5. Lucinda: The Fashion Show
Dear Reynardine,
Here is the charm school chronicle. It is probably not exactly what you were expecting. It sure as hell was not what I was expecting when I sat down to write it about a year ago. It was my first effort in trying to write down the details of important events in my early womanhood, in my sexual awakening, in my successful struggle to break the bonds of mother-induced guilt for enjoying the pleasures that my own body could bring. I remember crying (which is pretty rare for me) several times while I was writing it and again for a long time after I finished it and not being able to explain to my worried husband why. At the time I did not know why. All I could do was to have him hold me tight in his big arms while I sobbed and sobbed. Pretty soon he was crying, too (he's like that sometimes). What was clear, though, was that I felt so much better afterward. I realized later and was finally able tell him that it was because of the feelings of anger and hurt toward my mother and my eternal inadequacy in her eyes.
I remember being in the "charm school" (blech!!!) when I was about 15 or so. Some girls from the more well-to-do families in my grade at school had enrolled in the local Barbizon Modeling School. Others, of slightly lower status families, were in the Powers Modeling School, which seemed to be a locally-owned franchise of a smaller company. Still others ended up at one of the local department stores (large and prestigious but locally owned back then) which was a whole lot cheaper. That is where I was finally enrolled, more or less against my nature. My older sister had done the whole thing as a young woman growing up: music lessons, dance lessons (tap, ballet, and Arthur Murray), equestrian, and "charm school" -- about as much as the family finances would allow. This was all engineered primarily by my mother in her effort to make Alicia in her own image (or, perhaps into the young woman she wished she had been), which was just A-OK with Alicia. Before Alicia had completed the end of the gauntlet, I was started on the same path.
Well, I was not nearly so compliant and managed to, one way or another, weasel out of most of the things that I was not really interested in, especially if I thought it would make me just like Mom. This is kind of complicated because although I did not want to grow up to be just like Mom, I was envious when Alicia was allowed to do things and insisted that I do those things, too, even though many of those things were what were molding Alicia into a Mom-clone. So after I got my way and got to do what Alicia did when she was my age (or actually a little older), the battle was won at that point and I often lost interest in whatever it was that I had lobbied so strenuously to get. Then, of course, there were the things that Mom wanted me to do, that I did not care much one way or the other about. It was not that I was just plain rebellious, to use an old and tired expression. I picked and chose what I was willing to go along with and what I was going to be "difficult" about rather carefully.
So they started me in one thing after another. I either was not interested initially, or quickly lost interest, or did so badly at whatever it was that there was really just no reason to go on. I really did like ballet for a while, although I think it was mostly that I liked wearing a leotard and tights - I really liked being and feeling sleekly and completely covered, but not hidden. As soon as it became evident that I not only had no talent in that area but was extremely klutzy to boot, I soon stopped going (with Mom's exasperated blessing), but I still liked wearing a leotard and tights. I had not much talent or interest in learning music, although looking back at it, I which I had been forced to persevere. Didn't much like horses, either.
I was also going to pass on the charm school thing when a lot of my friends at school enrolled in the summer just before we started the tenth grade. The Barbizon girls, already elitist socials, were quite snooty about the whole thing. One had to be selected from an application list to get in, so obviously, they were much better that the rest of us. The Powers girls were not quite as bad, I think most applicants got in, but they were still walking around with their noses slightly elevated. A lot of my friends were talking about signing up for the school at the department store, which was going to start about three weeks into the school year (a shrewd marketing move). I suspect that some of the many reasons behind this desire, at least in me, was not only to get a chance to do what the snooty girls were doing (we, of course would never be snooty about such a thing), but to get even with the snobs for its own sake.
So when I went to Mom and asked if I could go to the department store school right out of the blue one day, she almost fell out of her chair. She had just about given up on making a little lady out of me and never imagined that I would actually ask to be part of such an endeavor. I suspect that earlier, when she might have contemplated enrolling me in charm school, she had visions of having to drag me there, kicking and screaming, and of then being embarrassed when I was expelled for eating with my hands, belching out loud, picking my nose, or some other such horror.
