Basques, Fishnets and Heels.

When I was first married, to please the new husband I ordered a sheer black nightie and negligee set at a clothes party I attended at a friend’s house. It wasn’t expensive, but it was totally awful, and the lace trim so hard, it actually cut into my skin which defeated the whole object of the exercise.

I recall some additional silliness in my late twenties trying to spice up the Love Life with Partner.
It’s difficult to feel attractive when you are constantly being put down and compared to slim and sexy models, TV personalities, or even stars of ‘those movies’ which I’m afraid left me cold and realising I was better educated than I thought.

In one of my fits of desperation, I ordered what I would term as ‘The Works’ from one of the Mail Order catalogues I ran, where I could try on specific lingerie in the comfort of my own bedroom .
basque-and-netsBlack was my preferred choice, and although I had never liked wearing stockings as I felt they were always falling down past my knees, I ordered some together with a black pair of 4″ heels.

The basque, though very pretty with pink ribbons and bows,Β  was a swine to get into.
It had about twenty tiny hooks and eyes at the back, and as there was a little lot more of me trying to escape through the bottom, well, Mrs Michelin was in full swing.
I struggled anyway, squishing and squeezing myself inside, and finally had the uplift in the right places and the overhang where hopefully it wouldn’t matter or notice.
Breathing and bending was difficult, the end result certainly not a vision of loveliness, andΒ  those little hooks and eyes would have massacred the moment, the garments likely to be torn to shreds in frustration and annoyance.
Though maybe that was the general idea? Hell, I didn’t know. I considered myself wanting and had been reading too much in trying to keep Your Man Happy and Interested.

In all honesty, I looked like a misshapen hot dog crossed with a ring doughnut.
Having some common sense and remnants of self-preservation, rather than present myself to the asshole I was living with knowing I would only be ridiculed and thus sink deeper into depression, I took the whole ensemble off, threw the stockings in the bin, and sent the basque back. It just wasn’t worth the effort, money, or backlash of his hilarity.
Therefore he never saw me in it, but I did get something out of the experience.

A month or so later, I ordered a red dress (style similar to this) to go with the shoes for a presentation night we were due to attend.
The dress had a basque top but flared skirt, and the shoes were surprisingly comfortable.
basque-dressI felt absolutely fabulous in them, danced all night and not a blister or area of chaffed skin in sight. I had a wonderful time without him, as he spent most of his time at the bar.

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About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and have a terrible sweet tooth for jelly babies or fruit pastilles. Best friends are Hubby, our dog Maggie, Bro in NZ, MSM and MOH (and his dog). I am also a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! Due to a nightmare of a house sale in 2014, 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat until April 2017. We made strong friendships both on and off the water, and enjoyed swan and duck families for neighbours. Sadly times change and we were once again house hunting until September. We now reside in a small bungalow a short distance from the beach on the Lincolnshire coast.
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11 Responses to Basques, Fishnets and Heels.

  1. Ritu says:

    Oh I totally get where you’re coming from with the ridiculous get ups we try to wear, all in the name of passion!!!

  2. Chuckled all the way through this. “misshapen hot dog crossed with a ring doughnut.” What an image.
    Happy you just danced on your way instead.

  3. Oh, lordy. Reminds me of the year, very early in my marriage, when I bought one of those skimpy little teddies that snapped at the crotch. Really hard to feel sexy with those snaps sliding up between one’s butt cheeks. I wore it once, but it became apparent that the lingering butt cheek pain had put a damper on our romantic evening. That silly thing got thrown out asap.

  4. Oh, the pains we went through…notice, I said “went” through. Ha ha. πŸ’™ πŸ’œ

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