t3m19870312 发表于 2020-7-21 11:21
本人最爱的部分
今天有机会双更吗？
在经过我一番的热切期盼，到了我们再次相会时，我先是坐在床上脱下了高跟女鞋，向比灵斯先生展示我这双正包裹在长筒丝袜裡的小脚丫子：因受残疾影响而发育不全、甚至十根脚趾头都向着脚心蜷缩的它们，在人看来本就相当玲珑且娇嫩、如今在隔着一层几近透明的丝袜这若影若现的朦胧修饰之下，令它们看上去更加显得小巧精緻！当一见到我这双丝袜小脚，他的那具气象瓶立刻做出了回应！然后我扶着拐杖自床上摇摇晃晃地站了起来，并且用空出来的那隻手，害羞腼腆地掀起冗长的裙摆和底下的衬裙、甚至还提起我内裤偏长的裤管，好露出更多这双正穿着精緻长筒丝袜的残腿。这时他的反应让我不禁认为：如果他的气象瓶是真的话，那我预感将有阵强风即将袭来！
然后他用沙哑低沉的声音，请我脱下我的洋装和衬裙，以便他能看到更多。我依从了，整个过程中他一直目不转睛的凝视着我。我脱到只剩下裁短后的连身罩衫、长版内裤、和一双残腿上头被吊袜带固定着的长筒丝袜而已。此时我将整个身子斜靠在拐杖上的站在他面前，伴随着那条短了一截、着不了地的右腿在半空中微微晃动着。
他来到我前跪了下来。他先是把手放在我的一双残腿上。透过同样是丝质的内裤和长筒丝袜、我可以感觉到他对我甜蜜的爱抚。过了一会儿，他把手放到我的内裤的蕾丝边上，并将手指伸了进去。现在只隔着一层长筒丝袜了，因此我能清楚感受到他对我残腿的爱抚变得十分精緻起来，把我弄的既痒又酥麻、却又有种说不出的异样快感。
当他以膜拜一般的态度跪在我面前时，我感到狂喜的浪潮正在累积。当他爱抚着我的残腿时，隔着薄薄的长筒丝袜、我能清楚感受到他轻呼出来的气，并渴望它能更靠近些。于是我用没拄拐的左手，解开了我用来固定内裤的缎带，丝滑的它们立即落在地板上，在我长短不一的残腿外围堆成一团。
接着他用双手和呵气，对着我一双穿着丝袜的残腿上下其手、没放过任何一处，过程中我以微微的呻吟和颤抖投以回应。然后他的双唇来到丝袜的最顶部，然后超越其上，接着我感受到一连串轻柔的吻，直接落在我残腿上那没被丝袜包覆之处，这股突如其来的酥麻感，顿时令我浑身发颤、并放声浪叫了出来！接着 “啪嗒！”的一声，我的拐杖就这麽落在了地板上，失去支撑的我只能靠在他的肩膀上，让腿脚不便的自己勉强站稳身子不致跌倒。
然后，他的舌头缓慢而精巧地滑入我那有着捲曲毛髮的小丘。它开始飞快地进进出出、故作调戏、时而进击、时而保守。然后它停在那个特殊的地方，开始像隻小鸟挥翅一般对着那裡来回拍动着。这股强烈的快感，令把持不住的我只能将手伸到后面搂着他的头，把他紧紧往我身上抱住。一阵阵激情的浪花轰然倒塌，不断将我击溃，令我放声尖叫、并且整个人向前扑倒在他的身上。由于我双腿严重残疾的缘故，若是没有他的支撑之下，我肯定会像个软绵绵的布娃娃一样，无助的跌倒在地板上。此时我的自主意识已荡然无存，我整个人所充斥的就是对他的感觉、对他的渴望、以及对他舌头在我身上的不懈探索！接着另一波更大的浪潮席捲了我，让我紧抓着他不放，同时发出高亢的阵阵呻吟声。
接下来我已经无法思考以及做出任何行动。我感觉到他先将我自他身上移开、并将我抱在他的怀中。接着他站起身来、把行动不便的我抱到床上。由于在当时那浑然忘我的状态之下，我无法对那晚剩馀的时间裡所发生的事有任何明确的记忆。但我我确实生动地记得：当清晨的阳光从窗户悄悄洒进他的怀裡时，我的身上只剩下连身罩衫、和一双残腿上的长筒丝袜而已，还有我躺在身下那湿了一大片的床单…
t3m19870312 发表于 2020-7-22 12:33
在经过我一番的热切期盼，到了我们再次相会时，我先是坐在床上脱下了高跟女鞋，向比灵斯先生展示我这双正包 ...
