Now and then, somone will write and ask me why I go to the trouble of maintaining the Girdle Zone. "Are you getting paid for it?" they ask.
My reward comes from reading letters like these... three very different messages that tell me that Zona is achieving an important goal.
-Virginian
From Digger
Dear Virginian-
I can't begin to thank you enough. I copied all of your articles and got up the courage to give them to my wife to read. She took the time to read each article and said she would be willing to try and wear a girdle every day if this is what pleased me. I could not be happier.
Thanks again
*****
From Tom C.
Virginian,
I doubt that this story is a Zona "first", but it may encourage use of your website.
I am a 46-year-old New Englander, happily married with two kids and a wife who has done well in retaining her looks and figure since our courtship days 13 years ago. A 1998 newcomer to the Internet, I clicked on Zona, believing it to be a lingerie retailer. What a pleasant mistake I made!
I feel compelled to commend the informative and tastefully artistic presentation of your site. Of particular note are the insightful and beautifully feminine thoughts expressed by Suzanne and many of your women readers. Frankly, I was surprised by their number, which I naturally hope continues to grow.
Like many of your male contributors, I brokenheartedly witnessed the passing of the girdle's golden age around 1970. With fond memories, I recall its introduction of me to femininity and its mysterious allure during my innocent and awkward adolescence. The abundance of nostalgic commentary by Suzanne and many Zona correspondents was reassuring in giving dignity to this underfashion and the enchanting hold on men it has given women. Such a magnetic attraction, which has gone unspoken in many of us for so long, has almost a spiritual quality in its ability to have saved, enhanced, or challenged the core of so many marriages.
Now for my own saga:
Through my relationships with women, and acquaintances in the intimate apparel trade, I had become quite knowledgeable about lingerie by the time I met my wife. My distinct impression was that lingerie provides more to the feminine experience than its obvious utility value. Correctly or not, I assumed that it was secretly tied to a woman's sexuality.
With this in mind, and to show a gesture that reinforced my physical attraction to her (ladies take note, as I'm sure my motives here are not unique), I made my wife's first gift purchase twelve years ago: Vanity Fair briefs and matching bras. The briefs were a new concept for her, and she remarked about bucking the contemporary trend toward hipsters. For my sake, she gave them a try, and is hooked to this day. She finds them to be more sensual, and likes the absence of unattractive panty lines I had pointed out on other women. Bottom line, an open mind on her side has led to further gift giving, and it is the attraction that we share through her lingerie which has kept us cohesive through marriage's rough times.
Aside: I think that she equally loves avoiding stores, their lines, and the barrage of choices which can stress her out. For those who haven't noticed, today's lingerie stores or departments can devour the size of the entire menswear sections!
Around 1993, while doing an overload run at a local laundromat, I had occasion to empty a dryer. The contents included what I later learned to be Vanity Fair's new Shapeslip. To my hoped-for astonishment, the owner who soon arrived was a curvy but trim brunette who had to be in her mid-20's. Not long thereafter, I made the wishful presumption that shapewear was mounting a comeback, and that my wife would not be left off the bandwagon.
After purchasing same Shapeslip and Bali's new "Bodysleeker" shaper, I headed home that evening with my wife's gift-wrapped introduction to 90's femme couture. This was greeted by the unenthusiastic, stereotyped response that such things are worn only by old or fat ladies. In retrospect, my timing couldn't have been worse. She had given birth to our second child only months before, and hadn't lost all the weight she eventually would. So, except for a body briefer she would occasionally wear to bed when the mood struck her, in her drawer the girdles would stay forever, or so it seemed
Fast-forward five years to February, 1998. One weekend, I brought home print-outs of several Zona features for a sensual walk down memory lane. One evening, when called to referee a squabble between the kids, I not unintentionally left the Zona features on our bed. Upon my return upstairs, I noticed that my wife had climbed into bed for some reading time. And guess what she was reading? She naturally asked about the source of the materials, but her tone was anything but the disdainful third-degree I had feared. Engaging her receptive mood, I recommended Suzanne's work (who couldn't?) and the Girdle Drawer, as my wife is a fan of Vanna White and Lauren Hutton.
