'd like to - Oh-h-h!"

With the dramatic effect of a brick shattering a plate glass window, her hard face suddenly cracked and fragmented, breaking into a disjointed series of mobile and uncoordinated parts. Her mouth started a spasmodic twitching and working. She jumped to her feet, flinging herself out of the room and making harsh choking noises. She ran upstairs; her bedroom door slammed shut, and I heard her turn the key in the lock.

I remained tightly and inextricably jammed in that damned chair, and was now totally immobilised. Both legs refused to respond to my commands. I tried to lift myself bodily upwards by using the strength in my arms; but it was useless. I picked up my right leg in both hands, and struggled to move it out to one side. It was like a dead piece of meat, and flopped about, lifelessly. When both legs had been moved out of the way, I threw my body forward....

No good!

I tried again and again; but the chair kept rolling backwards and forwards on its castors, and its contrary movements suppressed and foiled all my best efforts. I made one final frantic attempt, which caused the corset to thrust violently upwards and nearly tear me in half. The chair unexpectedly tilted off balance, throwing me forward and making me crack my head violently against the side of the fireplace and slide down the wall. I eventually collapsed in a dazed and inert heap on the floor, with the chair upside down on top of me.

When my senses returned, and I could see again, I managed with a great deal of painful effort to extricate my doubled up body from the overturned chair. I pulled myself out as straight as possible on the floor using my arms and elbows; holding on to the fireplace and dragging my useless legs behind me. I pushed the chair out to one side, and lay face downwards on the floor for what seemed an eternity, until the blood started circulating in my legs. It caused a new and excruciating pain in each leg; making me grind my teeth with the agony.

At last the pain began to ease, and allowed me to roll over on to my back. When I pushed myself up on my arms, the bent corset busk promptly dug into me and made me flop down on to the floor again!

I set about the, almost impossible, task of removing a very tight and restricting back lacing corset with a severely bent busk; whilst lying stretched out flat on my back on a hard wooden floor. And it took me a long - long time!

I crawled, rather than walked upstairs to my room; hearing Mother crying as I passed her door, and feeling like doing the same thing myself! I could not sleep at all, that night; and, to this day, can clearly remember every second of every minute of every hour. The whole time was spent in going over every single act of my past life, and asking myself again and again:

"HOW HAD MOTHER FOUND OUT?"

"HOW DID SHE KNOW ABOUT ME WEARING CORSETS?"

I had always been very careful whenever I went on my "Drawer Looking" excursions, and had taken the greatest care to put the garments back exactly as I had found them. Or, had I? Could I have overlooked something of importance? Mother had been quick to notice a difference in the contents of her dressing table drawer, and Auntie had wasted little time in reporting something irregular; so - where had I gone wrong? I was becoming more and more consumed with worry. Both Mother and Aunt had pointed the finger of suspicion at me. Mother now had all the confirmation she required - indisputable confirmation. But - did anyone else know? Had they mentioned it to anybody?

Suppose it was common knowledge!

People could be laughing at me behind my back; and I might never be able to hold my head up in public again.

The Man, Who Wears Corsets!

The Male Tight-Lacer!

That "QUEER FELLOW!"

An Outcast - a Pariah!

I tossed and turned and worried. Where could I go? What could I do? It was obvious that I could not stay in this house any longer. My mother had a viperous tongue, and had already made it quite plain that she was going to make my whole future as unpleasant as possible. She would never let up on me, and life would rapidly become unbearable if I had to suffer her constant taunts about my corset wearing. I had to talk to someone - but who would listen to me?

Dare I possibly ask Dorothy?

Would She listen to me?

Could I face her again?

What would she say?

*****

 

Chapter Ten

 

Explanations

 

I spent the remainder of that night working out a profuse form of apology, constantly rehearsing it, and trying to convince myself that it might work. I got up next morning to find that I was aching all over, so I put on my old corset and laced it only moderately; dressed myself and knocked on Mother's bedroom door, with the intention of offering some form of apology. Her door remained firmly locked against me, and she shouted "Go away! Damn you!" so I thought it might be a good idea to leave her alone for a while. I gathered up the tattered remains of my courage; threw a few of my clothes into a suitcase, and went and telephoned Dorothy.