更新本人最爱的一段:lol
敬请支持！
我们之间的亲密关係，就这样持续了一年多，我对此感到十分高兴且心满意足。每次我总是採取同样的方式，用我亲手缝製的贴身衣物和长筒丝袜来取悦他，好让我俩的亲暱举动尽可能长久的持续下去。然后有一天，比灵斯先生腼腆地告诉我：他已经接受了一间距我们所在城市较远的一个乡村小镇中的寄宿学校新职位。这个消息使我的心顿时沉了下来。我意识到若与他相距遥远的话，我们不可能像现在这样经常在一起。
他也似乎感受到我的痛苦，并且眼神不与我的目光有所交会，他说他希望我能和他一起去。我告诉他：这是不可能的！因为若他拥有一个情妇的话，这可是会危及到他的地位。而且我们一定会被发现，到时候还会害他被解僱。
他赶紧说我误解了他的意图，他希望我能以比灵斯夫人的身份与他前往，希望我能成为他的妻子。这着实让我惊呆了！我从来连做梦都没有过！这是不可能的！有着一双严重残疾的腿、和畸形丑陋身躯的我，无法跟他像一般男人和妻子那样，在公共场合下露面。这是不可能发生的！
他花了很长时间说服我，虽然起先我十分无法赞同，但他逐渐澹化了我反对的意见。最终，我同意了！于是在地方法官及书记官、和我那位满腹怀疑的女房东陪同下，我俩结为了夫妻。
儘管我感到惴惴不安，但我们的婚姻生活却比我以前所想像的要甜美。在一开始，比灵斯先生学校的人们对于他偕同着我这名残废妻子到任而感到不自在。但是我们很快就能调适过来，他们也开始对我们感到习以为常。我们在学校附近的一所小房子安顿下来，过着舒适的生活。
我们还买了辆有着籐编座椅、并可以由一匹小马所拖拉着的小拖车，这提给了双腿残疾而行动不便的我有了更大的便利性，使我在乡里之间的移动上更加自由，甚至还能去到更远地方。并且我也让自己的服装穿着变得十分美丽时髦，并逐渐建立起我製作礼服和配饰的女士客户群。
我知道人们都很想知道： 我和他在关起房门后，所做的那些闺房秘事为何？我也认为许多人都深信着：像我们这些因着自身残疾而不受异性青睐的瘸女，肯定是独身在室、无伴终老。我没有对他们的想法提出反驳。但我很高兴我这位可怜的瘸女，能成为将这一切公诸于世的那位。
但是当我俩在闺房中单独相处时，它总是和第一年一样甜美且神奇。当我的身体开始学会回应他、并感到适应时，在许多方面都变得更好。而且我从未对我们在一起做过的任何事情感到羞耻。
我继续按照以前的习惯，在公开场合用他的姓氏来称呼他。出门在外时，他一直是我口裡的比灵斯先生。当只有与他单独在一起时，我才用他的名字来称呼他。即使这样，当我利用他对我这名楚楚可怜的瘸腿女孩所怀着的同情和爱怜作为优势、来挑逗并与他调情时，我仍会称他作比灵斯先生。我经常在向他展示我替自己所新缝製的贴身衣物、和新添购在一双残腿上的长筒丝袜时会对他这麽做。这始终是我们激情亲密的序幕。
因此，我们的生活继续进行。对此我很少后悔。当然我俩没有孩子。我严重残疾而畸形的身体理所当然的排除了这项可能性。但是我们接待了数届他学校的男学生们，并为他们的学习提供了帮助。因着我过去在孤儿院的生活，使我非常同情且清楚理解寄宿学校男生们所经历的痛苦和问题。
到了比灵斯先生最后因患病而卧床时，我们双方都会一丝不挂的躺在一起、天南地北的讨论着书籍。有时我则会坐在他的床边做些缝纫活儿。即便他卧病在床，但仍对我那些用丝质所製成的贴身衣服、以及不断添购各式各样的长筒丝袜很感兴趣，并且当我后来瘸腿的情况恶化，而必须在那条弯腿上新增那既冰冷又沉重的长腿支架，好来帮助我走路时，我还特地拜託了工匠，将支架上头每处皮革製的绑带和护膝等，都耕换成带有精美凋花的样式，如此一来这具本丑陋笨重的长腿支架，顿时成了一件我身上独特的工艺品，看在他的眼中也不会感到厌恶。那些回忆就和早些年的一样美好。
我说这整个故事，是为了鼓舞和激励所有瘸腿、身体畸形或四肢缺失的女孩们。我要传达的信息很简单：不要自我封闭、而是敞开心胸大胆地去爱！不要因着自己身体的缺陷而感到羞耻。要知道任何的亲密关係，不论是情感还是身体方面，对您来说都是可能的，并且是您的权利！当这一切好运临到您身上时，请尽情张开双臂迎接它！
某位瘸女孩敬上
1937年8月
全文完
本帖最后由 t3m19870312 于 2020-7-23 15:22 编辑
t3m19870312 发表于 2020-7-23 06:48
我们之间的亲密关係，就这样持续了一年多，我对此感到十分高兴且心满意足。每次我总是採取同样的方式，用我 ...
完结撒花！:lol
新长篇下周开更唷;P
原文在此：
Memoires of a Lame Girl
This narrative came to us as a hand written manuscript on yellowed and tattered sheets of paper. Its owner claimed it was submitted to London Life in 1937 but never published because it was a bit more explicit than even their standards allowed. We seriously doubt its authenticity but will let our readers judge for themselves. Authentic articles from London Life might be found by an internet search for sites that include "London Life" as well as "disability."
The Editor
London Life
Dear Sir:
I have read with great interest your articles, letters and stories about maimed and crippled women and the attraction of many men to them. I eagerly await each new issue and read it avidly as soon as it arrives in the post.
Now, I would like to share my experience as a lame girl. Of course I am no longer a girl and I am even lamer now that I am old. I would prefer to withhold my name and address for obvious reasons.
