MicheleNylons has written a huge number of stories, some
seem quite fine. Here is her 'catalog'.

https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=326288&page=submissions

and here is one, starts very slow

https://www.literotica.com/s/a-glimpse-of-nylon-stocking-ch-01

A GLIMPSE OF NYLON STOCKING CH. 01
STORY INFO
A glimpse of stocking on a train changes two lives forever.
13k words
4.6812.5k1913
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Chapter One --Strangers on a Train

Prelude:

'In olden days, a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something
shocking but now, God knows, anything goes,"..... song by Cole Porter
circa 1934

Bakerloo Line, London, October 1963

Donald Cooper

A glimpse of nylon stocking changed Donald Cooper's life forever.

He was sitting in a six-car motor carriage on his way to work. He was a
lawyer at a mid-size law firm on The Strand near Charing Cross. As usual
the carriage was packed with commuters and Donald was sitting on a bench
seat reading The Daily Telegraph when a pretty office girl boarded the
carriage and Donald surrendered his seat with a nod of his head and a
smile, which the girl returned.

Donald was happy to stand in the crowded carriage holding onto the
overhead grab handle with one hand whilst holding his folded broadsheet
with the other with his briefcase between his feet. Like the rest of the standing passengers he was facing the windows, holding up his folded
newspaper in front of his face whilst pretending to read it.

What he was really looking at were the legs of the pretty office girl
who was dressed in the livery of most office girls at the time,
consisting of a tailored wool suit over a silk a blouse, tan stockings
and stiletto heels. The girl had put her purse in her lap and modestly
crossed her ankles when she sat down and had taken out her Woman's
Weekly in which she became immediately engrossed.

The more she concentrated on her magazine, the less she considered her
modesty and after a while she fidgeted with her purse which allowed her
skirt to rise up and she unconsciously opened her legs just a little.
There was nothing pornographic on display but Donald could see the
shadow welt of her stockings which was more than enough to titillate him.

Being a hosiery aficionado, Donald knew that fully fashioned stockings
are knitted from sheer nylon yarn and to support the attachment of
suspenders, they have a darker section of double fabric at the top,
called the welt. This is followed by a lighter transitional section
called the shadow welt. Seeing the actual welt and a garter clip was
hoping for too much and Donald was more than happy with the leg show
that the pretty office girl was unintentionally portraying.

Donald's gaze meandered from the girl's plump thighs to her shapely
calves and finally came to rest on her ankles where her sheer tan nylons
formed tiny wrinkles. The overhead lighting in the carriage was quite
harsh and the sheen of the woman's stockings shimmered as the carriage
rocked and rolled its way along the tube.

The lights suddenly flickered on and off as they were want to do
whenever the train ran over a gap in the current-rail and Donald's gaze
was briefly interrupted. He was about to resume his contemplation of the
office girl's legs but he found himself a little disoriented and
distracted and found himself instead looking at the ankles of the man
sitting beside her.

Was he seeing things or were the man's ankles sheathed in nylon
stockings? He knew that men often wore sheer socks with their business
suits, especially in the summer, but it wasn't summer and the hosiery
appeared quite distinctively to be nylon stockings.

Although he could only see the man's ankles and the bottom of his calves
the hosiery looked exactly like expensive fully-fashioned stockings.

Then he saw that the man was wearing ankle socks that had fallen down
almost into the upper of the man's brogues. Donald was fascinated. Why
would a man wear stockings, especially on a crowded train? The man was
wearing navy-blue suit trousers and near the top of the man's thigh
Donald was sure that he could see the silhouette of a garter snap
delineated in the trouser material.

It was almost is if the man suddenly realised that he had been
unconsciously showing off his stockings and he quickly bent down and
pulled his patterned nylon dress socks up his calves and pulled down the
cuffs of his trousers. The man's face was crimson with embarrassment and
he wildly looked around the train to see if anyone had noticed and
Donald was able to avert his eyes just as the man's gaze fell on him.
Convinced that he had not been clocked the man settled back into his
seat and carried on reading his newspaper.

Donald was bamboozled and also fascinated. Why would a man in a suit be
wearing stockings underneath his trousers?

Donald couldn't let it go. He had to find out!

The train pulled into Charing Cross which was Donald's stop but Donald
didn't get off until two stations later at Oxford Circus where the man
in the navy blue suit stood up and picked up a rather large valise and
pressed through the crowd towards the door and Donald found himself
following the man across the gap and onto the platform.

