NOTE: This conversation runs backwards! For the benefit of regular readers the newest comments are put at the top.
Did you think I was fiddling with my cigarette holder? Well, yes, I suppose I was fiddling really, though I had hoped to look a little more sophisticated than that, but I know I could not deceive a brunette of the world like you. I shall not even try. Would you be so very kind as to light my cigarette?
And I can only be as I am for a little while, you say. How you frighten me! dark shadows seem to close in even as you speak; yet I cannot feel really afraid with you mounting so very elegantly the Art Deco bar stool next to me (so elegantly that I cannot be certain that you are wearing a cream silk slip with several ruffles of lace, even though the conveyance of such information, whether willingly or unwillingly, is - I am sure - the cunningly-wrought purpose of these ingenious stools). You give one a feeling of comfort and security, as if all the world was safe and kind and I feel almost more at home here than - well, at home.
My, how I do run on. I feel as if I had taken several cocktails already,
though in truth I have not. Tell me you are really there, Miss Barbara,
and not just a dream.
You cannot bite it, dear Susan, you must drink it. The Fountain of Youth owes its name to a Trentish song entitled "The Babes in the Wood", which tells the storie of two destitute blonde orphans in the wood, who were rescued and given all sorts of delightful things such as:
Too many cars, too many clothes,
Too many parties and too many beaux.
[Textual critics surmise that beau is a synonym for a brunette] until in the end:
The whole town agreed
That the last word in speed
Was the two little babes in the wood.
Well, on their way to this fate-better-than-death, the babes make an historic discovery which is crystallised for posterity in the immortal lines:
And they found that the Fountain of Youth
Was a mixture of gin and vermouth.
And so it is. The blonde versh involves equal parts of gin, vermouth and sugar syrup, 'cause blondes like them sweet. Incidentally, the text, you will note, seems to imply a rather odd pronunciation of the word vermouth. I don't know how you pettes pronounce it, but here in Yvyanne it is generally pronounced VARm'th (with the accent on the first silly).
I am in such a state over all of this. May I please have a gimlet, Dear
Bar Maid, in her honor?
My apologies for being absent from the Aphrodite Cocktail Bar these last several days; you may have heard that I was suddenly taken ill while visiting the Inner Sanctum.
The doctors here at St. Yvyanne's have counseled me not to speak of
my unfortunate visit with anyone except the staff here. Apparently Dr.
Edythe has already contacted the Cocktail Bar Management about the incident.
She was somewhat concerned that blondes like me are ever allowed even near
the Inner Sanctum. Naturally, I accept full responsibility
The clinic seems to be a branch of the Aristasian Embassy: the entire St. Yvyanne staff are polished brunettes, doctors and sisters alike. The doctors all favor high Quirinelle fashion; the sisters wear their time-honored Nightingale uniforms of long gingham skirts under starched white aprons with quaint-looking starched wings at the shoulders. All this is set off by a tiny, frilly white cap with a thin red velvet border pinned to the hair, very much like an inverted cup-cake. Bright lipstick and understated make-up are the norm, but, of course, the sisters don't wear gloves while on duty and nail lacquer is not allowed.
Naturally, many of you pettes would like at least one, shall we say
fashion infra-detail. Well, I can tell you that the sisters all must wear
black nylons, and when one leant over whist making up the bed, I
caught an ever-so-fleeting, deliciously contrasting flash of lovely white
thigh. As the only blonde patient here at the moment, I am getting lavished
with attention, needless to say
Thanks so much for all the lovely pink roses. One of the sisters is an expert at arranging flowers, so my art deco room is just aglow with blooms! I wonder if all this is on the National Health.
I'll rejoin you as soon as ever I can! Warmest regards,
I'll just slip up here on this stool and cross my legs, oh so slow. I noticed that some girls prefer not to let their stocking tops show when making difficult moves. And I agree. But the appearance of silk speaks volumes - without showing the tops.
Being blonde, I have always found that black stockings have the most
desireable effect. What do you think?
KIMBERLY P/S. the girls at Femmeworld told me about this site and suggested that I ask you for access to the Inner Sanctum. They said some very tasteful erotic pictures could be found in the Inner Sanctum. I would love to give it a try. Please send me the secret to get in!