I will tell you about Mister Billings whom I met almost forty years ago. I relive the experience with great pleasure every day although Mister Billings passed away more than a year ago. The memories of him grow even sweeter with the passing of time.
I was living in the city then. I supported myself by mending, embroidery, fancy stitching and lace making for some of the several women's apparel shops in the neighborhood. It provided enough income to rent a small room and to purchase food. I sewed my own clothes and otherwise lived quite frugally. My only extravagance was my ever expanding collection of stories and novels that took me away from the drabness of my life and surrounded me with friends in my imagination.
I had learned my trade at the orphanage where I was raised. It was the only home I had ever known. It clothed and fed me and taught me my little skills. But It did not provide a happy childhood. The other orphans were often cruel to the little crippled child who hobbled on a crutch and couldn't keep up with the others in the play and games. A few of the matrons were warm and kind but they were the exception. I have no memory of parents or family. I was quite alone in the world.
When I was very little I remember a few good times there. For example, some of the bolder girls would purloin biscuits from the kitchen and we would eat them under the bed covers after the lights were out. This was accompanied much giggling and hilarity. I reveled in the sense of sheer naughtiness that it brought me.
Then, for a few years, a patroness of the institution would take all of us for a trip to the seaside in the warm part of the year. My crutch was not much good for moving about in the sand, but I enjoyed the sunshine and the endless play of the waves on the shore.
But except for those few good times, life there was unrelieved monotony and constant humiliation.
As we girls got older, others blossomed into young women with shapely and full figured forms. I did not. My bosom was small and, of course my shape remained twisted. When my monthlies began, it was a source of embarrasment. The head matron told me only that it was the woman's curse and to try to keep myself clean. That was the only instruction I got about being a woman.
My response to the years in the orphanage was to learn to live a very private and inner life. I read a lot (and still do). I avoided contact with others as far as I was able. It was a pattern I continued when I left the orphanage when I was eighteen.
The day that I met Mister Billings was about two years after I left the orphanage. I was following my usual routine. I had delivered some lace to a dress shop and had been paid. I was on my way home. As was my habit, I spoke to no one and did not meet anyone's eyes. I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I hated equally the stares of pity and the aversion of eyes from my crooked frame. I kept my eyes downcast.