I began conventionally enough, by saying:

"I really am truly sorry for what happened. Can you please forgive me for what I said? If we have to part, let's do it as friends; not like this." I continued in the same vein for some time, but she still sounded icily distant and disinterested, so I made a further series of conciliatory noises, interspersed with many impassioned and grovelling pleas for forgiveness, until, eventually she reluctantly agreed, saying:

"All right, then. You'd better come here after closing time tonight.

BUT DON'T TAKE ANYTHING FOR GRANTED!"

And she put the 'phone down on me!

I searched my mind for some method of softening her attitude; thinking that perhaps a few flowers might help to pacify her. I knew absolutely less than nothing about flowers, although I once remembered hearing they were said to have a soothing effect upon women.

I found a suitable flower shop, and marched in; bravely determined to act before my morbid fear of shop assistants got the better of me. There was one young lady in the shop; wearing a green dust coat. She was busily unpacking bunches of flowers from a long cardboard box, and stuffing them into green tin vases. She concentrated on her work, and completely ignored me. I cleared my throat noisily, and declaimed in loud and ringing tones:

"I'd like a nice bunch of flowers; please!"

That made her look at me! It was a long and expressive look, and I immediately recognised it; having suffered it many times in my life. It needs no words, because she was obviously saying to herself:

"Oh! God. Here we go again - another of them!"

She looked at me as if I was some loathsome and repellent insect that had just crawled out of one of her boxes of flowers; but on this occasion I was determined not to be beaten. Over the years I have amassed my own collection of "Wordless Looks," which are eminently suitable for occasions such as this.

I looked, sternly:

"Damn you, for a start, young woman!

I'm going to have exactly what I want - So There!"

She looked, scornfully:

"Oh, you useless man! Why don't you go away!"

I looked, furiously:

"If you look at me like that - you little madam.

I'll put you across my knee, and spank you!"

The wordless exchanges continued for what seemed to be a considerable time, with her being pitying and derisory, and me being truculent and belligerent.

She broke first, and spoke:

"Are they for a lady." (Interrogatively)

"Yes." (Firmly)

"What does she like?" (Reasonably)

"I don't know!" (Testily)

"How about some of these?" (Pointing suggestively)

"Yes. Those will be fine." (Decisively)

She carefully detached about one dozen red and dripping articles from a parent bundle; added a few sprigs of assorted herbage, and wrapped the whole lot in flimsy paper; (Efficiently.) I paid her; (Much more than I had expected) and walked out of the shop, carefully carrying a long and floppy parcel and trying to act as if it wasn't mine!

Some men can carry flowers in a practised way, but I can't! They are such flimsy and unwieldy things; with fragile heads and unnecessarily long stems. They knock against other people, and get caught in doors; so I was glad when I arrived at the van and could put them safely in the back.

I drove the van slowly towards Dorothy's shop, and of course arrived much too early; so I parked near the sea front and went for a short walk; thinking it would clear my mind in readiness for our meeting. My script was honed to perfection, and contained everything that I would say, with all the possible alternatives that she could use in reply. I had thought of a number of suitable ripostes for her anticipated objections and had a good stock of well turned phrases; guaranteed to suit every occasion and soften the hardest of hearts.

As usual, I was not much more than One Hundred Per Cent Wrong - about everything!

 

**

I was nicely prepared, and ready for action by the time the shops started to close; so I walked to the shop, keeping the flowers out of sight behind my back; knocked on the door and waited, hopefully. The curtain moved, and the door opened. Dorothy stood there; looking neat and trim, but maintaining an expressionless face as she waited for me to make the first move. I was reduced to a pitiful wet mess as all my carefully rehearsed words dried up, and, almost pathetically, I produced the flowers from behind my back and thrust them at her!

It was like a sudden and brilliant sunrise; her eyes positively shone, and she smiled radiantly; showing her white teeth.

"Oh - Roses!" she cried. "How lovely."

Rapture!

I had done the correct thing. Now all that I had to do was say the right words, and I was back in her favour again.

I opened my script at the correct page, and blurted:

"Oh - Are they?"