At first, she did not think I was serious. But after pleading my case (but all my friends are going, etc.) she said that I could go only if I promised to stick with it and follow it through to the end. I swore that I would while mentally trying to come up with legitimate escapes, if that were to become necessary. She sent Dad around to talk to me about it and make sure I knew that if they let me go and I bailed out sometime before "graduation," I would have to pay for it myself.
So there I was in charm school. In was in the junior group. We were drilled in all manner of ladylike behavior: fashion sense, personal presentation, home economics, and modeling. It actually was pretty interesting for the most part and I learned quite a lot. We had the run of the huge store for making field trips to the linen department to learn about what made some bed sheets better than others, to the kitchenware department to learn what skillets were better for frying that others, and of course to the shoe, lingerie, and junior dresses departments to learn about what one should wear for every occasion. Not too bad at all.
And of course, I got to be in a group, full of friends, that was a notch "better" than the other girls who were not in some kind of charm/modeling school. We of course never felt superior in any way nor showed any condescension when forced to associate with those less fortunate.
Things went along pretty smoothly and I was attending every class. Toward the end of the school year, the senior group, which met separately, was preparing for their big spring fashion show, their gala event to finish off their studies in things charm and go out with a bang and a flourish. Well, there had been some attrition in the senior group and it seemed that they needed a few additional girls for their show. I was not paying any attention when this was announced and was daydreaming and maybe even not sitting exactly as prescribed and with bad posture to boot. The next thing I knew, I had been "volunteered" by the instructor (being several inches taller that everyone else is never good when a teacher is looking for victims). There were a couple of other conscripts as well.
Well, this sounded like fun and since I was not planning to return the next year it was probably my only chance to see what it was all about. So I started attending the senior meetings for their show. One of the big conglomerates that owned a number of different clothing and lingerie lines had sent a "road show" to make a presentation to the store buyers. We were allowed in so that we could see how it all worked and get some pointers for our show. Real models!! I had had some mild fantasies of being a model because I was so tall and flat (which was all the rage then), but had come to the conclusion that I just did not have the face and body type for it. But there was still a faint hope.
I was really excited and wanted to go backstage to the dressing area to see what went on. What I saw there amazed me. All of the models went out with only pantyhose on under the outfit they were modeling. No panties, no girdles, and most did not even wear a bra. I was astounded. Women went out in public like this? None that I knew did. This ran counter to everything I had been taught and was much more outrageous than me just skipping the panties under the pantyhose and girdle that caused me so much trouble with my mother. This seemed to go against the charm school teachings as well. When I could, I talked to some of the models and asked if that was the way that they dressed all the time or was it just for the show. They said that they dressed this way pretty much all the time.
I was floored! I asked about this and that and spent quite a while back there. Finally it was time for the lingerie portion of the show. The models pulled on various girdles (over pantyhose) and bras and sometimes slips and walked out on the stage. Just like that.
Now I realize that most of the audience was made up of girls in the class and the instructors, but there were also buyers and managers and store executives out there, and some of them were men. But they just walked on out there in their underwear and stood and posed and stood while the factory reps described every detail of what they were wearing, available colors, sizes, fabric content, and packaging. When each one came back in, she changed into another girdle and bra and waited her turn to go back out. This is where I first saw the pastel and print matching girdles and bras, the soft, shiny banlon-like girdles, and the really light but firm sheer powernet stuff, except in magazines.
This went on for about thirty minutes or so. When everything had been modeled, they all went out on stage in the last thing they had put on and just stood there while the factory reps droned on about price breaks, planned advertising campaigns, and cooperative advertising agreements, and so on. This went on for another five minutes or so. They were just standing there, in front of all those people, in their underwear. Absolutely amazing.