As I neared home, a group of young ruffians came down the street before me. They were hooting and cursing and making horseplay. I suspected their merriment was fueled by strong drink. I cringed in fear as they approached me. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk and tried to shrink to invisibility. I kept on with my halting pace and hoped they wouldn't notice me.
It didn't work. When they saw me, the began to point and laugh. I was mortified and afraid. I kept my eyes downcast and hobbled on. I hoped they would just pass by and leave me alone.
It was not to be. They fell in beside me and one began to imitate my limp. The others cheered him on and then began to compete to imitate my walk. The biggest and surliest of them grabbed at my crutch. I resisted and lost my balance and fell to the pavement. He picked up my crutch and hobbled with it grotesquely down the street.
I shook and sobbed, helpless on the walkway. I was unable to rise without the aid of my crutch. Even if I had gotten to my feet, I could not have walked without it. They continued to mock me and I was even more afraid.
I heard a shout and saw a man running toward me and the rowdies. He was big and carried himself with enough confidence that they ran from him and disappeared among the maze of buildings and alleys. However, they had carried away my crutch and I was stranded there.
The man, I came to know, was Mister Billings. I had passed him many times on my rounds of the dress shops. He always tipped his hat to me but I had steadfastly refused to acknowledge it. I came to learn that he was a teacher at a nearby school. He lived not far from me.
Mister Billings pursued them a short way then gave up the chase. Then he returned to where I was sobbing and shaking, sitting on the curb. He said that he knew who some of them were and that he would deal with them later. He knelt beside me and gently laid his hand on my shoulder. He asked if I was alright.
I got some control of my sobs but still could not respond. He pulled a large white handkerchief from his breast pocket and gave it to me. It settled me and I said that I thought so but was helpless without my crutch. He asked where I lived and I told him. I still could not meet his eyes. He stood up and extended his arms to me. He told me he would take me home.
For a long moment I did nothing. Then, since there was nothing else to do, I extended my arms and let him grasp my hands. Seemingly without effort, he lifted me to my feet. With my arm in his, I took a few halting steps without making much forward progress. Then before I could object, one of his arms was behind my back and the other was under my lower limbs. He lifted me and I felt his strength.
He carried me to my lodging house. As he walked he told me his name and that he was a teacher. I felt safe and protected. But I still could not meet his eyes. I kept by face pressed into the lapel of his overcoat and listened to him talk.
He carried me up the front steps and I showed him how to ring the bell for the landlady. He left me in her charge and I mumbled my thanks. I still could not meet his eyes. He gave his calling card to the old woman in case he was needed. Then he was gone.
The old woman helped to clean and dress the scratches I had sustained in the fall. Then she made me some tea and the evening began to feel better.
I lay awake for a long time that night thinking about my rescuer and protector. I regretted that I had not thanked him properly. I vowed that I would express my real gratitude the next time I saw him. I finally drifted off to sleep imagining that I was safely being carried in his arms.
I did not have long to wait. The landlady showed Mister Billings into my room early the next morning. I was sitting in my soft chair in the little patch of morning sunshine that made the room bearable. He had my crutch in his hand. He explained that he had found the scoundrel who took it and that I had no more to fear from the ruffians. He didn't say what hold he had on them, but I believed him and was reassured.
As he leaned the crutch next to me on the chair, I reached out and grasped both his hands. I looked directly into his eyes and smiled. I thanked him profusely and earnestly for his help and for retrieving my crutch. I explained that I was so upset the evening before that I couldn't get the words out and that I had not intended to be rude.
He reassured me that he understood and his gaze held mine. At last I released his hands and reached for my crutch. I lifted myself to my feet and invited him to sit in my place. He hesitated for a moment. I believe he was concerned that the old landlady was hovering in the hallway and had, of course, left my door open. She was very concerned about her lodgers entertaining gentlemen in their rooms. He sat. I made my way to the straight chair in the other corner and carefully lowered myself into it, intensely aware of my awkwardness. He didn't seem to notice.
