As far back as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with legs in nylons. I can’t even really remember how, or exactly when, such a fascination began. It’s just always been. I’ve tried on many occasions to recall the very first incident that caught my attention, and thus begun to make the nylon imprint upon me. In some ways the earliest of mental images are so hazy… so distant… that it’s almost as if the memories were dreams or something. Yet, in other ways, it’s as if the images are of crystal clarity and could almost have happened just last week… or even yesterday. The workings of our memory are a very peculiar thing.
So where did it begin, this life-long love affair? Though the exact times and dates of the events that will be shared for the most part have long since been lost to time… these are images that will no doubt remain with me the rest of my life. It would seem fitting, in the course of trying to piece together a collage of scenes and remembrances (perhaps a better analogy would be to piece together a puzzle), to begin with the earliest of these memories. This then, will be an expose that will attempt to fit together the bits and pieces of the nylonic puzzle that has been assembled in my life, progressing from the earliest onward.
It could be that some of you will find that you almost lived in a parallel universe. Change the names, places, and other such elements, and it could be that you’ve had the same experiences. If that’s so, and if my effort triggers pleasant memories gone-by within you, then that makes the effort worth it for me. Or, perhaps you were not raised in that era where any leg you saw that was wearing nylon was clad in stockings, and this gives you just a glimpse of what it was like… then that too, makes it worthwhile. Lastly, for you ladies: perhaps it will give you a tiny bit of insight as to why some of us men are so ridiculously silly about stockings. Why we will spend exorbitant amounts of money to place stockings on that special lady in our lives… and then fall under their spell so completely and easily. If it enlightens you as well, then it’s been worth it.
Lastly, consider this a work in progress, for through the kindness of my very special lady and wife, nylonic experiences are still being transformed into memories. And for that, I perpetually owe her a profound “thank you”, which I assure you, has been given to her by yours truly over and over.
The Nifty Fifties
I don’t recall how it came into my possession, or where it came from, but even before I’d started to school (which would place the date before 1957), I remember holding, and examining a single nylon stocking. I remember how wispy and delicate it was… I remember the dark honey coloured toe and heel area. I was old enough to know what it was… but not old enough to understand my odd fascination with it. I was old enough to know that this was part of a woman’s personal attire, but not old enough to understand the strange stirrings taking place within my childish self as I handled and touched it. I did not know the “whys”… but I knew there was an unusual feeling of pleasurable sensations that coursed through me as I continued to fondle and examine.
I also recall fragmented images that go as far back as Kindergarten, which would place the images in the year 1957. My teacher was of German descent, and I vaguely recall her being maybe 40ish. Her exact facial features I can’t recall, but in retrospect, the images I do recall indicate that she was not overly heavy for her age, but not exactly “trim”. But I definitely remember the stockings she wore. They were always a tan coloured stocking, that had a reinforced area that ran up the back of her heel a ways, and they were seamed. I now know these to be “Full Fashioned stockings”, but at the time, they were just “stockings”. She didn’t wear “spike heels”, but instead wore a more serviceable type of heeled shoe. I also remember print dresses.
One such K-grade image sounds quite improbable, and indeed sounds like a fictional contrivance… but once you understand the circumstances surrounding it, it becomes more understandable. You see, during that time, it was common for the K-grade classes to have “Nap Time”. We all had a little mat-like affair that stayed at the school room.
When “Nap Time” came, we would be instructed to get our mats, unfolding them and laying them on the floor, and then “nap”. I seldom napped… it’s hard for an excitable 5 year old to “sleep on demand” you know. Anyway, one Nap Time session, I distinctly recall laying near the teacher’s desk. Laying on my stomach there on my mat, I had innocently turned my head and it was facing her desk. As was typical for the day, her desk was made of heavy oak, and was almost fully enclosed on the sides and front, thus, the desk legs were only about 8″ long. But laying on the floor, I could clearly see the floor beneath the desk… including Mrs. Doughfitz’s feet.
On this day, in this image, I recall that she had slipped off her shoes as she sat at her desk reading. I distinctly remember the reinforced toe area, and undersole of her full fashioned nylon stockings. Unconscious of her movement, one of her feet would slowly move up her instep, lightly tracing along with her toes…. almost as if slowly attending to a slight itch. As she did, I could just barely hear the whisper quiet “swishing” of nylon on nylon. If she was not doing this action, then her ankles were crossed, and she would simply wriggle her toes slowly. As she would, the nylon would ripple and straighten, ripple and straighten. Laying there, watching this privately viewed, and certainly unintentional display, that odd sensation crept through me again. It was like that feeling I mentioned above when I was looking at that nylon curiosity, only perhaps it was stronger this time? I laid there in silent fascination, and watched her nyloned feet all through “Nap Time”. Of course, at my age at the time, I had no clue as to why I was finding this so attention riveting, nor did I know why it was oddly pleasurable to watch. But at that age, these things didn’t seem to matter… I simply watched. Odd though, I was cognisant enough of this show privately being espied by yours truly, that I was quite careful to remain incognito as I visually indulged.
Perhaps it was images like this that began forming and moulding my earliest association of things sensual? I honestly don’t know… but something had an influence. I even remember a dream I had once… could it have been influenced by some scene as above? (For it would have been in this same general time frame.)
Apparently, I had watched an old black and white movie on TV, and one portion of it had the hero and heroine lost in a jungle. Of course, as was common in those old movies, the heroine was in a skirt and blouse, complete with high heels. Well, that night in my sleep, I dreamed that I was seeing my K-grade teacher in that same scene, as she was also trying to find her way (I guess) through a jungle. But the thing that stands out most in my memory of this dream, is that she was wearing nylons (which, in keeping with her day to day choice, would have been full fashioned stockings… but I can’t recall that particular dream detail)… yet she was bare foot, having shed or lost her shoes? I recall in that dream that there was an abundance of runners in her tan stockings. And that’s all I recall upon my awaking. But so profound was the dream to me as a youngster, that to this day I still remember that images from it. Strange.