The man joined the throng of commuters heading for the stairs and Donald
fell in directly behind and two steps below him. As the man ascended the concrete stairs his dress socks once again fell down revealing the man's
ankles and lower calves and at eyelevel there was no doubt that the man
was wearing tan nylon stockings. The Cuban heel and backseam were
clearly visible.

Donald followed the man to a bookshop where the man unlocked the doors
and scurried inside. Donald watched through the shop window as the man
lifted the swinging flap in the counter and put his oversize valise and newspaper under the counter and began to fiddle with the till. The man
faffed around a little: putting on the kettle, fiddling with an
arrangement of books on a display table and switched on the fluorescent
lights above the aisles of shelved books.

Donald took three steps back and looked up at the gilt sign above the
door. Clifford's Books and Sundries it read. Julian Clifford Proprietor
it said in smaller writing below the main sign.

The man who Donald presumed was Julian Clifford approached the door and
Donald pretended to be peering at the window display. The man switched
the sign hanging in the glass door from Closed to Open and Donald was
finally able to get a good look at him.

Donald pretended to read the hand-printed advertisements in the window
as a ruse to watch Julian. One read Passport Photographs Here -- One
Shilling Each, another read Xerox Copies -- Sixpence Each

The man he assumed to be Julian Clifford was small and slender, standing
five foot two inches tall. His hair was amber blonde and worn rather
thick and long for a man his age. He was neat and fastidious and seemed
to glide across the floor rather than walk. Donald watched the man make
himself a cup of tea behind the counter and was brought out of his
reverie when a customer entered the shop.

"Jesus!" Donald exclaimed as he shot his cuff and checked his watch.

He must get going otherwise he would be late for work.

Julie Clifford

"What the fuck was I thinking? Goodness gracious!" Julian Clifford wrung
his hands in embarrassment and frustration.

"I'm sure that man saw my stockings! What on earth was it that made me
do that?" Julian sipped tea and tried to settle his nerves.

Julian knew exactly what made him do that. Clifford's Books and Sundries
was barely surviving. It was as if all of Julian's beautiful books were
hanging precipitously near the edge of a cliff. They would be taken away
from him and sold for pennies on the pound when the inevitable happened
and Julian declared bankruptcy and his creditors picked over the bones
of his business.

The bookshop was barely breaking even and Julian had a mortgage on a two-up-two-down in Lambeth and was struggling to keep up with mortgage
payments but now his long-time lodger, Peter Forest, had gone and got
himself engaged and was moving out. Julian had tried subletting Peter's
room but no one was interested. More lost income!

Julian had just about resigned himself to bankruptcy when hope came his
way through the most extraordinary chain of events.

Julian was, and for most of his life had been, a crossdresser, or a transvestite, he didn't really care about the vernacular.

Sharing his house with a lodger did have its limitations and one of them
was that Julian could not present himself as Julie, his feminine
alter-ego, in his own home. Julie was actually the dominant personality
and consciousness inside the body she shared with Julian.

Julie regarded Julian as another person entirely but someone who was inextricably linked to her. Julian's transformation into Julie was fully immersive and always had been. She never saw herself as her male alter
ego, even though Julian occupied her body for long periods of time.
Julian was a necessity and if she had her way she would live her life
full-time as Julie but it was just impossible to do so.

Julian had to keep Julie a secret from his family and from Peter Forest
of course, which meant that in Julian Clifford's bedroom closet was only
a meagre supply of lingerie and stockings that Julian slipped into alone
in his room at night with the door securely locked. It was all he could
do to conjure up Julie who slept in sheer tights and blue rayon babydoll pyjamas, clinging to the vestiges of her femininity.

But in Julian's small office at the rear of the bookshop was a huge
French walnut armoire that had been left to him by his late aunt and
inside it was everything that Julian needed to become Julie which he did
three nights a week. Over the years Julie had perfected her look and was
almost unclockable, especially at night. That said, a girl like her was vulnerable and she sought the company of her own kind where they flocked
at a pub called the The Elephant and Castle, or as the regulars called
it: The Trunk and Brick.

Julie enjoyed the evening tube ride from her shop in Oxford Circus to
and from the Trunk and Brick, which was ironically located only a few
minutes' walk from her house in Lambeth. She was often ogled by men but
seldom clocked as a transvestite and had been propositioned a number of
times but had never been harassed. Julie felt safe.