From where he sat, he saw my shelves of books and remarked on them. It turned out that he had read many of them and was familiar with almost the all the authors. I told him that the books were my only real friends. I immediately regretted saying that as I did not want his pity. He told me he knew what I meant and that he felt the same way about his library. But he added that it was nice to have real people to discuss the books with.
He did not stay long. The old woman was still outside the door trying to look busy. I took his hands again and thanked him. He promised that we would talk again. Then he was gone and I spent a long time remembering every detail of our brief meeting.
We did talk again. I began to plan my visits to the dress shops to coincide with the time I knew he would be coming home from school. When we met, he would join me and slow his pace to mine and we would talk about books as he accompanied me home.
A few times on warm afternoons we sat in the little park near my place. We gradually told our life stories. Then as the weather improved with the advance of Spring we met on pleasant Sundays to go to the large park a bit further from home. It tired me to go that far but he was always ready to help me with steps and curbs. I thoroughly enjoyed his companionship and his protection.
He told me he was a teacher of classical languages at a nearby day school, a post he had held for more that fifteen years. He told me he would like to get a similar position in a good boarding school outside the city, but he feared that he was too old to be considered.
He brought me books. Some were gifts and others were loaned. We discussed them. We even argued a bit with cheerful and friendly banter.
At my suggestion, I began to mend his clothes. He wanted to pay but I insisted that it was an act of friendship and I would be insulted by payment.
For me it was unalloyed joy to know him and to be with him. He was the only real friend I had ever had. I even began to be more open and free with others. The ladies at the shops noticed and remarked on my new attitude. I did not tell them why I was coming out of my shell
One very hot day in Summer I made my way to his rooms while he was in school. I had been there a few times before. We did not get the same disapproval and supervision that we did when he visited me. I think the attitude was that a twisted cripple was not really a woman and could visit a man's place without scandal. To be truthful, I think I even believed that myself.
I had agreed to sew new drapes for his windows if he would supply the material. I was coming to measure for them. Very slowly and with great care, I lifted myself up the stairs and let myself in with the key he had loaned me.
The air inside was hot and stale and stifling. Before I took out my measuring tape, I opened all the windows in the place. There was a bit of breeze but it was still hot.
I took the measurements and kept careful notes. When I finished I was flushed and overheated. I enviously eyed the large basin and the water tap in his bed chamber. I was a bit jealous because at my place I had to share the ablution facilities with all the other girls on my floor. There were always others looking on or waiting. There I always felt as if I was being rushed. There was no time to take pleasure in my bathing. I calculated that there was plenty of time before he returned. And, I decided that I deserved the luxury.
I found a towel and a washing cloth on the nearby rack. I filled the basin with water. I removed all my clothes and draped them on the back of a chair. I sponged myself with the cool water. It was pure pleasure and I spent a long time at it. I was glad that there was no mirror there and I didn't have to confront my appearance.
At last, I dried myself and enjoyed the feel of the light breeze on my bareness. I hung the towel and the damp cloth back on the rack. I would explain to him that I had washed my face. I hesitated to don my clothes again. Instead I decided to lie on his big bed for a few minutes and enjoy the little breeze. I could smooth it out when I arose and he would never need to know.
I did not intend to sleep. I do not know how long I slept. I awoke with a start to a noise in the other room. He was here! He explained later that school had been dismissed early because of the intense heat in the poorly ventilated classrooms.
I panicked. I started to reach for my crutch. Before I found it he came through the door. He saw me and stood stock still. He stared at me with his mouth open.
The astonishing thing was that he had apparently had the same idea as me. He wore not a stitch of clothing! I had never before seen a man without clothes. I had almost never seen anyone completely unclothed except for a few bold girls at the orphanage.
My reaction was immediate and I moved my arms and hands to cover myself. I was almost overcome with a wave of shame that washed over me. I was ashamed to be seen. I was ashamed of my lameness. I was ashamed of my bent limbs and my twisted back. I was ashamed of my tiny bosom and of the little mound of curls that my hands tried futilely to hide.
But at the same time, I could not take my eyes away from his bare body. I could see the contours of his muscles and his almost perfect symmetry. Most compelling was his male member. I had never imagined the reality of it. I only knew about it from hints in the novels and from giggled late night talk by the bolder girls in the orphanage. I was transfixed.
