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From then on I could not take my eyes off her as she daintily high heeled around the kitchen preparing my breakfast and what little she ate. I know now, from experience, that tight corsets are not conducive to a large appetite.

When breakfast was on the table I watched her come in from the kitchen relishing every step on her very high heels. Then she would care fully and stiffly seat herself, as though she doubted she could bend into a sitting position. Once seated she would feel her hard, tight-laced waist and run her hands up over her exaggerated bosom and lean slightly for- ward and back, as though to see if she could. Then, satisfied that she was properly put together, and held rigidly erect, she would sigh contentedly and smile at me, as though to say, 'Now I feel well supported and secure.”

I soon knew exactly how she felt. Many times since the day she com- plained I hadn't laced her tight enough, when she was out. I had put on her high-heeled shoes that laced to the knees and laced myself up in her corsets, often wishing I had someone to lace me up. I put extra padding in one of her brassieres and laced it in place, put on a corset cover, finding it added considerable more pleasing constriction, and would, of course, "protect and lengthen the life of the corsets." Then, wearing a dress I found I could fasten alone, I had enjoyed learning to walk as a woman in her high-heeled shoes. I would walk to the kitchen and then to her breakfast chair, imitating her every motion, as I carefully seated myself.

No wonder she always smiled so contentedly! I found that wearing her clothes, though it took me some time to get used to their constric- tion, gave me a superb sensation. And I vowed I would wear women's clothes every moment I could for the rest of my life. And I have.

I do not want to give the impression that I blame my mother for my FP habits. It was I who offered to help her dress after seeing my father help her. I was eager for the job because as far back as I can remember I was always fascinated with women and anything feminine. As a child I sincerely wished I had been born a girl and could dress like them and play with them. Neither do I want to give the impression that I am a fetishist or a masochist. It was simply that I derived extreme pleasure from experiencing everything that a fashionably dressed woman exper- ienced. Since the time that I first laced myself in corsets I have seen the styles change back and forth considerably. The modern woman has been "liberated from the dreaded corset," but I know many women who wore them to their dying day. I heard one woman who is in her eighties com-

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