The Elephant and Castle was a good old British pub where you could enjoy
a good old knees-up and a good old sing-along following the bouncing
ball above the words to the songs which were projected onto the white
plastered wall, the music provided by two elderly but handsome and
elegant grey-haired, obviously gay men, who thumped out the tunes on back-to-back upright pianos.

There was good old British pub grub, good old British beer and of course
good old British transvestites and their admirers.

The Trunk and Brick was a well-known haunt for gays, drag queens,
crossdressers and those attracted to them. On Friday and Saturday nights
there was a drag show to which the pianists, Riccardo and Hernando,
provided the accompaniment.

Riccardo and Hernando were actually Eric and Herbert Sugden, two antique dealers from Watford but why spoil the mystique? Most of the customers
at the Trunk and Brick were there for the fantasy so why not Eric and
Herbert?

Julie went to the Trunk and Brick for the company of her own kind, to
have a few drinks, a few laughs and of course to be admired. Although
she often fantasised about going home with one of the punters, she had
yet to do so. Julie's main concern was being caught in flagrante delicto
by one of her colleagues, friends or family. The shame of being caught
would ruin her business and she would be shunned.

Riding the tube and spending a night at the Elephant and Castle three
times a week was as daring as Julie was prepared to go, given her
current situation, although she longed to live full-time as a woman.
Then one evening at the Elephant and Castle something happened.
Something life changing.

That fateful September evening Julian had taken a long luxurious bath
during which he had shaved his legs and the very few hairs that sprouted
on his chest. As a teenager in school he had been teased by the other
students in the boys change room when he undressed to change into his PT
strip. They already bullied him for being small and slender but as the
other boys were going through adolescence they began to sprout hair all
over their bodies whilst Julian remained smooth-skinned.

As Julian ran the razor down his long legs he now considered it a
blessing having a virtual hairless body and legs that only required
shaving once a fortnight.

He changed into casual clothing and said good night to Peter Forest who
was settling in for the evening, waiting for his fiancé to arrive having purchased a takeaway chicken tikka masala and two bottles of Babycham.
Peter thought that Julian was off to one of his boring book clubs which
he attended three nights a week.

When Julian arrived at his bookshop he let himself in and locked the
door securely behind himself. He went straight to the office at the back
of the store, closed the door and turned on the light and opened the
armoire.

He surveyed its contents and his heart sang. He removed the large makeup
case from its shelf and carefully laid out the cosmetics just as he
liked to; each in order that he would use them. He stripped naked and
dressed in a satin dressing gown. He would dearly love to slip into
stockings and knickers but he denied himself the pleasure. Dressing
would wait until he had done his face.

With deft skill he applied foundation, powder, eyeliner, eyeshadow,
mascara, rouge and lipstick in that order and finished by sprayed
himself liberally with perfume. He had four wigs propped on wigstands on
one of the shelves: black, blonde, brunette and redhead. He wore his own honey-blonde hair long, which was becoming the fashion and when he
brushed it just right and set it with hairspray it went from being a
Beatle mop-top to a feminine layered bob. But tonight he needed
something more striking.

Julian selected the blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and carefully brushed and
styled the wig and put on a wig cap (a cut down old nylon stocking),
then set the wig on his crown and pinned it.

Having selected what he wanted wear Julian got to work dressing. He
stepped into a black and red satin and lace suspender belt and sat down
on a hard backed wooden chair and began by pulling the nylon stockings
up his freshly shaved legs which was always a thrill and tonight was no different. His legs tingled with delight as he smoothed out the
wrinkles, snapped the garter clips to the welts and straightened the
seams. Pulling the tight red full-cut satin knickers up his legs was a
delight unto itself and Julian found himself becoming aroused. He waited
for his erection to subside and pushed his testes up into his inguinal
canals and tucked his scrotum and penis along his perineum and continued
to dress.

He put on the matching bra and filled the cups with balled up nylons to
give them some form; stepped into a black satin full-slip, put on a
simple navy blue skirt and a red satin blouse, stepped into black
high-heeled pumps and accessorised; but not overly. He put the jacket
which matched the skirt over the back of the chair.

Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the door of
the armoire and was pleased with what he saw. Julie had emerged from her
cocoon and she looked beautiful, feminine and sexy. She felt herself
becoming partly tumescent and she concentrated until the
uncomfortableness dissipated. When she presented as Julie she would
often find herself becoming concupiscent at inconvenient times and she
had developed a mind-control technique to control her urges.

Julie threw keys, cigarettes and cash into a smart leather handbag
gilded with faux gold trappings and a shoulder strap. She carried no
form of identification. If the worse were to happen she did not want to
be identified at Julian Clifford. She put on her jacket and an overcoat,
slung her handbag over her shoulder and click-clacked along the street
to the tube entrance and twenty minutes later was safely ensconced in
the Elephant and Castle.

The pub was crowded, raucous and smoke-filled as usual as Julie made her
way to the small table where her friends huddled. Julie had a great
night, chatting with her transvestite acquaintances, trying
unsuccessfully not to think about her woes. She didn't consider the
trannies friends exactly, because like Julie, they kept their male
persona a secret. In the safety of the Elephant and Castle they could be
the women they wanted to be but in the real world they would be
disgraced if their secret was revealed.

Of course the admirers flocked to the tables where the transvestites
clustered and some of the more brazen girls went with them to the pay-by-the-hour sleazy hotels frequented by the brasses who worked the
streets of Lambeth and Soho. On this particular night Julie was
approached by a very handsome young man who kept buying her drinks and
gave her his undivided attention.

The ever-present realisation that she might lose her beloved bookshop
and her house caused her to seek solace in alcohol and the attentions of
the handsome young man. She drank far more than she was used to and the
man offered to walk her to the tube station as she was a little unsteady
on her feet.

The man pulled Julie into a dark alley and began to kiss her. Julie had
never been kissed like this before. The man's lips were tender but
pressing, his tongue slipped into her mouth and she found it quite
exciting. His hand was inside her coat and around her waist, holding her
tight, pulling her close to him. He smelled of Vickers gin, Woodbine
cigarettes and aftershave.

Julie smelled of Vickers gin, Consulate menthol cigarettes and perfume.
The man nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear and Julie shivered with
delight wherever he touched her. She had never felt more womanly and
wondered why she had never done this before.

He kissed her again and the man used his tongue in ways that Julie had
never experienced but realised that she could come to like. When his
other hand slipped inside her coat and journeyed from her waist down to
her thigh she made no attempt to stop it and the man thought he had
tacit consent to put his hand under her skirt so he did.

Julie baulked and put her hand on his to stop him. They continued to
kiss and although the man's hand did not stray he massaged her thigh
with his fingers. She could feel the heat of his hand on her
stocking-clad leg which combined with the softness of his lips on hers
and the insistence of his tongue in her mouth caused her to become aroused.

Julie had been manhandled and groped in the Elephant and Castle on more
than a few occasions. Men had even placed unsolicited sloppy kisses on
her mouth. It came with the territory and she had always managed to
swipe away the roving hand, slap an insolent face or even kick the shins
of men pressing unwanted advances on her but this different. The alcohol
and her depressed state of mind had made her more vulnerable. She was
seeking solace in this handsome young man's advances.

She surrendered and removed her hand from the man's and it continued its journey up her thigh. When the man's fingers caressed the welts of her stockings, then the band of pale flesh above them she gasped into his
mouth and clung to him even tighter. Then he stroked the front of her
satin knickers and she nearly collapsed in his arms with the intensity
of the lust surging though her body. The man pushed her against the wall
and pressed his advances.

She closed off that part of her mind that told her what she doing was
foolish and dangerous. She just wanted to forget her woes and take some
comfort where she could.

The man took her hand in his and put it inside his coat and rested it in
his groin. Inside his trousers Julie felt the man's penis uncoil like a
snake awakened from a deep sleep. She had been in this situation only
once before and she had grabbed the man's scrotum and squeezed it until
he screamed; but not this time.

-----end of page 1, of 4---------------
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1234

A GLIMPSE OF NYLON STOCKING CH. 01
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Her fingers instinctively curled around the girth of the man's penis
through his trousers. His cock felt spongy and serpentine; she could
feel it thicken and begin to throb dully. Impulsively she squeezed it
and the man gasped. He rubbed his hands on her knickers and
stocking-tops harder and faster, alternatively squeezing her
knicker-clad buttocks under her skirt.

Julie was uncomfortably erect inside her knickers. Her testes had
descended and her cock lay bloated along her perineum. The man's hand
ventured between her legs and inadvertently freed her penis which
distended the front of her knickers and she felt the man smile around
his kisses.