I watched it grow and come erect. In a sudden flash of insight I realised why the matrons had always been so strict in their inventory of chapel candles and were so afraid one of us would sneak one of them back to our sleeping rooms.
Then, I was overwhelmed with the realization that he was responding to me. My shame ebbed and vanished as suddenly as it had come. I lifted my arms from my body and made no more attempt to hide myself. My eyes met his. I even smiled a bit. I extended my hands to him and invited him to me.
He came slowly and our mutual gazes did not break. He lay beside me and took me in his arms. The contact of skin to skin was like nothing I had felt before. He kissed my face. We kissed each other on the lips, lingering, longing. I showered his face with kisses He returned mine with kisses on my shoulders. Then he gently kissed my bosom. At that, I expected the shame to return but I was not ashamed. Instead, I felt wonderfully naughty like the times we ate the forbidden biscuits in the dark. Then he kissed my face and lips again and I returned his kisses with mine.
We took our time and explored each other. We stroked and petted and nuzzled.
My sense of naughtiness swelled each time his hands and his lips went to my bosom. I made little noises to encourage him. I sensed that his hands wanted to explore further. The matrons had drilled us with shrill insistence that we were never to touch ouselves?down there.' The only exception was to wash and then to do it quickly with a cloth and never with our hands. Of course, they never explained why except that we would be polluting ourselves. I neither believed nor disbelieved their admonition but I had always followed it.
Now I began to become aware that I wanted Mister Billings to touch me there. Slowly and deliberately and with difficulty, I separated my lame limbs and placed them in a way that I hoped invited him. I was breathless with excitement and I feared at the same time that he might reject me.
What he did next surprised me. He stroked and kissed my limbs for a long minute. I still made little moans to encourage him. Then he put his mouth under my curls and slowly, gently, softly kissed me there. For an instant, I stood aside from myself and marvelled that I had no shame.
Then, his lips and his tongue began to make little circular motions and to find an exquisite seat of sensation. Pleasure washed over me like waves on the seashore. In a corner of my mind I cursed the matrons for keeping this secret from me. My sense of naughtiness swelled to wickedness and I revelled in it. Then the pleasure took complete control and built until the last wave broke and crashed and overwhelmed me.
Then he was kissing my face and lips again. I was apprehensive when he said he was going to enter me. He said that it might pinch or even hurt momentarily the very first time and he promised to be gentle. My fear dissolved and I whispered that I wanted him.
There was only a momentary discomfort and then I realised that I was wet inside and waiting for him. Very slowly he came into me the whole way. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I was astonished that my little body was so commodious as to accommodate him. I felt as if I had been mastered and overcome. At the same time I felt a sense of mastery myself as I watched his need for me playing in his eyes.
Then he began to move slowly in and out, still gentle. I encouraged him with kisses and caresses. Waves of pleasure begin to build in me again. It was different than before. The sensation was deeper, even in a way subdued. I still watched his face as my waves flowed and ebbed.
Then from his eyes I saw that a wave was building in him, too. He began to increase the pace and my waves built as well. Then as his wave broke he gave a cry and I felt his moisture inside me and my wave crashed, too, with a cry that matched his.
We clung to each other wordlessly for a long time as the heat of the day ebbed and the soft breeze through the windows cooled. Then we talked for long hours into the evening.
That day was a watershed in my life. Before it I was a shy and suffering lame girl. After it I was a woman. From that day I understood what the novels were hinting at and what was hidden from us at the orphanage.
For the next year we were together often. My transformation was dramatic. I began to look at people and even to start conversation. I paid more attention to my clothes and cut them a bit more stylishly. I designed little bits of color and my own lace into them. I paid even more attention to my undergarments but no one knew except for me and, of course, Mister Billings.
But the biggest change was in my own attitude. Everywhere I went, I felt like I was keeping a delicious and naughty secret. I felt I was always on the verge of telling although I never did. I'm not sure I knew completely what my secret was but I always felt its powerful presence.
At least part of the secret was my delicate and elegant underclothing. Young and modern readers must be reminded that in those days our dresses went all the way to the ground. Men lusted for forbidden glimpses when ladies alighted from carriages or lifted their skirts to cross mud puddles. Our revealing clothing today is a marked contrast to the styles of my youth. The long dresses were a blessing to me. They kept my crippled limbs from public display.