After they came back in again and started to dress to leave, I talked to a few of them about becoming a model and what it was like and did they think that I might have a chance. They were real nice and charitable about that last question. Once dressed, they set about the task of packing everything up and I went back out into the audience.
Well, I seemed to haved pissed off one of the instructors by being back stage so long because when it was all over, I learned that I and one of my friends (who was backstage with me talking to the models) would have to model some lingerie in our show. I did not think much about it at the time, but two weeks later, when I found out that I would have to go out in front of all our parents in a nightgown and later in a bra and girdle, I almost died. I had no problem wearing a dress or a skirt that was up to my butt, but walking around in just a bra and girdle was just too much. I tried to get my mother to intervene, but amazingly, she thought it would be just fine.
I was incredulous. Here was a woman that would not let me out of the house without being covered in several layers (pantyhose and girdle and bra (slips were pretty useless in those days)) UNDER regular clothes, and now she thought it alright for me to walk around in front of strangers in just a bra and girdle. I guess she thought it would be "cute." I asked if I could quit the school and got the "you remember your promise," and then the standard "it cost us a lot of money to send you there... we had to do without a lot because of it... there are starving people in India... blah, blah, blah" routine and was told that if I bailed out of the charm school, I could forget about going to Drivers Ed during the summer.
Checkmate.
I went upstairs to whine about it to my big sister, Alicia. She listened and when I was finished she said that I had brought this on myself by screwing off and talking to Liz in class, which was probably true. I asked her what I should do and she and I had a talk. She pointed out that I would be much more covered than if I was wearing a swimsuit, which was true. She also pointed out that if I did this, mother would have a lot less to stand on when she insisted I wear this thing or that before going out.
Now that did the trick. It is amazing what a difference that made in my attitude -- it sorta infused a purpose into the whole thing that seemed to transcend the modesty I had been trained to have. A week before the show, we picked out what we were going to wear. Each of us was to model three clothes outfits, and then three of us were to model three lingerie outfits, three were to model three nightgowns and robes, and the rest were to model three swimsuits. It turned out that Liz (not a real close friend, almost a year older, but still in my class in high school), Michelle (my age, but from another part of town), and I were going to model the girdles and bras.
The clothes were all extra short on me because of my height, but I picked out the very shortest (my typical bit to annoy my mother -- "but ALL the girls are wearing them like this"). I also picked out two different print girdle (that really soft, shiny stuff) and bra sets and one in mint green powernet with a small amount of light brown lace trim. Several of the girls that were to model swimsuits were not happy about it, but when they saw what we were going to have to wear, they felt a little better and kept quiet.
Some asked Liz and me (Michelle was nowhere to be found) what we thought about having to go out on stage in our underwear. Liz and I had talked this thing out and I had found that she did not have any problem with it at all (while I was on a mission) -- and a good thing, too, because I probably would have chickened out if she was not there for moral support. We proudly said that we did not care and had other, more important things to think about. This caused no small amount of amazement and admiration in the ranks, even though the other girls were a year or two older than we.
We practiced and rehearsed and rehearsed and practiced, including practicing walking around in some pretty tall heels. Several of us already wore heels a lot and the shoes we picked out from the store's stock were no problem. Other girls never did get the hang of it and had to pick out some flats for the show. Liz and I got pretty accustomed to walking around in a bra and girdle rehearsing the show (Liz had chosen a black, a red, and an orange print set to wear), and even walked around like that when we did not have to -- sort of like a statement.
So the final dress rehearsal rolls around, the night before the big show. Liz and I were pretty cocky about the whole thing and were feeling vastly superior to the older girls since WE were the only REAL lingerie models. The rehearsal now over and everyone packing up and going home, the head-mistress comes over and informs us that Michelle, who had been at the rehearsals but did not put on any of the lingerie, had blasted off to points unknown and would not be in the show, so Liz and I, each, would also have to model one additional bra and girdle set. No problem.
