The Open Bottomed Girdle Among Other Things…..

I had always been a fan of the open bottomed girdle. I grew up in the 1950’s and 1960’s when theses garments were popular. My mother wore them, my grandmother, and my aunt’s. You might wonder how I knew that, but I was snoop and looked through my mother’s drawers when I was young. I always marveled at what I found. Among the many delicate pieces of lingerie, where these sexy and arousing open bottomed girdles. I also loved hiding under the Thanksgiving table. The long table clothes hid my presence and I was offered peeks  under the dresses and skirts that my aunts wore, with the exciting seamed stockings with the seams that ran up the back.


I was such a naughty boy, relishing in what I saw. Occasionally I would see where the garters attached to the stockings, and when they shifted around a bit, making themselves more comfortable I might be treated to a peek and their panties. I came to learn who wore panties and who did not.


When I discover that amazing delight, I was shocked. Somewhere I had heard that all good girls wore panties. Now I was conflicted, was Grandma not a good girl? I remember how she moved and parted her thighs. All good things come to an end. I suddenly heard my name and felt a pain in my ear, as I was dragged from beneath the table. I was sent to my room and told to go to bed, I was punished. I was embarrassed by what I had done and was being sent to bed without dinner. I slipped into bed. The visions of what I had seen washed over me again and again. It had changed me, forever.  From that moment on, I tried to get a peek, pondered the girdles that hung on my friend’s mother clothes lines, and continued to snoop in my mother’s drawers. They were a constant masturbation fantasy for me. I would crawl in bed and pull out my hard cock and thing of those mature women who wore those garments and what it would be like to watch them dress or undress. For a number of years other things aroused me, new and more blatantly sexual things that captured my attention. Then……

Yes…….Then I met Helen. Helen as I have described in previous posts was a mature 52 year old woman, I was 18, soon to be 19. The first night I met her she was wearing panties and a garter belt. She first parted her thighs for me when she climbed into my car. Her leg bent at the knee up on the bench seat, her toes against my thigh, with her other foot on the floor. I could clearly see her panties pressed tight against her mound. Even in the darkness I could see the swell of her soft white flesh, bulging over her stocking tops. As I an my hand against her thigh all the way to her panties. I could feel the heat of arousal rising from her. Her panties were moist, and when I pressed into her she whimpered. I loved feeling bow wet her panties felt on my fingers. Bringing them to my face was intoxicating. When we got to her apartment she removed her skirt and blouse. Standing in front of me she revealed her mature beauty, her unique nuances that come with time and experience. Her belly was a bit round and she possessed and bubble butt. Her breasts had a mature sag, even in the bra that lust hid her hard nipples. She was arousing and sexy, and loved showing me her body. She could see my hard cock swelling in my pants. We had entered her bedroom and she bent over the bed, her panties stretched across her fanny as she called it. “You like?’ she asked. “I like a little spanking once in a while when I’m a naughty girl,” she added. I was taken by how lovely she looked. Maybe it wasn’t only the girdles I loved so much. I looked at her and took in how the garters framed her butt, framing it like a perfect picture of feminine beauty . I fell to my knees behind her, nuzzling into the cleft of her cheeks, inhaling her scent, kissing and caressing her thighs up to her pussy. I was in heaven.

2 thoughts on “The Open Bottomed Girdle Among Other Things…..

  1. My experience as a child was so similar, although, in my case, it was altered by the simple fact that I am totally blind, so any wish to explore from under the table or somewhere else, would require me to touch, which obviously didn’t go down well in the 1950s “Don’t do that, it’s rude”.
    In my teenage years, needing direct contact with this obsession pushed me in the direction of wearing the stuff myself, which I still do. Childhood conditioning is very powerful. This is a fetish I love. How to make it fit into the rest of my life as a male has been the problem.
    Thanks for this post, which certainly got my attention.

    Liked by 1 person

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