The next morning, my wife returned to our bedroom post-shower in a nightshirt and a Bali Satin Tracings long leg (also previously in hibernation). In a uniquely sensual but perplexed voice, she comments, "These things make you (the wearer) horny." She asked where the Zona printouts were, and spent the next hour lounging and reading on our bed. From certain remarks and body language I received, I could tell that she wanted more than reading material, but the kids were home and quite awake. Parenthood will do that to you sometimes.
That night, my wife eagerly went along with my suggestion to initiate her merry widow (also in mothballs) and stockings. I'll just say that the rest of the night was the classic Ooh la la, ma cherie!
A few nights later, reality must have set in, and my wife got "buyer's remorse": that "we can't make the lingerie thing a habit," that she has concerns that I love her for her, etc., etc. Sound familiar to anyone out there? Because of other readers previous remarks, I was spared the usual male response of horror, and let her words roll right off my back. Concurrently, and I don't think coincidentally, my wife repeated an earlier request for a certain ring which was on sale only a few more days. I promised her that she'd have it.
The night of the purchase, I suggested that we dress up and go to dinner afterwards. Dress up she did, in a killer suit and pearls. After finding out at the store that her ring had been sold, my original $400 expression of love appreciated to $1500 in finding a substitute. I guess you could say I had entered the Twilight Zona. But I did regain my balance, and led my all-too-willing beloved to the lingerie shop for a first-hand review of Suzanne's recommended girdle list. We left with Smoothie, Bali, and Flexees all a little richer, but not before my wife decided to wear her Smoothie right out of the store. We went to dinner, and upon our return home, I became beneficiary to the" after-the-girdle" amour so well described by Suzanne, et. al. But Suzanne, you never told me that this goes on for 12 hours! My wife follows this up with another girdled day, under her jeans, no less.
While I do not expect this to become everyday occurrence, my wife appears to have embraced Suzanne's Gloriously Girdled Girls Club. She made the decision by herself, mainly from what appears to be reassurance that Suzanne and other women contributors gave her in ignoring outdated rhetoric, and making up her own mind. I cannot say what her catalyst was (daring , curiosity?), but time will tell. Not that I need an answer, when after 13 years, we have found another way to behave like teenagers.
Zona does a wonderful public service which may help "reshape" the thinking of many women and men in their perceptions of fashion, romance, and each other. For my money, the contributing "Ladies of Zona" are the beautiful resurrection of the Sensual Woman.
Let's hear more from my wife's "pantyhose generation" who are rediscovering girdles "for the very first time". Your thoughts do provide encouragement for other women to find a lost and unfairly maligned part of feminine glamour and mystique.
*****
Three Letters From Vladimir
Virginian-
Since my early teens, not a single day has passed when I haven't thought about girdles. To get my hands on a real woman in a real pantie girdle is something I've dreamed about for as long as I can remember. Now it might actually come true!
A lady in whom I had previously expressed a discreet interest recently reciprocated (I think). It was never clear whether she was as interested in me as I was in her (women are so difficult to read). She is the same age as me (late 30s) and it had always been in the back of my mind that she was of an age to remember girdles (at least from seeing her mom or older sisters wearing them).
She asked me out one evening for a meal at a quiet restaurant near her home. I was pleasantly surprised, but not as pleasantly surprised by what I was soon to discover (you know perfectly well what this is, but I'm sure you won't mind the details!). A few nights before, I was round at her place for the ritual of looking over her dress, a rather nice, full-length number in a light blue, low cut at the back and tight in all the right places. It must have cost her a fortune.
Anyway, I first saw it on entering her bedroom, to be greeted by the site of her in it in front of a full length mirror. She had her back to it and was looking over her shoulder. Like every woman who has ever lived, she thinks her behind is too big. Like every man who's ever lived, I know that one thing that must never be discussed with a woman is the size of her behind.
She wasn't happy.
After years of indecision and hesitation, I finally took the plunge. I offered advice.
Trying to sound as hopelessly male as I could, I piped up, "Why don't you wear one of those, what do you call them.....pantie girdles?" I braced myself for the reaction. What would it be? Derision, disgust, contempt? Would I, in the course of a second, be transformed into a male oppressor, a pervert, an old-fashioned fogey?
She didn't take her eyes off the mirror but simply said, "Hmm, I just might, but my black one will show through this."