I picked a girdle that was made of the very light powernet. Not to be outdone, Liz did likewise. Mine was a very simple affair, beige and very sheer and airy, made like today's bike shorts - no panels, no separate crotch - just a seam going down the front, underneath, and up the back. I really kinda liked it. The one Liz picked out was pretty much like it except that it was a light gold in color and had a wide lace trim on the leg cuffs and a tiny bow at the waistband in front. When I got home and put that one on, I made the startling discovery that my pubic hair (I am brunette) made a very noticable dark area in the crotch that was clearly visible even when wearing pantyhose underneath.
Oops.
Maybe pantyhose with the reinforced panty portion would help. I dug some out and pulled them on and fussed with it to get the end of the darker panty portion to end at the legband of the girdle. No dice - still a big dark splotch. Now what? Right about then, I got a call from Liz who had just discovered the same problem. "Well," says she, "the only solution is to whack off the hair." That sounded awfully extreme, but I could not think of any other solution. I used an electric hair trimmer on myself, but it turned out later that Liz actually shaved. Checking it out with a shade darker sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, it looked alright even under a bright light. I checked several different times to be sure. Whew! That was a relief.
So there we were, ready to start the show, all dressed in clothes and shoes so expensive that many of us could never afford to buy them, the music started, and off we went. Each of us "ran" the same course: out to the end of the runway, pause and pose, back to the main stage, turn, pause and pose, out to the end of stage left, pause and pose, back to the end of stage right, pause and pose, back to mid stage, pause, pose, pose, pose, turn and out the back of the stage between the curtains. If done properly, it took about a minute and a half. It went pretty well, no one fell down or off the stage or screwed up their "model turns" or "model poses."
The audience was made up of the charm school students and staff, family members of the students lots of dads and brothers), store executives, a few store patrons who had seen the preparations in the auditorium, and, I was later to find out, the editor of the fashion page on the local newspaper.
First, I was wearing a sailor-suit sorta thing with a full pleated skirt, pantyhose, a brief-type girdle, and high heels. Those sitting in front got a pretty good view as I turned and stalked back and forth (modeling poses back then were pretty grotesque - no one in real life ever walked, turned, or stood like that). All the male eyes were rivited to my skirt and my legs, and I was amazed and surprised to find that it excited me a little... I was being so naughty! The other two outfits didn't make quite the same splash, but I milked them for all they were worth -- I was on a roll!
After all the clothes, it was time for some of the swimsuits and robes and nightgowns. Liz and I got our girdles on (over the sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose) and stood around in our heels and watched from the side, back stage. There was also some additional commotion back stage. Three of the swimsuit models were in the bathroom throwing up, another was sobbing in the dressing area, and three could not be found anywhere by the instructors.
Liz and I just stood there, extremely self-satisfied and smug, casting aspersions on many of the older girls who were having trouble handling the stress. Suddenly it was time for us to go out there (GULP!!!). The smartass attitude was suddenly nowhere to be found. This was make it or break it; my mission completed or die of humiliation and go crying back to Mom. Suddenly everything seemed far away, the sounds around me muted, my vision restricted to a narrowing tunnel. I was giddy and light-headed and broke out in a light sweat. Could I go through with it? What about all those people out there? Some of them were boys and men and they would be looking at me in my underwear!
What was I gonna do?
In a brief moment of mental clarity, I saw two clear choices: wimp out and bear the consequences of having to face everyone after I had been such a superior asshole about the whole thing, or go out there and do what I had to do, make my point, and fuck 'em if anybody didn't like it. It was suddenly clear what had to be done and the fear and dread just simply drained out of me, leaving an unnatural calm. I seemed to be another person with the real me watching from somewhere deep inside and removed from the reality of the situation.