Undergarments in that day were different, too. Women would typically wear a shift that tucked into long drawers. Under the drawers were long hose. I followed that style as well. Then the typical lady would be laced into a tight corset that slimmed the midsection and emphasized other parts of her. I never even considered a corset! I had a small frame and, of course, I was twisted as well. (Some ladies of a certain age still wore bustles, but they were fast going out of style.) Then came petticoats, sometimes several of them, but I only ever wore one. High shoes were donned next. Finally, the whole collection was covered by a long dress.
On the outside, I still dressed rather drably compared to the general run of girls. But underneath, it was a completely different matter. My experience working for the fancy shops kept me informed about what the most daring ladies were wearing. I followed suit in my own underthings. I made my shifts and drawers only from silk. I made lace to trim them and adorned them with ribbons. I embroidered my petticoats and edged the hems in lace, too. I found that I could often use bits and scraps of material left from sewing for my clients.
But, of course all this was kept from the view of everyone but Mister Billings and me. On the street I was just the poor little lame girl. In Mister Billings' rooms it was a different story altogether. I would remove my dress and model each new garment. Mister Billings was always most attentive.
I learned that I could gauge his reaction by watching for the telltale stirring in his trousers. I never let him know that I was watching and I never even told him about it until he was in his last illness. His member was like my secret weatherglass. I could read him like a seaman can read the clouds.
After a long period of regular work I was able to afford two pairs of the most delicate silk hose. For a while I was unable to support them on my crippled limbs. Finally I hit upon a solution. I made a shift that was shorter than usual. At its hem I attached suspenders for the hose. The scheme worked superbly. The hose stayed on perfectly no matter how I moved. I was ready to show them to Mister Billings.
After eager anticipation, the next time we were together I removed my high shoes and showed my silk clad feet to Mister Billings. His weatherglass responded. Then I coyly lifted my dress and petticoat. a bit and also lifted my drawers to expose more limb. If his member had been an actual barometer I would have expected gale force winds to blow.
Then in a husky voice, he asked me to please remove my dress and petticoat so that he could see more. With his eyes constantly on me, I complied. Then I stood before him clad only in shift and hose and drawers, leaning on my crutch.
He came to me and knelt. He put his hands on my limbs and I could feel his sweet caress through the two layers of silk. After a time he lowered his hands to the lace trimmed hems of my drawers and put his fingers just inside. Now there was only one sheer layer of silk and his caresses were exquisite.
I felt my waves of ecstasy build as he kneeled before me in an attitude of worship. While he caressed me, I felt his breath through the silk and I longed for it to be closer. With my free hand, I untied the ribbon that held my drawers. They fell to the floor in a little silken heap.
The his hands and his breath ranged over the whole of my hose while I moaned and I shuddered. His lips found their way to the top of the silk and then beyond. Light little kisses showered the places with no silken barrier. I trembled and whimpered. My crutch clattered to the floor and I supported myself on his shoulders.
Then with delicious slowness, his tongue found its way under my mound of curls. It darted in and out, teasing, promising, withholding. Then it settled in that special place and flitted there like a little bird. I put a hand behind his head and and clutched him to me. The waves crashed and overwhelmed me. I screamed and doubled forward over him.
Without his support I would have slumped like a rag doll to the floor. I had no will left. My whole reality was the sensation of him and my desire for him and the relentless probing of his tongue. Another, larger, wave broke over me and I sobbed and grasped him even tighter.
Then I was incapable of movement or of coherent thought. I felt him move me and cradle me in his arms. He arose and carried me to his bed. Because of the state I was in I cannot form any exact memory of the rest of that night. I do vividly remember waking in his arms as the morning light crept in the window. I was still clad in shift and hose.
We went on like this for over a year. I was happy and contented. I would have let things go on the same way as long as it was going to last. Then one day, Mister Billings shyly told me he had accepted a new position at a boarding school in a country town some distance from the city. My heart sank. I realized that with him so far away, we couldn't possibly be together often.
He sensed my distress and without meeting my gaze, he said that he wanted me to come with him. I told him that was out of the question as it would jeopardize his position to have a kept woman. We would surely be discovered and he would be dismissed.