As a new purveyor of femininity and as one who is learning to appreciate the charms of a time past, I wish to say hello and to let all know I'm open and excited to know more of femme world.
Help me to discover and explore the enchantment of what the true femme can impart. The bar looks very inviting.
May I buy the next round?
By all means, darling. Mine's a Fountain of Youth.
Pictures are not posted here in the Cocktail Bar (and if you notice
the effect they have on some of our blonde visitors
Miss Ariadne is now resting comfortably under light sedation at our facility outside London and will remain here for several days. We believe that she will have a full and rapid recovery. Nonetheless, might I most discreetly suggest that the management at the Aphrodite Cocktail Bar take special care in future that delicate blondes are not provided with passwords to the Inner Sanctum? It is well-known that certain blondes have an unusually low tolerance not only for gimlets, but for even mildly erotic materials, however femininely modest they may be.
Flowers may be sent by Miss Ariadne's friends; she evidently is partial
to pink roses.
DR EDYTHE SILVERTHORNE
ST. YVYANNE'S NEURAESTHENIA CLINIC
NETHER MYNTON, KENT
May I move to the art-deco stool next to yours, Dear Heart, so that we can continue this conversation in softer, sweeter voices?
Ever Devoted to Your Eternal Charms,
P.S. I do not think I could ever visit the Inner Sanctum again, and especially not with someone as fair as yourself. I would advise you against going, with or without a strong brunette to guide you. Yours is far too sensitive and delicate a constitution to be sullied by such naughtiness. I would hate to see anything spoil the sweet innocence that shines out from your eyes.
Darling, you mean that one cannot play with femininity in the late 20th
century, and of course you may be right. But it is not the late
20th century here in the Cocktail Bar. It is
ID Code: 001 Item offered for swop:
Lovely silky-feel thin waist slip with long lace-edged split and 1" lace hem. Material: 100% Nylon Date: 1993 Size: UK 12/14 Length: 26" Colour: Black
Wanted: Any full length, thin silky nylon slip, UK size 16/18 preferably with a split/s, any colour, any length. OR any basque/girdle with suspenders (size UK 18)
I hope that this may interest Sue Estelle, Paula, Ariadne and the other collectors of lingerie. I also wonder if the Aphrodite owners would be willing to put a swopshop page onto their service, and to act as a clearing house, if there is sufficient interest. I appreciate that this would involve more work.
Before I finish, Sue Estelle, you started to tell us about your trip
to Spain about 2 months ago, are you going to give us part 2? Does anyone
know if the newsgroup alt.clothing.lingerie is still running, as I have
not been able to receive any mail from it?
If sufficient interest is shown we could give it a try -- although snail-mailing lingerie all over the globe could prove expensive.
I must say I am flattered to be so admired, but, at risk of contradiction, I have considered myself rather scatterbrained recently, even since visiting Aristasia-in-Telluria and learning I was a blonde!
At all events, I'll take you up on that gimlet. Bye-the-bye, I heard through the grapevine that you had visited the Inner Sanctum. I've tried ever so hard to find my way there but have not yet been graced with a secret password. Perhaps, when I get one (assuming they allow blondes in there) you might overcome your shame and horror enough to take me there, under your wing, so to speak. I am ever so curious to see what it is that made you flush so!
May I say to Ariadne that I am so very impressed with your delicate, yet direct and strong nature. I am an admirer, sitting across the bar, wanting to buy you a gimlet, if you'd just look my way and nod your sweet head in appreciation.
With only the most honorable intentions,
Thought provoking, no doubt. Being married for "more than many" years to the same man, we have discussed the feminine/male interaction with enormous positive result. In the early years of our marriage, I like many gained my "pleasure" from my man's pleasure. After the babies, we started to explore far more our deeper sexuality. My husband suggested the soft see-through panties rather than my white cottontails.
The more "soft" I became the more erotic he became. Instead of his pleasure he now takes the time to "tease" and "caress" my feminine nature. All my nighties now silk and have bows, and lace. I love to feel the softness against my skin, and I know this same softness excites my partner.
What a wonderful innovation, a place of our own. I would like to find others here how would discuss their own "secrets", I have started to talk with my friends about their relationship with their husbands to understand if they have similar experiences. Thank you Femmeworld, for sending me here.
