3. Reynardine: My Birthday Dinner
Dear Lucinda,
I promised you accounts of my most recent dates with my dearest. These are all that's basically new with me. The past month has been an extremely hectic time between business. I've worn a girdle every day, like a good girl, but the following is all that I've had to remind me that I am first and foremost not merely a good girl, but, as we say, a girdled fox bitch in heat.
My birthday dinner: He took me out to a fine country inn French restaurant, the sort of thing Marin County is good at. Traditional, not nouvelle, which tends to be a little harder on us tight girdle wearers. I was all dolled up in a Forties rayon crepe dress, with rhinestone earrings and a Forties handbag. I girdled for this one, I'll tell you, and I had absolutely no choice. Out came my oldest girdle, in terms of when it was made, my black Gossard Answer, stiff rayon and nylon blend, last girdle made before the invention of Lycra. My tummy was completely flat, completely (and, I acknowledge, it is not so naturally). And if my lovely derriere is in fact composed of two equal halves, I must say that this was not in the slightest bit evident.
Talk about girdled! Women gazed upon me with envy and men, well, I'd rather not dwell on it, but I will say that if wearing an exceptional girdle can produce the sort of reaction I believe I saw in the faces of a few men and women, women are crazy if they don't wear girdles. And Lucinda, although I've always been a long-leg panty girdle girl, since that what was universally worn in my girlhood, I'm beginning to realize that there is a particular and powerful appeal to the way in which a really tight open-bottomed girdle forces your legs together in such a way that when you walk you feel, well, you know what I'm talking about. It was very nice and I felt as if I wanted to tear him to pieces all night. He, the sweetie, bought me (in addition to flowers, a small television for the kitchen, some lovely costume jewelry, and a garden urn) an Underscene Triple Control long-leg panty girdle. I know I already have one, but he observed that I wore it a lot and thought that I might need a new one, since he, as he admitted, particularly liked the look of it on me, the darling. He used one of his usual girdle buying lines: hi, my wife called me at work, she needs a girdle to get into a dress she's wearing tonight, she asked me to get her ... It's very nice to be appreciated in this particular way.
Well when we got home, he carefully took off my little-bit-fragile dress (it's too tight to wear with a slip). He took off nothing else, however. And I had the most delicious sense of myself and of my womanliness as I lay on our new (finally!) mattress in my black Victoria Secret Miracle Bra and my wicked black girdle, and felt him take me, fully, richly, deeply for all I was worth. The throbbing of my vagina as I held him so tight sent shock waves through my belly and I felt as if these waves just pressed up against the firm wall of my girdle and were forced back into me and up into my breasts and on to my brain. Am I making any sense? I don't want to depart from our usual delicacy in these matters, but this was the first time I can remember being taken in an open-bottomed girdle this tight. Although I have been taken in corsets that were even tighter, corsets don't compress that area of the abdomen right down near where he has entered me. And I'm just trying to express the peculiar physics of what I felt. Boy oh boy!
Excuse me. Demure rearrangement of skirts.
A week later. We love to ballroom dance, but have only recently had the chance to do it on our San Francisco weekend. They don't have it in Marin County, except as a hobby thing on Wednesday nights at various places. God forbid somebody should think it would be a romantic thing for a couple to get all dressed up and go dancing on a Friday or Saturday night. Well, we have a large and lovely kitchen and rugs that can be rolled up, and we put on the music and dressed up and danced at home. What fun! I wore a full-skirted, early sixties dress, very girly beigy old- fashioned Hanes stockings, my Exquisite form bra (spiral circles, cone shaper), and my Sears hi-waisted super-old-fashioned girdle girdle, you have one too. Well we danced and drank and had a good workout. I felt so flushed and feminine that, inspired by you once again, I had him take me through the split crotch right on our dance floor. Some things you can't do in public. Oh, what a night!
Reynardine
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