At that I made my excuses and left for the kitchen - to get some tea ostensibly. In reality, I needed a bit of time to let my heart rate return to normal. She obviously noticed something, because the next day she called me at work to ask if there was anything wrong. I told her some cock and bull story about feeling a little queasy (not entirely untrue).
Last week, we went out for the meal. Her behind was the subject of intense (but very discreet) study. She was wearing a pantie girdle!! This was confirmed by a quick grope as we walked across the darkened carpark back to her car (my car is a disgrace!). One of the contributors to a discussion group has previously referred to "the delicious feel of the steely-hard Lycra." Now I know exactly what he means!
This quick grope came as something as a surprise to her, as it was unexpected as being rather out of character. Her reaction was favourable however (a small slap at my hand rather than across my face, accompanied by a smile).
I never mentioned the girdle once, and neither did she. I'm now carefully planning future strategy. The knowledge that she's a pantie girdle wearer (albeit a part-time one) doesn't make me want to sleep with her more (they don't have that effect on me), but I would be very interested in a rather more prolonged feel of that "steely-hard Lycra"
Signing off in the best mood I've been in for years,
-Vladimir
*****
Virginian-
As for my girdled lady, this status is, alas, an occasional thing. I had suspected this to be the case with ladies of her age (approximately the same as mine) and, for want of a better word, status. Like me, when at work she has a sort of "uniform" (I rarely wear ties and striped shirts anywhere else). Not quite the Hilary Clinton-style "power dressing," but you know what I mean.
The underpinnings of such a "uniform" I would often imagine, but outside of her work? I never thought she was anything other than a thoroughly modern gal. Of course, I had strategies and plans to get her into a girdle, but none of them, to be perfectly honest, struck me as particularly feasible. It was just nice to dream a little.
I had known her in a casual/friendly sort of way for about a year before she asked me out. When she asked me out, girdles were both the first and the last thing on my mind. First in that I am always thinking of ladies in girdles; last in that I had very little genuine expectation of actually getting her into one.
I was able to broach the subject of girdles because the situation caught me by surprise. This is often the case with many acts of "courage," like the man who runs through the minefield and only realises what he's done after he's done it.
Since that first encounter (in the bedroom), I've thought of little else. Had I had time to think in advance, I certainly wouldn't have piped up the way I did. I've been in more than one similar situation over the years with ladies and, actively planning in my mind the desired girdle encounter, always suffered from verbal constipation at what should have been the propitious moment.
When she asked me round to look over her outfit, I imagined something a little more formal (i.e. less figure-hugging). On entering the bedroom, seeing her in that beautiful tight dress with her hands on her bottom, a single thought came to mind in an instant, and the dam - a dam that had been holding things in check for years - burst.
Almost as soon as the words "pantie girdle" had passed my lips, I was gripped by the sort of panic that happens when, in your car, somebody pulls out in front of you and you slam on the brakes, hoping you will stop in time. In such situations, things seem to go in slow motion and, in what was in reality little more than a few seconds before she replied, I was able to run through the full spectrum of possible responses.
Braced for the rebuff, I was expecting something along the lines of "Girdle! What century are you living in?" When her response was positive, I really needed to go out and get some air! I never mentioned the girdle once after that, but my attempts to be nonchalant obviously had her thinking what it was that I was being nonchalant about.
I wonder how much she guessed. I've given her no direct clue or even (I think) any hint that I am interested in girdles. Perhaps it was the very fact that I knew that there were such things as pantie girdles (she would expect any man to know that there were things called girdles, but not the subdivisions of the genre) that alerted her.
She never mentioned the girdle either, but on the night of the meal, it was obvious to my alerted eye (a task eased somewhat by her tight dress) what she was wearing. I've read Suzanne's articles avidly, and everything she says is true: the flat tummy and the rounded bottom; the "monobuttock"; the ladylike grace with which she walked and sat. She's quite an eyeful anyway, but on this occasion, she was something else.
The restaurant is not very large, and most of the tables are in secluded alcoves, but on the way to the table, I made sure she was in front. My eyes were not on her, but were discreetly surveying the other diners. The looks from the women I could not really interpret beyond a very superficial level. I thought I saw a few envious glances as every aspect of her figure and dress were analysed. It was the men I was most interested in.
There were looks ranging from lust to admiration, but I thought I caught a few glances of recognition. Recognition of her girdle that is! I was almost tempted to shout out, "Yes, she is!"