"You randy bitch!" he whispered but Julie pulled his mouth to hers to
shut him up.

She kissed him harder, driving her tongue into his mouth. She didn't
want him to speak and ruin the moment or spoil her fantasy.

She gripped his cock and began to stroke it through his trousers but the
man slapped her hand away and impatiently unbuttoned his flies. He took
Julie's hand and guided it back to his phallus which was now fully erect
and poking out of his trousers.

Her instinct was to snatch her hand away but the man put it back even
though Julie had begun to struggle. He tried to push her hand onto his
cock but she refused to grasp it, her fingers and palm kept brushing
against it but she wouldn't take him in hand. Touching his bare flesh
was going too far.

That was until the man changed tactics and began to slowly stroke Julie
through her satin knickers and waves of pleasure, like butterfly wings caressing her most sensitive places, began to radiate from her groin.

Julie capitulated and allowed the man to press her hand to his bare
cock. It felt like an iron bar cloaked in velvet. She could feel the
veins enveloping the shaft like vines clinging to a tree trunk. They
pulsed and palpitated as the man's blood surged through them and his
penis became fully tumescent. With a manicured fingernail she traced a
vein from the base of his penis to the spongy glans on the tip and
smiled to herself as she expressed a globule of pre-ejaculate.

She worked the precum into his velvety flesh and the man groaned and his
cock quivered. Another dribble of slick pre-ejaculate oozed from his
glans and Julie collected it and lubricated the man's shaft as she
slowly stroked the hard pulsing appendage. The man squeezed Julie
through her slinky knickers and she felt herself begin to leak precum
too. If the man had not been holding her tight her knees would likely
have given way because she felt so weak and overcome with lechery.

Julie knew what she was doing was wrong. She was no better than the
trannies who went with punters to the cheap hotel rooms in Soho and got themselves buggered or the tarts who got down on their knees amongst the
empty beer barrels out back of the Trunk and Brick and fellated strangers.

But she rationalised her thoughts. She wasn't bent over being buggered
by a stranger or sucking on some admirer's dick, she was seeking solace
with a handsome young man and they were simply enjoying some foreplay.
Julie knew that she was lying to herself. She had been prim and proper
all these years, convincing herself that crossdressing had nothing to do
with sex. She had discharged that axiom as soon as she let this handsome stranger take her into the ally.

The man began to stroke Julie's hard cock through her knickers and all thoughts, other than how wonderful it felt, disappeared and she kissed
the man harder and stroked his cock a little faster, listening to his
breathing become laboured as his passion built.

Suddenly the man whipped his hands under Julie's thighs and lifted her
off her feet and slammed her back into the brick wall. Julie had no
choice but to wrap her legs around the man's waist and put her arms
around his shoulders. He didn't even break their kiss and she didn't
want him to. He moved his hands under her buttocks and squeezed as his
cock came to rest on the front of her knickers pressing the satin fabric
onto her phallus.

"You can't fuck me," Julie whispered in the dark and she felt the man smile.

"I'm not going to," The man whispered his reply and began to kiss her again.

He thrust his cock against her, the flimsy knicker fabric the only thing between their flesh.

Julie moaned as she felt the man's throbbing appendage pressing on her
own. Then he began to hump her, driving his cock into her knickers,
rubbing his manhood on her tingling flesh. The pleasure intensified and
within seconds her knickers were wet as they both leaked pre-ejaculate.

The man thrust harder and drove Julie into the wall so hard that her
back hurt, his tongue fluttering in her mouth, his lips pressed hard
against hers, his fingers digging into her buttocks as he ejaculated.

"Oh dear! Oh my! Goodness gracious!" Julie was caught by surprise when
she felt the man's penis judder and suddenly her cock was enveloped in
warm, viscous, slippery coagulant which she soon realised was the man's
semen.

The musky scent of spunk assailed her nostrils, adding to the
all-encompassing sensations she was feeling and she released into her
knickers, her semen comingling with the strangers.

She drummed her heels on the man's back and raked her fingernails along
his neck as she writhed with pleasure; an orgasm like she had never
imagined washed over her like waves breaking on the rocks. Her kisses
were fervid as rings of pleasure radiated from her groin, feeling the
man's hard flesh pressing on hers as he continued to spurt his issue
into her saturated knickers.