Liz was first and got positioned behind the curtains at the back of the stage. She didn't seem to be worried at all, and stood there on one leg and then the other inspecting her fingernails and chewing her gum, waiting for her cue. The narrator made a big speech about the importance of wearing the correct underfashions and how clothes would not look quite right, no mater how fine and expensive, if they were not worn over the appropriate foundations.
Then Liz was announced and out she went in the red bra and long leg panty girdle and heels. Every eye was on her as she strutted around. I could see that every man in the room was staring at her intently and was hardly breathing. Back and forth she went, exactly as rehearsed, and came back in to thunderous applause.
There had been applause as each girl came in all night long, but this was different. She had a most unusual look on her face and her nipples were standing out, protruding some distance through the fabric of her bra.
I could not stop to think about it because now it was my turn. I took a deep breath and watched that other person that was me go out there in my light blue long leg panty girdle and bra with the yellow and pink flowers and the blue 3-inch ankle strap sandals (making me about 6'1"). I don't really remember my 90 seconds on stage, but suddenly I found myself arriving back stage to the sound of applause so I concluded everything went OK. There was an intense feeling of relief. I was amazed to realize as I rejoined my body that I had such a feeling of exhilaration and an wildly heightened sense of well-being. It was quite a delicious feeling, to be sure.
There were six girls in swimsuits next to give us time to change. Next, Liz went out with her print set on and I went out with my other print set on. What a rush!! I seemed to be floating some distance above the stage. Again there was applause and I was safely back stage once again There were six more swimsuits next to give us time to change again.
When I got back, Liz was breathing real hard and smiling so big that I was afraid her makeup would crack. I watched her as she changed and that's when I discovered that she had shaved. She put on the black bra and pulled on the black LLPG with the satin front and side panels. It was kind of heavy duty and Liz was real curvy so it took a little doing to get it on and adjusted right. As part of this adjustment process, she would work on the legs and then test to see if the crotch was all the way up and positioned correctly.
I was getting dressed and could not watch too closely, but I could swear that she rubbed her crotch more than was absolutely necessary to adjust the girdle. My mind snapped back to when I was very little and had been caught rubbing my crotch by Mom and had gotten my hand slapped and a stern lecture about how nothing "down there" was to be touched. That was wrong and nice girls did not do that. Alicia taunted me about it for some time after (I suspect that she told mom what I was doing in the first place just to score some points).
In my altered state of consciousness, seeing Liz give herself a few rubs and realizing what she was actually doing seemed very natural and perfectly OK. I seemed to finally be completely back inside my body. Liz went out again. This time, as Liz went through her routine, I watched both Liz and the audience and saw that the men were begining to squirm just a little in their seats and were not breathing. Liz was looking at this, too, and was making eye contact with several of the boys and men. And, instead of coming in after she had run the course, she ran about half of it again and then finally came in, again to thunderous applause. She was really breathing hard and was quite flushed.
I could not stop to talk and went on out in my mint green set. I did not make quite the impression Liz did, but I could feel all those eyes on me and it sure felt real good. I did my thing and went in. Again, there were six more swimsuits next.
Liz was already undressed and was just sitting there staring off into space with rock-hard nipples. They were standing out a mile. As I undressed, I asked her what was going on and she said that she was really getting turned on. I asked what she meant and she said that she really wanted her boyfriend to fuck her right now.
Startled, I asked if she had done that, gone all the way, before, and she said "Yeah, all the time." She looked over at me for a moment and said, "You should try it, it really feels good, much better than when you just use your hand."
Holy shit! My head was whirling, here was all this new stuff to think about, all these questions to ask, and I had to get dressed. Just then one of the instructors came by to make sure we would be ready for our final trip on stage and got us back on track before hustling off. We were putting on the semi-transparent girdles, and again, Liz was fussing with the crotch - only there was no real crotch on this one - just the center seam. What she did was pull the legs up far enough so that there was enough material in the crotch area that it was snug against her crotch, with a little extra material up in the crease where each leg meets the body so that the crotch of the girdle was exactly form fitting. The material at the crotch fit like it was a leotard -- kinda flat between the legs but following the slight curve of her mound with the seam sinking in ever so slightly in the center (remember, there was pantyhose on underneath).