I could see a kaleidoscope of emotions chasing across her face. She snorted; hicced; and then, to my horror, burst out laughing! I had never seen anybody laugh quite like that before. She, sort of, curled up; crossing her legs, and continuing to laugh; clutching the door frame for support, and holding her side. Her helpless laughter continued for so long that I began to be afraid she might be having hysterics, and wondered if I ought to slap her to stop it. All I could do was to stand there with my mouth open, holding out the bunch of flowers - and looking, and feeling like a complete idiot!

Eventually, and with a great deal of effort, she collected herself;

"Oh, you silly thing." she giggled.

"Do you mean to say you didn't know they were roses?"

I miserably admitted that I could not tell one flower from another, and this inane remark pushed her to the verge of yet another uncontrollable burst of laughter.

"Come in." she invited.

I handed her the flowers; followed her upstairs, and sat down. She busied herself in the kitchen; first finding a tall vase and then filling it with water. She was muttering to herself all the time, and I heard her say something about "He didn't know they were roses." and she burst into fresh bouts of giggling and laughing. Still chuckling from time to time, she remarked:

"I was going to try and be cross with you; but - how can I? - when you say silly things like that."

She had her back to me, and I could see her through the opened door as she carefully arranged the flowers. I sat watching the play of the fine material of her thin blouse across her back; rippling and tautening slightly as she turned to pick up each of the flowers; allowing me occasional glimpses of the ridges and laces of her corset. My arrogant eyes travelled slowly down her back, to focus upon her tiny waist, until something warned her of my scrutiny and she moved to a different position, partially masking herself from my direct line of sight.

She made a neat arrangement of the flowers, and seemed to take a long time over a simple operation. At length, she returned; carrying the vase across the room and placing it, with precision in the centre of the dining table. She stood there, still with her back to me admiring the flowers, and said:

"They are lovely. They must have cost a fortune."

I said nothing.

She still did not turn, and went on:

"I was sorry, the moment you had gone. I nearly called you back, but I suppose my pride wouldn't let me."

"I'm sorry, too." I interrupted. "It's all my fault; it's arrogance, or something like that. I must try and learn humility - if that's what I mean." I stood up, and she turned to face me:

"Come on, now." she cautioned. "Don't be like that. Can we start again, do you think?"

"Yes; please let's try." I begged. "I've missed you so much, and so many dreadful things have happened."

"Look;" she said. "I know something's wrong. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll make us a nice cup of tea and you can tell me about it."

I followed her instructions; sitting down in the armchair and trying to assemble the words in the right order, until she came back carrying two mugs. She put them down on the small table by her rocking chair, and I stood up; holding out both hands to her in mute appeal. She came and stood close to me; looking up at me, and I put my hands around her waist and unashamedly ran them up and down her body; feeling the bones and laces again. It was good to be back!

She put her arms around me, and began slowly rubbing and patting my back in a comforting and consoling way. After a few moments, she stopped; stepped back a little; looked at me curiously, and then moved forward and began to rub my back in an exploratory way.

"Oh dear." she said in worried tones. "You haven't got your new corset on. Is there anything wrong with it?"

Her voice was full of concern; and her anxiety deepened, when I replied bitterly:

"Everything's wrong!"

Adopting her 'Professional Voice,' she protested:

"It's guaranteed against faulty workmanship;" almost as if she was apologising to a customer; and I hastened to explain:

"No, no. It's not the workmanship; it's my design. It's me! Every possible thing has gone wrong since I walked out on you. I've lost my job; had an awful row with my mother; and the worst thing of all is that she knows about my corsets - and she tells me that she always has known; ever since the day I first started."

She was deeply sympathetic, now:

"Sit down, love. Drink your tea, and tell me all about it."

I took her, step by step, through the sequence of events, and she listened carefully; nodding her head encouragingly from time to time. Her face expressed a mixture of emotions as the sorry tale unfolded; and I thought I detected the beginnings of a smile as I described my antics in the old armchair. She froze it off, and put on the encouraging look again; carefully drawing all the details out of me. It was good to be able to pour out all my troubles to someone who had an understanding ear. I was very grateful to her, and became more and more relieved as the evening went on; concluding by saying:

"So I came here to beg for your forgiveness. I know I did something wrong; but for the life of me, I don't know what it was. If you can tell me, I promise not to do it again."

