took the garment up in my hands and examined it more closely. What could this thing be and what could it possibly be used for? Not by any stretch of the imagination could I determine what part of the body, or what earthly purpose, this beautiful little piece of pink satin could have been designed for. All that evening, whenever the oppurtunity presented itself, I went back into my sister's room to look and feel and marvel at it's silkiness, and wonder where and how it was to be worn. That night I went to sleep with visions of this pink brassiere still dancing around in my head. By the next afternoon it was no longer on the chair so my interest wanned but was never really forgotten.

We lived in a huge old house with a stairway leading to an unfinished third floor. On rainy days this was our playroom. The room was also criss crossed with clothes lines and, on cold winter days this is where the wash was hung to dry. One day, while going to this third floor, for some forgotten reason, I found a pink panty girdle, belonging to one of my sisters, hanging on the line to dry. Once again, as with the brassiere, I was drawn like a magnet to the spot and once again I examined this garment, as closely as I had done before. It was obvious how this item was meant to be worn but my fascination was no less great.

It just didn't occur to me at this time to try the garment on but I can remember spending quite a lot of time playing with it and looking at it. (To this day, probably due to these early contacts, my preference in underclothing is still pink panty girdles and pink brassieres. Though I must say, with today's trend to white lingerie these items are, indeed, hard to find.)

At about this same time my family, and myself attended a bankruptcy auction at a local clothing store. For 15c I bought a surprise package which, to my embarasment, and to the enjoyment of everyone around me, contained a Japanese silk kimono. I gave it to my sister, but rather reluctantly, as secretly I longed to keep it myself. These incidents started me to looking closer at the clothing my sisters were wearing. The dresses, the silk stockings, (no nylons in those days, just silk and rayon) a hint of lace around the bottom of a slip. It wasn't long before I was sneaking into their rooms to look into their closets and into their bureau drawers. I opened my eyes and they were no longer just girls but priviledged in- dividuals who were allowed to wear clothing that was so much nicer than anything I had to wear.

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