I watched this intently and when she looked up she said "Try it like this, it looks better this way and it feels a whole lot better, too." and winked. So I worked on mine the same way. Ever so often she would rub her crotch with the flat of her hand and give a little shutter. My girdle was about a size too small and was really tight. Once I had worked the crotch up like Liz's, the pressure against my pussy was like I was pressing on it with my hand. I walked around a little and it was the most remarkable feeling. Pretty soon, my nipples were standing out, although they were not readily visible since I was wearing a padded bra (Liz needed no padding and wore plain bras that night). I gave it a rub and just about fell over, I was tingling all over.
Amazing!
Now, I had rubbed myself down there before during the past year or two and found that it gave me pleasurable sensations, but it was always ruined by the almost immediate guilt I felt because I had defied my mother and had actually enjoyed being a bad girl for a moment. I don't know if it was the combination of everything that was going on that night or the fact that I seemed to not really be there and it was my other self who was there and who had rubbed her pussy. Or what. But I had never experienced such intense feelings down there before. It was exquisite.
I then thought of Mom's lectures and admonitions, and felt the usual guilt welling up in me. But this time something happened. Instead of feeling guilty and bad, I was suddenly angry at her for depriving my of this kind of pleasure for so long and making me feel guilty and bad about it.
It was a cathartic experience. I felt like a veil had fallen away and a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't feel like me anymore at all. Liz went out and really showed off. This prompted some dirty looks from the instructors and one of them came over to me as I stood ready to go out and sternly told me there would be none of that kind of foolishness from me, or else.
Liz came in, again to thunderous applause, pushed past me, and headed straight to the restroom. I went out and ran the course. I made eye contact with some of the men that were staring at me and not breathing. It was electric. I seemed to be floating on air again. I could feel every pair of male eyes on me and the touch of their eyes sent tingles and chills throughout my body.
As I pranced around, I became aware of a new and strange and warm feeling between my legs that spread out across my belly and up to my breasts. My nipples were now so hard that it was actually a little bit uncomfortable. I basked in the white hot glow of those men's lust. I was being so very naughty and I suddenly realized that I had power over those men. What a thrill!
Just before I made my last turn and headed in, I noticed a warm wetness in my pussy. This was also something completely new - I had never before allowed myself to get that far before, the guilt having brought everything to a screaching halt every time long before that point. As I came in, I was suddenly afraid that someone might have seen a wet spot on the girdle so I grabbed my robe and hurried to the restroom. The rest of the girls were going back on stage for their bows and a few closing remarks from the head mistress. I was supposed to change quickly and join them, but it would have to wait.
When I got into the restroom, I was relieved to find that a close look in the mirror did not reveal a wet spot, even though the trip in had really heightened my state of arousal. My body was tingling and each step had caused waves of pleasure to emanate from my groin, spreading out over my entire body. I gave it a rub and almost passed out.
Just then I heard (over the muted music and narrator from the show) one, two, and then three gasps coming from one of the stalls. I went over and pulled open the door to find Liz leaning with her back against the side of the stall, still wearing the girdle, and slowly sliding down, her hand still rubbing her crotch, but slower and slower as she finally reached the floor. She had a look of complete ecstasy on her face. After a moment her breathing slowed and she looked up and saw me gawking at her and just smiled. She struggled to stand up and I gave her a hand. Once she was upright and had caught her breath, I demanded to know what she was doing. We were both still standing in that little stall. She said that she had been so turned on that she just had to get off since she would not be seeing her boyfriend that night (he was on the school baseball team and they were playing in another town). "Wearing a tight girdle like this all the way up against your pussy really helps get things going and the pressure makes it a lot easier to get off," she went on.