During the meal, conversation ranged across the usual topics. Work, interests, where I went for my holiday last year. You name it, and to be honest, I've forgotten most of it. There was only one thought on my mind: this woman is wearing a pantie girdle! My little "adventure" in the car park afterwards was planned well in advance. Planned, this time, with a definite intent of execution!
I'm not usually lecherous at all, but this was the thing I had been waiting for all my life. Such an opportunity may never come again. Even if she were to have turned round, slapped my face and driven off leaving me in the middle of nowhere, I was going to do it.
The weather, for once, was mild, so she didn't have a heavy coat on. In early march, the nights are still short, and the car park of this particular restaurant is anyway fairly secluded (I'm not one for exhibitions in public). The walk to her car was a good 50 yards.
My hand went round her waist to test the waters. So far so good. Here goes. I know what it must feel like to take a first parachute jump!
My hand slid down to her bottom. Even to you, who must have a pretty good idea of what must have been going through my mind, I find difficulty in finding the right words. It was almost literally, indescribable. The girdle accentuated the roundness of her bottom, and it felt so silky and smooth. At the same time, it was rock hard.
I began to wonder what it felt like from her point of view. She didn't seem to mind. No doubt she felt fully "protected", but I wondered what my hand felt like to her. Could she feel it at all? The normally soft flesh had no "give" at all. It was just a passing thought. From my viewpoint, it felt absolutely exquisite.
Since then, I've seen her on three other occasions, none of which required anything other than casual clothes. She hasn't had a girdle on since, at least not in my presence. Perhaps another expensive restaurant (with a dark and secluded car park) is in need of a visit!
Like me, she uses a PC extensively both at home and at work, and I know she uses the Internet, although this last is not a topic of frequent discussion. I'm seriously considering sending her an e-mail telling her to look at Zona.
-Vladimir
*****
Virginian-
My lady friend knows about my love for girdles. She probably did about two seconds after I said the words "pantie girdle" in her bedroom. And I'm pretty sure that she knows that I know she knows (sorry for the cumbersome English). She hasn't said so directly, but she has started to tease me in the most delicious ways imaginable. We are both adults, and given this, it should be really quite straightforward. She would come to me in a pantie girdle:
"So this turns you on?"
"Does the Pope wear a big hat?"
And that would be that. We could (well I certainly could, what she might be getting out of it I will come to in a while) enjoy girdles together. Alas it were that easy! My feelings on the subject have been explored in some detail over the last nine months or so, but having at last encountered a real girdled lady, I have tried to do the impossible and get inside the female mind. While I fondly imagined myself to be doing a passable Cary Grant, all my body language and subconscious signals were obviously screaming at her that what she had assumed to be a functional piece of underwear was having a quite extraordinary effect.
However, the signals have not all been one way.
My experience, such as it is over the years, has taught me that whatever role she takes, a lady likes to understand, or at least rationalise, what is going on inside a man's mind. There are a number of models of male behaviour, mostly rather crude and simplistic, that are fed into the female brain along with mothers milk, best summed up in the old saying "It's a boy's place to try, a girl's to deny". No matter how sophisticated or erudite a lady may be, this Neanderthal model is never far below the surface of female thinking. Perhaps with good reason, but not all of us are like that.
From what I can see, she is profoundly puzzled by the effect, even of her saying the words "pantie girdle", has on me. I imagine her alone in her flat, pondering, trying to figure me out. Perhaps even standing in front of her full-length mirror with a pantie girdle on (an image that comes to mind rather frequently!). "Okay, so it's tight and it makes my bottom rounder, but he can see women in tight pants on any street corner". Her brow furrows. "It keeps everything covered up. Where's the appeal in that?" And so it goes on.
To her, it is probably just an item of functional underwear, although the tight fit of it may give her pleasure, certainly not something that fits in with her assumptions of what it is that arouses the male. Her perplexity grows.
From her reactions to my reaction, I don't believe she has encountered a girdle lover before, and it does seem to be a new experience. There was a definite twinkle in her eye during the events I will shortly describe. All ladies like to have some sort of hold over a man, no matter what they might say to the contrary. For many women, sex in one form or another often serves this purpose, but a girdle, even the merest hint of one? What could be more sexless than that!
