Then, I began to add additional items of her dress.It started with me trying on a pair of black tights ['pantyhose' to you, our American Cousins!] ove...r a pair of lacy, diaphanous white panties. But, somehow, I didn't find this very satisfactory. Looking back, I know it was the tights. Quite early on I came to regard this item of female apparel as singularly uninteresting, unappealing and 'unsexy'! I found I had far more fun putting on first a pair of white ankle socks, with my school knickers. I'm not ashamed. It's a part of my body. It will be there until the day I die (hopefully). And it's never going to change (for the better). So it's "small", who gives a rats ass? If any of the women I've slept with have cared, then fuck 'em, as the k**s are saying these days "doesn't matter, had sex". If they didn't care, which most women who get themselves in a situation where a penis is about to enter them, don't since they've already gotten to that point, then it does not matter, the hard. I remembered getting lectures on Paul Revere, and Washington, and Franklin, so I knew what she meant.“I tend to agree,” I said lightly. “The history we learned in school was carefully sanitized. They talked a lot about the Civil War, but they never discuss Normandy, or anything from World War Two. I think a lot of that might have to do with photography, though.”“Photography?” Glen asked skeptically.This was the first time we’d talked about history, or much of anything.“A lot of the war was. Shecontinues to attend to my feet as I finish the last of my wine leisurely.When I am finished with my wine, I direct her to put my shoes back on,and she does so reluctantly. I know that she has not yet had her fill ofpampering my feet, but she will have to earn the privilege. I have herclear away the dishes, and bring me coffee and dessert. She quickly jumpsto do my bidding, and this pleases me. Once she has delivered my coffeeand dessert, I direct her to scrape the leftovers from my plate.