Today a charity comes to collect my 3 most prized ball gowns. A wealth of memories wrapped in fabric, golden chains of office held aloft on pale skin by black velvet, petrol satin or ruby red vintage lace. Tight framing bodices that always drew admiring comments, decolletage displayed in confident view; a butterfly emerging from the grey sober suit.
So much of my personal femininity lies within these dresses. The pomp and ceremony of formal dinners, the Mansion House, Inns of Court, stately homes.
Times more than any other, where I could openly display my sexuality, my body paraded to be viewed, flesh hidden neck to toe now open to your gaze. My back, framed in black velvet in a long ‘V’ the slightest hint of the outer curve of a breast held in check by steel rods beneath the fabric. The swirling red satin shining from under the gossamer black voile dotted with black pearls. In my very fibre I know I look amazing in this dress. I walk taller, I own, truly own, my space in this gown. I know that when I laugh and my breasts heave upwards with each intake of breath the voluptuous curves, the full ripe roundness drew eyes.
Breasts that accentuated the smaller waist the shapely hips the tighter arse.
Men, made brave by drink, who openly marvelled that ‘Lady Jane Grey’ my fond epithet amongst them, was so transformed. Teasing you with jokes of dominatrix outfits in closets, drawing out sexual lusts in polite conversation masked by joviality.
As I carefully pack them in tissue into their boxes I wonder now whether they took me seriously at all. Did my pride in the power of rounded flesh firm to the touch, consciously bent across the table as we talked, make them wonder how it would be to suck the nipples just out of view?
What will be my wares to display now? How will I hold your gaze make you wonder and itch to touch. No longer a buxom sensual wench but an androgynous burst of thick curls long legs and confidence. For even, I tell myself as I shut the boxes, tie the bows, hunt out the shawls, bags, accessories that go with each – leaving no trace I’ve decided of what was – the confidence will and must remain.
My breasts may have enhanced my shape, been what caught your eye inflamed desire or want, but then you met Me.
I still remain.