Dorothy was surprisingly frank about it; and after rocking gently for a few minutes she told me:

"It's this way. You know about my romantic books, and you know I like romance most of all."

I nodded, and she went on:

"I know real life's not like that; but I like to think it is. I love living inside my own secret little world; and I've always imagined what it must be like to receive a proposal of marriage - you know; the way they do it in the romantic stories - So Beautiful......"

She sighed, deeply; and then her voice changed:

"But; it was the way you said it! So flippant, and offhand. It was like being slapped with something cold and wet. Honestly; I didn't mean to react like that. It's just that it came as such an unpleasant surprise."

So that was where I had gone wrong! I knew about her secret, romantic world; as she had known about my world of adventure; so there was nothing I could say in mitigation. We continued to sit for a long time, digesting each others words in a kind of companionable silence until she eventually suggested:

"I think we must look forward; not back, and try and work out a solution for us both. You're not the only one with problems; I've been having them, as well. When we first met, I was so worried about the shortage of business; but now it's starting to get too much for me to manage on my own. I've had such a lot of bedding orders; and I'm well behind with the deliveries. Have you still got the van?"

"Yes," I told her. "I have the van; my clothes; and my scrapbook, and that is all I possess in the whole world. I can't go back and face Mother; and if you had turned me away, I was going to find somewhere quiet and try to live and sleep in the back of the van."

"That's silly talk!" she said, sharply. "I don't like to hear it."

After a pause, she went on:

"This is what I suggest. You can move in here for a few days. My old bedroom is empty. Mind you; I want it all to be decent. There must be nothing of an unpleasant or sexual nature - you know what I mean? I'm inviting you to stay - as my guest - for a few days; or until we can make some better arrangement. But; Please; I Don't Want Any Nonsense From You!" She paused for effect, and then extended a stiffly pointing finger:

"Or - OUT YOU GO!"

I replied, humbly:

"That's a very kind offer, and I do appreciate it. I will behave myself; honestly."

I let a few minutes pass, and then continued:

"Now; first thing tomorrow I'll load up the van, and start catching up on some deliveries for you. Then at least I'll be able to feel that I am earning my keep."

"That's more like it." she encouraged. "Go on. Cheer up; think positive!"

I had a sudden doubt:

"What about Mother? I'll have to let her know where I am."

"Ring her; or post her a note." Dorothy suggested.

I had an idea:

"The next door neighbour is on the 'phone. I'll ring him, and ask him to give Mother a message."

"All right." agreed Dorothy. "Tell you what; she wants to see me, so how about us both going over on Sunday; I can meet her, and perhaps we can sort it all out. Mind you; I'm not looking forward to it, but I feel I ought to meet her, and see what she thinks of me."

We continued with our quiet deliberations until bedtime. Dorothy arranged everything and took me to see the bedrooms. She had moved into her parent's room, because it was the larger of the two, and was sleeping in their double bed. It was necessary to pass through the larger room to enter the smaller one, which had been simply furnished with a small single bed; a chest of drawers, and just a rug on the floor. She became business-like:

"Here you are. I hope it's all right. You go and bring your stuff out of the van, and I'll get on with making up the bed. The sheets are airing, so it won't take me long. The van should be all right in the street for tonight. We'll try and open the back yard gates tomorrow, and see if you can put it in there."

She had the room all ready by the time I came back; carrying my suitcase, and with my scrapbook under my arm. She told me:

"The drawers are empty. You may as well unpack."

"There's not much to unpack." I said, ruefully.

She took firm control:

"Now open it up, and let's have a look." A pause, and then:

"Oh dear. I see what you mean!"

Broadly speaking, it amounted to little more than a change of underwear; two pairs of socks; one pair of pyjamas; slippers; toilet articles; and two corsets, one with a very badly bent busk!

She became all motherly:

"We'll have to see what we can do about this lot, before long."

She picked up my new corset, and tried to straighten out the busk; unsuccessfully!

"It's no use like that. I'll give it a wash, and send it back to the factory; they may be able to strengthen it. I've always found them to be most helpful."

I lay in her bedroom that night, staring up at the ceiling, and thinking how pleasant it all was.

I could be happy, here.

 

I wondered if there was a book entitled:

 

"TEACH YOURSELF TO BE ROMANTIC"

In Ten Easy Lessons.