I've been gathering underwear from the 50's and 60's for quite a while now and started wearing girdles and stockings a few years ago. I've always felt more sensual wearing elaborate underthings. But now, with the help of my husband we have really started an interesting collection of vintage girdles, petticoats, bras and stockings.
As for wearing these things, I really became truly myself only when I started to feel the marvelous gap between my girdle and stocking tops when dressed with a flowing skirt. The frailty of my womanhood was definitely enhanced and I have enjoyed every minute since then.
I will come back to this site.
Out of fashion? Ask any one here and you'll find that slips are the it-thing!
Also, recently, for example, I have been in a shop with a friend, and we tried some skirts together. How surprised, almost suspiciously, did she look at my waist-slip! I was surprised, on the contrary, seeing her G-string, that I don't like.
All these pleasant conversations call to my mind the times of the high school. I remember that one day, after talking for many minutes leaning on the banister of the school's landing, a school-mate told me that the boys had been comfortably looking under my skirt from the floor below. I was terribly disturbed, and I was always afraid, when going up or down the stairs of the school, that somebody looked at my slip, at my panties. I also remember that we used to go every month to a classical music concert. Concerts were played in an indoor stadium, and we were all sitting on the steps. In the beginning we were all keeping demure positions, of course; but after one hour, turning back towards the steps above me, I noticed that unwarded skirts were open out, and many girls were showing their slips (or even more). I suddenly realized that I was doing the same, and I certainly was not at my ease! I had the impression that everybody was looking at me, then. I was very embarrassed. Maybe disturbed in some way, because when I found myself alone I had strong temptations.
I have also been in a summer college, and it was worse, there, with the pleated skirts of those uniforms (I should have a picture somewhere). But I don't want to bore you any more with these reminiscences. I'd rather want to tell you that you are all wonderful.
I agree with Suzanne, with Nyssa, with Andrea, with Paula, with Ariadne. I am only slightly surprised by the suggestion of wearing a slip corresponding in length to the skirt that one is wearing. Slip's lace comes so easily to light; and people are so read to stare!
Oh, I have so many more things to say, to ask, to share, that I must absolutely refrain myself!
But let me at least thank all of you.
Well, as you saw, I apologised in public to Paula, (whom I have neither
seen again nor heard from), and I owe you an apology as well. I'm very
sorry if I offended you, too. But you see, I have been undergoing a metamorphosis
ever since I applied for a visa to visit Aristasia. A Miss M. Q. of the
Aristasian Consular Section, after reviewing my visa application, classified
me unequivocally as a blonde for Aristasian immigration purposes
Now, since my hair is actually a dark shade of red, the concept of "being a blonde" had never even entered my head: I considered myself a thoughtful serious responsible girl. But now that I officially have been certified as blonde by high Aristasian authority, I have discovered that whatever brunettish traits I may have had are fading away, like a guttering candle. Once in a while, as in what Paula called my "tirade", they flare up (to my chagrin) for a moment or two, but, by-and-large, I find myself in the position of the two blondes described by Miss A. L. Trent as "hovering nervously at a closed door, vaguely hoping for the arrival of a maidservant or a brunette to curtail their embarrassment".
It is a delightfully refreshing position for a girl to be in! I find that I have fewer and fewer intellectual decisions to make, worry far less, awaken later in the mornings, am marvelously forgetful (once even neglecting to pull on my gloves for a trip to the greengrocer!) daydream about my clothing, and (may I say it), my lingerie, as well as that of other girls Consistency of mind seems so unimportant at the moment! Far less trouble crying, far easier to giggle, too. So if I appear inconsistent or even (perish the thought!) rude, I must plead diminished capacity on account of my new-found blondeness.
At all events, I should be infinitely gratified, Andrea, if you and
I could have a drink together in the Cocktail Bar and talk over some the
finer points of lacy couture and frilly underthings
Good-bye for now! I remain your faithful
May we say that Ariadne's impression of the Femmeworld Common Room is perhaps due to the fact that the pettes there do not seem to have an Archive. It is true the conversation has been a little serious lately, but we seem to remember it a few weeks ago as a positive hive of bubbly whimsy and blonde-jokes. Speaking of which, have any of you pettes had a Blonde Bombshell? It is made with whisky, cream and sugar syrup and really separates the blondes from the brunettes -- that is, many brunettes say it is to sickly for words, while most blondes say "Yes please, darling?"
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