He hastened to say that I had misinterpreted his intent. He wanted me to be Mrs. Billings. He wanted me to be his wife. I was stunned beyond words. I had never dreamed it. It was impossible. We couldn't go about in public as man and wife. It was out of the question.
It took him a long time to convince me, but he gradually wore down my objections. Eventually I agreed and we were married before a magistrate with the magistrate's clerk and my doubting landlady as attendants.
In spite of my trepidations, our marriage was sweeter than I ever could have imagined. The people at Mister Billings' school were uncomfortable at first when he arrived with his crippled wife. But we soon settled in and they became accustomed to us. We took a small house nearby to the school and settled down to a comfortable life.
We bought a pony to pull a little wicker cart that gave me the freedom of the village and beyond. I let my clothes become quite smart and gradually built a clientele of ladies for whom I made dresses and accessories.
I know that people wondered what we did behind the closed doors of our bed chamber. I think that many of them believed we must certainly be chaste and celibate. I said nothing to disabuse them of this idea. I was happy to be a poor cripple in public.
But when we were alone, It was always as sweet and magical as it was in that first year. It was better in many ways as my body learned to respond and to fit with his. And I never once felt even a twinge of shame at any of the things we did together.
I continued with the old custom of publicly referring to him by his surname. He was always Mister Billings. I used his Christian name only to address him when were alone together. Even then I called him Mister Billings when I teased him by playfully accusing him of taking advantage of a poor lame girl. I often did that when I was showing him some new undergarment that I had sewed. It was invariably the prelude to passionate intimacy.
And so our lives went on. I have few regrets. Of course we did not have children. My body ruled that out. But there were generations of schoolboys that we entertained and helped with their studies. My life in the orphanage had made me quite sympathetic to the pains and problems of the boys in the boarding school.
Right up to Mister Billings' last illness we would lie together without clothes and discuss books. Some times I would sit by his bedside and do my sewing. As ill as he was he was still interested in any garment I made from silk. Those memories are as beautiful as the early ones.
I've told this story to cheer and encourage all the girls who are lame or badly formed or have missing limbs. My message is simple. Do not close yourselves away. Open your hearts to love and intimacy. Do not be ashamed of your bodies. Intimacy, emotional and physical, is possible for you and is your right. When it comes to you, welcome it with open arms.
A Lame Girl.
August 1937
终成眷属的结局:lol
t3m19870312 发表于 2020-7-23 06:48
我们之间的亲密关係，就这样持续了一年多，我对此感到十分高兴且心满意足。每次我总是採取同样的方式，用我 ...
我查了查，丝袜大约是1939年面世的，文章的落款处是1937年，会不会有什么问题啊？
normalren 发表于 2020-7-23 09:02
我查了查，丝袜大约是1939年面世的，文章的落款处是1937年，会不会有什么问题啊？ ...
您观察真入微
关于这点我就请女主比灵斯夫人来替您解惑吧：
「敬爱的海外读者朋友敬启：
首先感谢楼主先生(好像是您们这边的称呼)愿意付出时间将我这篇古老的手稿翻译成贵国的语言，让这篇几近一个世纪前的拙作能与位于海外的您有各位有幸能拜读，这是我的荣幸！
关于这位读者朋友您所提出的问题，事实上长筒袜(Long Hose)自中古世纪以来就有了，而在文章之中我那时穿的是丝(Silk)製的。这种丝质的长筒袜上头还会绣有各种精美的图桉，因此所费不赀，就连一般的中产阶级也不见得负担得起…而您所提到那在1939年问世的丝袜(stockings)，主要原料则是改爲尼龙(nylon)，这比起过去的丝质要来的更加有弹性、耐刮、透气等等。那时我即便已年老珠黄且孤身一人，仍还是买了双来试试，顿时觉得除了同样在我那双细瘦不堪的残腿上起了好些皱摺这点依旧之外，不论是触感、弹性、透气度等等都有显着的差异。
然后这两种在英文中完全是不同单字，据说传到了贵国后，通用翻译都是「丝袜」一词⋯
希望这能回答到您的问题
曾经的某位瘸女孩 敬上
2020年 7月
t3m19870312 发表于 2020-7-23 16:09
您观察真入微
关于这点我就请女主比灵斯夫人来替您解惑吧：
学习了 长知识:$
楼主，赶紧开新坑啊~~