At this point (these thoughts having gone through my mind in one form or another many times over the last few weeks) I vow not to say anything openly to her, convincing myself that the obvious frisson her little teasing games give her (and me!) will soon turn to suspicion. How can any man who gets turned on by a girdle be normal?
Anyway, back to my narrative.
Several times since my initial encounter I've been out with her. On one of these, another occasion that could be termed "formal" (with a posh frock to match) I once again saw that unmistakably shapely, firm behind. A fondle (rather more prolonged than my first one!) confirmed it. I simple don't have a vocabulary able to do it justice, how delicious it felt.
Fondling her behind is becoming something of a habit, and fortunately, its something she seems to enjoy (or lets me think she is - bless her). Its as far as I've got, and to be honest, its as far as I intend to go. She wants a basically platonic relationship and I'm quite happy to go along. She allows me a few carrots, as it were, to keep me interested. Letting me fondle her behind for one (and it is a lovely behind, believe me), and if, as I so fondly hope, she intends to make pantie girdles another - well, she will have me body and soul. I hope what I have said above is not all true and that she realises my little peccadillo is not going to turn into something distasteful.
Two weeks later, I was round at her flat again. It was another occasion where I was hauled in to look over a few outfits for a formal dinner organised by her employers (I haven't been asked to go - thank God). Women love that sort of thing- showing off clothes, I mean- although at first I was puzzled as to why she hadn't asked a few of her girlfriends. As I said earlier, she's a tease. If there was a Nobel prize for teasing, she'd have it.
Anyway, after about an hour in which she had paraded in front of me in three separate outfits, my interest was beginning to wane. She was awaiting her moment, and disappeared into the bedroom once more. After a few minutes, I was called in. The first thing that caught my eye were two more formal dresses laid out on the bed. She went over to the bed and picked up one of the dresses which she held out in front of her.
"Let's see if you like this one. It's a bit tighter than the others."
I mumbled something.
She put the dress back on the bed and went over to the wardrobe, opening one of the drawers. "I'll need a pantie girdle with this one," she said matter-of-factly. She had her back to me when she said it (to make sure she didn't see my face, no doubt). I must admit I'd been half expecting something like this, but still, my jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
She turned round. "Out you go- I'm going to put this on." She had a gorgeous beige long-leg pantie girdle held out in front of her. I simply couldn't help staring at it and, without realising, I had taken a few steps towards her. "Out, I said!" she repeated with that mock severity of the sort that mothers use to talk to naughty children. I went back into the living room.
I had taken in every detail of the girdle, the colour, the detail of the paneling on the front, the lacy bits around the legs and waist - as she no doubt intended that I should. I deposited myself in a large armchair and began to daydream about what was in the bedroom a mere 20 feet away. I was wondering if I should just walk in, or even peep round the door.
A few minutes later, she came out of the bedroom - in just her pantie girdle and bra! I had felt the wonderful hard, steely smoothness of a well filled girdle, but this was the first time I had actually seen one. If you've seen "the mask", there is that scene where Jim Carey (as "the Mask") first sees Cameron Diaz in the nightclub. Something similar happened to me, although she pretended that nothing had happened - bless her again!
What happened next was the most delightful experience of my life so far, I kid you not. She stopped in front of me and did a few turns - careful to be just out of reach - arms held out (the way a ballet dancer would). With a "butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth" smile she said "Do you like it? I bought it yesterday."
I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. She looked good enough to eat. The girdle was as tight as a drum.
She smiled knowingly before walking off into the bathroom saying something about needing to get some tissues. I was there for another two hours, and got a preview of both the other outfits. However, I was obviously being tested for reactions, although I don't know whether I passed or failed or what the test criteria were.
Things are certainly beginning to move, and in a way I wouldn't have dreamed possible a year ago. A great deal of the credit is down to Zona. Had I met this lady a year ago, what I am telling you may well not have happened, or at least happened in a very different way.
Zona let me know that I was not a freak. Girdles rose from being a deeply kept secret, coming closer to the surface, and in that one exhilarating moment broke through. There is no way on God's green earth I would have said what I did otherwise.
I'll keep you posted.
-Vladimir
*****
Thanks, guys.
Letters like these let me know that I've accomplished something.
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Last updated May 1, 1998