I felt a little jolt when she said this, drawing my attention back to the wet warmth between my legs. My hand automatically fell to my crotch and gave it a rub, sending me off again into the mists. She must have seen my face go blank, because she immediately understood that I really did not know exactly what she meant but that I was experiencing some powerful feelings for the first time just then and that I did not really understand. She said, "Look, you better finish that off or you're gonna feel funny all night long."
I still had a blank look on my face. She said, "You know... get yourself off!"
I just looked at her, but something was beginning to take shape in the back of my head, but it just would not crystallize. I suddenly realized that I was rubbing myself again and that it was intensifying the strange and wonderful feelings. But where was the guilt?
Liz looked down and noticed my hand just then, too, and said, "That's right. Keep on rubbing it down there and think about the best looking guy you have ever seen and imagine he is here, holding you in his strong arms, kissing your neck and rubbing your pussy. I'll get out of here and leave you alone. Just keep going until you get off. Don't worry, you'll know when it happens," and out she went.
I kept on for a minute or two, reaching what felt like some sort of edge and drifting back once, twice, three times, and suddenly, the top of my head blew off. My entire body was on fire. I could not breathe. I could not think. Time seemed to stop. After a bit, the feelings began to subside and a few moments later I realized that I had slid down and was sitting on the floor. I then became a little more aware of my surroundings and realized that the narrator was winding up the show. I carefully got to my feet and wobbled over to the vanity and looked in the mirror.
My mind was still gone, but I finally managed to collect my wits enough to put my robe on and go out the door and back to the dressing area on autopilot. Liz was there and she correctly interpreted the look on my face and my dreamlike walk. I sat down across from her. "First time, huh?" says she. I mumbled something. "It was like that for me the first time, too. Now you have a pretty good idea of what you have to look forward to when you finally do it with a boy, only it is a whole lot better with a boy. I get myself off like this when I can't be with Allen and I'm hot. It's good practice and a lot of fun, too."
I just looked at her, the words slowly sinking in, pieces suddenly falling into place. I was still marveling at what I had just experienced. Even if someone had told me about this before, I never would have been able to do it. The guilt would not have let me get very far and I would have felt terrible about even trying. But the guilt was gone. I was free!!!
Well, this shed a whole new light on this boy thing. Suddenly they were a lot more than just a cute face and broad shoulders. So this was what it was all about. My head was spinning. There was just so much to think about. Just then, the other girls came back in and set about getting dressed to go home. The headmistress came in and congratulated us all and announced that we could keep one clothing outfit, one swimsuit, and one pair of shoes that we had modeled as a reward for a job well done. Since Liz and I did not model a swimsuit, Liz was waving her hand to get the HM's attention because she really liked a swimsuit worn by one of the other girls. She nodded to Liz, and after she had finished talking to the group, she came over and told us that we could keep all the lingerie we modeled and to pick out a swimsuit, too.
Liz and I were the last ones to finish getting dressed. I was still moving kind of slowly, afraid that if I somehow upset the magic mood, all the horrible guilt would come flooding back and ruin my good feelings. We both kept on those girdles, but my dress was a little too short for it and the legs probably showed a bit now and then as I walked (but that time I didn't mind!). We went out to meet our mothers, and then walked out to the car where Dad and Alicia were waiting. With each step I took, I could feel the pressure on my pussy and I was reminded of what had happened. By the time we got to the car, I was half-way cranked up again. I fell deep into thought and remember nothing of the ride home.
After we got home and were sitting around the table enjoying a little ice cream and discussing the show, Alicia winks at me and says, "See, I told you that wearing panties up there would be a mistake, they would just show through the girdle and spoil the effect. I'm glad you and Liz took my advice and didn't wear any."
Mom's jaw dropped and she let out a huge gasp. I thought she was going to pass out. "You mean that you weren't wearing any panties up there? All night long?"
"Yep," says I, "It would have ruined the look of the girdles, and we were supposed to show off everything to its best advantage."