 

**

I was so exhausted from my previous sleepless night that I overslept, and Dorothy had to come and call me:

"Come on; Lazybones! There's work to be done!"

I scrambled out of bed; hurriedly throwing off my pyjama top and rooting through my pile of clothes for my corset. She asked:

"Are you still wearing that old fashioned thing?"

"It's all I have." I protested. "I can't wear the new one; the other one is much too small, and I must have something."

Quite firmly, she directed:

"You wait here. No; better still; go and have a wash and shave. I'll find you something better. What waist size are you - about twenty seven or eight?" I nodded, and was just about to give her the details, when she hustled me, with: "Off you go, then."

I went and performed my ablutions; wondering what she had in mind. On returning to the bedroom, I found out!

She had provided a complete cross-section of corsetry; all neatly laid out upon the freshly made bed. There was a high waisted; front lacing type, somewhat similar to my Elfrida, and next to it lay a very small waisted tight lacing model, like the one that had given me all the pain. Third in line came a conventional back lacing corset, which was deep over the hips, but only rose slightly above the waist. This was followed by a high waisted elastic girdle, and the last one was a heavy, busk fronted corset, with strong elastic side panels, and an underbelt.

She called from the other bedroom: "Take your pick;" and I chose conservatively, because I had a busy day ahead. Driving the van; starting the engine by means of the handle, and making the deliveries, would all involve bending and carrying for most of the time. I decided upon the corset with the underbelt, because it was well boned all round and had strong flat steels for support at the back. The front, on closer inspection, was not so much an underbelt, as a double strength busk; comprising an inner busk, with flat steels at either side and an identical outer busk, again with flat steels. It was a good combination, and gave firm support to my back and front, with the strong elastic panels at the sides allowing me to bend easily when I was lifting the heavy parcels in and out of the van. I could sit comfortably, and walk easily, and as a strong everyday working corset it was ideal. Dorothy had assessed my size correctly, so I was well pleased.

I wanted to try on all the others, but time was pressing. If I behaved myself, no doubt there would be other opportunities. I told Dorothy which one I had chosen, and she approved my choice; running her hands lightly over my body; checking the general fit, and registering her satisfaction. I ran my hands over her body with rather more emphasis, and she allowed me a short session, before demanding:

"Come on - time's wasting."

Feeling her well boned body, had the effect of setting me up nicely for the working day ahead, and after a quick breakfast I set off, in high spirits!

I spent the rest of the week clearing up the arrears of work and looking for new orders at every opportunity, which gave me the feeling that I really was earning my keep. The ladies corsetry business was only ticking over quietly, so Dorothy spent her time packing the bedding orders; unpacking any new deliveries, and serving in the shop. We decided to go and visit my mother at the weekend, although Dorothy was rather nervous about the confrontation.

I tried reassure her, as much as I could, and on Saturday afternoon, she asked me:

"What do you think I should wear?"

"Oh, just something that shows off your lovely figure to good advantage." I replied lightly, and she bridled:

"Cheeky thing! I'm trying to impress Her - not you! Anyway, I'll do my best for the pair of you."

 

**

When Sunday dawned, I became aware that I was also suffering from extremes of apprehension. I was not looking forward to seeing Mother, and certainly did not want any further unpleasant scenes. I felt the need to brace myself up, and picked the front lacing, high waisted corset from Dorothy's selection; wearing it with a new pair of tautly suspendered stockings. It was very similar in design to my Elfrida, except that when I had laced it to the customary degree of tightness over my hips I discovered that it was much smaller at the waist. It braced me up considerably, and I had to lean well back in my seat with my arms straight when I was driving the van.

Dorothy took some time over her preparations, and I pottered around in the sitting room looking at things while I was waiting for her. A silver framed and faded photograph on the mantelpiece showed a woman standing, and a man, seated. She was a queenly type of woman, and had a serious look on her face as she stared at the camera. Her waist was tiny; her body was beautifully formed, and she tapered gracefully down from bosom to waist, swelling out over her hips, with no sharp indentations or ungainly ridges.

I heard Dorothy enter the room, and turned to look at her:

"Will I do?" she asked.

My jaw flopped down, and started to swing loosely around without any control; my eyes protruded on long stalks, and I made a peculiar noise; rather like:

"D-U-U-H!!"