The two lovers clung to each other until they were both spent and then
the man abruptly dropped his hands away from under Julie's bottom and
she fell to the ground, her heels giving way on the cobbles. The man
caught her before she suffered the indignity of sitting on her arse on
the cold damp cobbled pathway. He hoisted her to her feet then pushed
his still bloated phallus inside his trousers and buttoned his flies.

"That were a treat love," the man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out
two one pound notes and pressed it into her hand before he hastily fled.

"No! I'm not..." Julie called after the man but she stopped suddenly
when she realised that it was late and she was shouting.

Now she had to deal with the reality of the situation. Her knickers were
soaked with two loads of semen and she was stranded in an alley around
the corner from the tube station. She felt guilty, humiliated and used
but she had no time to be maudlin. She dropped her knickers, trying
valiantly to keep them away from her skirt and her stockings. She balled
them up and wrapped them in tissues and put them in her purse along with
the two pounds that the man had thrust into her hand.

She stepped closer to the road so she had some light and was relieved to
see that her skirt had only one silvery sliver of drying ejaculate near
the hem which she rubbed with the pad of her finger. She couldn't resist putting the finger in her mouth and savouring the sweet muskiness of the
man's sperm.

"You harlot!" she whispered to herself.

She had laddered a stocking and her face was a mess but otherwise she
showed no outward sign of the indelicate situation she was in. Her penis
and scrotum hung between her legs and she realised that she had no
choice but to put her knickers back on. She dried them as best she could
with tissues and then stepped into the warm, damp, silky delicates.

She made no attempt to tuck; she just pulled her knickers tight so they
held everything in place. The damp fabric was uncomfortable and the
semen was cooling, making her squidgy knickers feel even more vulgar.

After fixing her makeup she hurried to the station and caught the tube
to Oxford Circus, convinced that the few passengers sitting in her
carriage were staring at her when of course they were not. Not that she
didn't get a favourable glance or two from the man sitting across from
her, but he could tell from her body language that she was unapproachable.

Julie let herself into the bookshop and went into her office where she immediately took off her knickers and tossed them in the bin. She had
sobered up a little during the sexual encounter in the alley but the
alcohol was taking affect again and she was dog tired. She pulled out
the little fold-down trundle bed, took off her coat and kicked off her
heels and fell on it and was asleep within seconds.

Donald Cooper

Donald Cooper found it difficult to settle down at work. He sat in his
office putting the final touches to a brief. It was a motion to dismiss
and he was comparing the trail transcript to the eloquent prose in the
brief that he would present to the judge in two days' time.

Donald was usually distracted by the pretty office girls as they flitted
around the practice in clouds of perfume with their skirts flicking and
heels clacking. But today he was distracted by the image of a shapely
ankle and calf clad in sheer fully-fashioned stockings that peeked from
the cuff of a man's business suit: the shapely calf of Julian Clifford.

Why was he so obsessed with it? Donald had no leanings towards men. It
was incongruous that a man would wear nylon stockings under his suit but
he'd definitely seen the outline of a garter snap on Julian's thigh. Was
Julian wearing knickers too? Donald shook his head to try to clear the
image and to take his mind off his obsession he looked at a
short-skirted secretary bending over a desk.

At lunchtime he went to a lingerie shop and purchased two pairs of very expensive Italian, fifteen denier, fully-fashioned nylon stockings and a
black satin garter belt with red lace trim. Donald knew how to rid
himself of thoughts of Julian Clifford's stockinged ankle. Deirdre would
have to perform her wifely duties, whether she wanted to or not!

Deirdre Cooper was a good looking woman if a little stout from the good
life that she lived. She came from money but her father had squandered
his inheritance and Deirdre relied on Donald's income as a barrister to
keep her in the manner she believed she was entitled and had become
accustomed.

Donald worked long hours, including most weekends and although Deirdre appreciated his income she had started taking him for granted and spent
most of her time with her friends: other middle-class housewives who
treated chronic boredom with gin and tonics, long lunches, tennis twice
a week and shared fantasies of handsome 'Bondesque' men who seduced them despite their protests.

Change came radically for Deirdre when her tennis coach began to pay her
more attention than he should. Ten years her junior, tanned, fit and
handsome he was everything her fantasies envisioned and everything her
husband was not. What started out with the young coach holding her a
little tighter than was necessary and touching her intimately whilst

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