Mother began to sputter and gave Dad one of her "You better say something to back me up" looks. But Dad suddenly remembered something urgent he had to do out in the garage and hurried on out to take care of it. "If... if... if I had known you were going to be up there half naked tonight, I would have pulled you out of that class in a New York minute! I am going to have to have a talk with the head mistress. What do they think they are teaching young girls in there? This is outrageous! Oh my god, the editor of the fashion page was there tonight! What is she going to think? Oh no, we'll be ruined!"
This went on for a while. Alicia and I were enjoying the hell out of it. Pretty soon Alicia pinched me on the butt and motioned for me to get up with her and head up stairs. Mom was about worn out by then and did not object as we got up to leave. I wore the girdle all night and got myself off again in the morning after having dreamt of a guy in my geometry class (a real hunk). Still no guilt! After this, I never thought about him (or any other boy) in the quite the same way.
As I came down the stairs, Mom was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and thumbing through the (Saturday) morning paper to see if I had been named in any kind of scandal and if we would need to pull up stakes and move to another state. Mom never mentioned the incident again, but did not offer to send me back to the school the next year or the next. That was OK with me, I figured that it would just be more of the same and this first year would really have been a tough act to follow (well the fashion show, anyway). Besides, I intended to have a lot less free time for such things.
So, that is the strange and wonderful story of how I showed off my underwear and got ten minutes of self-induced foreplay in front of a hundred people and then had my first orgasm ever while wearing a really tight girdle standing up in a restroom stall and broke the chains of my guilt.
Interestingly enough, after this major revelation and realignment of my thinking and my discovery of my own sexuality and the mysteries of my body, I did not go wild and run out and get laid right away. I just kinda explored things on my own for a while and finally, about a year later, found the right boy and then realized that I wanted to do the wild thing with him for real (Liz was right, it was a whole lot better). But I sure enjoyed the hell out of getting a good rub on the crotch of my girdle from guys until then (and still do!).
Epilog- As for Liz... Well, she became an "exotic dancer" and toured theme parks (Disneyland, Six Flags, and the like) with a male partner who twirled and juggled knives and flaming torches. During the winter, while she was completing her accounting degree and studying to get her CPA, they performed in Polynesian-themed restaurants (like Trader Vic's and the Balinese Room). After graduating, Liz started working (dancing and doing the books(!)) at a topless club. After a while, she moved up to being assistant manager and "house mother," but would still dance from time to time for her fans (I never realized that these places have regular customers that come in to see a particular dancer perform). A couple of years later she bought half interest in a small topless club that was failing and turned it around. Now, she owns it outright and it is one of the classiest joints in the state, although it is still real small. She was thinking about opening another club in another large city, but right now she is leaning more toward franchising. She is still happily married to her first husband, has three kids in high school, and at age 41, still dances in her club now and then for her fans.
Alicia went to the university, was a legacy in Mom's sorority, partied a lot, placed in a beauty pageant, got a degree in Mass Communications, worked at a newspaper, married a lawyer 20 years ago, wore white Bianchi lace at her big church wedding, went off on a fabulous honeymoon, has her name in the social register, gets an annuity disbursement, lives in a big house, has three teen-aged kids, a dog, and a cat, is a big shot in the PTA, has a pair of 36Ds that still don't droop, and still looks like a tall, dark-haired Ann Margaret.
I went to engineering school at the university, shot party pictures at frat parties, placed in a pistol tournament, got an engineering degree, worked as an engineer, moved in with a boyfriend engineer 15 years ago, own a Bianchi holster, wore black T J Maxx lace when we were married in Vegas, have my name on a twelve patents, started my own business, live in a medium house, have two Saint Bernards and no children, am a good shot at the pistol range, don't really have to wear a bra (sniff), and still look like... well you know.
And Mom still likes Alicia better than me. Go figure.
Til next time, then.
Lucinda
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