She was wearing a plain black two piece suit, and a high necked white woollen jumper; dark nylon stockings; black court shoes, and a small, close fitting hat. Her only form of jewellery was an old fashioned filigree gold brooch, on the left lapel of her jacket. Neat - but not gaudy, you might say; but my brief description does not in any way do full justice to the occasion.

Her jacket had been tailored to the point of severity, so that it tapered down from the square shoulders to her tiny waist; fitting her everywhere like a second and very tight skin; flowing out over her hips, and giving the general impression that she had laced herself much smaller, especially for this occasion. The straight "A" lines of her skirt only served to emphasise the curves at her waist. Her legs, in dark nylon stockings, tapered downwards to neat ankles, and her feet were encased in classic black court shoes with the highest heels I had ever seen her wear. She stood straight and erect, legs together; her gloved hands holding her handbag.

She had succeeded in taking my breath away, and quite robbing me of speech. All I could produce was a series of noises reminiscent of bad gear changes, until, eventually:

"It's Fabulous! Oh, you're Beautiful. I never realised before just how lovely you are." I longed to take her in my arms, but restrained myself, because any flawless beauty such as hers should never be desecrated.

"No I'm not." she retorted. "This is my best outfit. It was tailor made for me, and I know I look good in it. But I'm certainly not beautiful, and never will be."

I asked her: "Have you something we can put over the van seat. I don't want to get that lot dirty."

I installed her comfortably in the van, and we set off. She was quiet throughout the journey, and I tried to cheer her up by playing with words; making puns, and double meanings. It was normally one of our favourite pastimes; but on this occasion my best efforts met with a muted response, so I gave up trying, and concentrated on my driving.

There was no sign of life at my house, and both doors were locked. After trying the door bell, and the knocker, without any response, I finally let myself in with my own front door key. We stood in the hall, and I called, cheerfully:

"Anybody home?"

No answer.

The sitting room felt cold, and I was just moving to put a match to the gas fire, when Dorothy checked me by placing her hand on my arm. She pointed:

"What's that?"

There was an old fibre suitcase lying on the table; with a folded sheet of paper taped to it. My Christian name was printed in large block capitals on the paper. I unfolded the sheet, and read aloud:

"I have gone to live with a friend. Don't try and find me. I have a right to my own life now, and you should be able to manage by yourself. Here is the wedding present I promised you. I do hope you enjoy wearing it."

The letter was unsigned.

Dorothy was puzzled:

"What does 'Wedding Present' mean?"

I explained all about it, and she shuddered visibly; saying in tones of great distaste:

"Get rid of it; right away. Don't even open the case to look at it. Please - I will give you anything you want; anything at all, but - Oh, Please - not that one."

It was unfair to distress her in this way, so I took the suitcase outside into the yard. It fitted neatly inside the empty dustbin, and I found a can containing some paraffin and poured the contents over the suitcase. After I had tossed a few lighted matches into the dustbin, I went back in the house and sat with Dorothy, watching through the window until the flames eventually died down. Then I went out again and stirred up the dying embers with a stick; and Mother was right - it had been heavily boned! I collected the rest of my clothes; locked up the house, put my door keys through the letterbox, and drove back to the shop. Dorothy was much brighter on the return journey, and visibly relaxing all the time. She had all her plans worked out by the time we arrived:

"You must stay with me for the time being. I'm happy with the present arrangements; do they suit you, or do you want to change anything?"

There was only one thing I wanted at that moment, and that was to help her to undress, and then have a good look at her in her corset, but she had issued the sternest injunction about there being no nonsense, and it would spoil everything if I mentioned my desire; so I merely remarked that the present arrangement was quite satisfactory.

 

**

Corset Diary

 

I still have two more designs to work on. The first will be a heavy Matron's corset; longer than my present one; and also a Sports corset, about twelve to fourteen inches deep, which I can use for general work wear. I had fourteen different corsets when I went abroad, and I can see me finishing up with a selection of assorted corsetry, for various occasions, before long.

One day, when I can afford to buy the right material, I want to try and make myself a leather corset. Perhaps a short sixteen inch model, and also a full length one, which would cover me from my shoulders to my thighs.

  

  

  

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