I like this site/forum and I thought I would share something that happened to me when I was quite young, that has stayed in my memory for years.
We lived in the north of England when I was growing up, and although not rich, we had Jean, a cleaning lady who came during the week, and looked after me in the daytime in the school holidays while my mum and dad were at work - I was an only child. At the time I was 13-14 years old, I think dear Jean must have been about 40 or so. She was nice enough, not very tall, not too skinny, a bit plain really with a friendly face and straight dark hair that she kept tied back with a band. She was always very nice to me but what really sticks in my mind is the way that Jean dressed. She 'always', like it was a uniform, wore a tight black sweater, black knee length pleated skirt and lovely tan nylons which were crinkly behind her knees and ankles when she bent down. I literally dreamt about slipping one of her stockings, or were they pantyhose, over my head. She also had several pairs of really pretty shoes - open toe wedges, ankle boots and soft black high heeled court shoes. Each morning, she would slip off her shoes, and put on a pair of flip-flops which pulled the nylons tightly between her soft brown nylon toes - always with red nails - Always painted the same colour for the years we had her. I often thought of just putting my face near her feet to kiss them or smell them, but I could never think how that might not seem a bit odd!
The real point of the story is that when she took off her shoes she would leave them downstairs in the laundry room off the kitchen, and when she went upstairs and I could hear her doing the vacuuming I would always have a good sniff of her freshly worn shoes and sometimes try and have a quick w**k, for as long as I could hear the vacuum cleaner whirring away I was safe. Thinking about her soft nylon feet and those red nails meant it never took long to do the job.
One morning she turned up, smiling as usual, mum went out as usual, she made us a cup of tea as usual and then went upstairs with the vacuum and her cleaning stuff, leaving her soft, bright red ankle boots in the back kitchen - Size 5, I love small feet. Over time, I got a little bit more daring and sometimes took one of my mother's stockings out of the laundry basket and slipped it over my head while I was sniffing away, wishing it was one of Jean's, but enjoying the perfume softness anyway. If the vacuum cleaner stopped, I would quickly put the shoe or boot back with the other one and whip the stocking mask off. Never a problem, there was always plenty of time to look innocent. This morning I was only wearing my blue dressing gown, about to go and have a bath, and I quickly went through the routine - Listen for the vacuum to start, all clear - then I knelt down by Jean's soft red boots, slipped the nylon stocking over my head and holding her right boot tightly over my nose and mouth inhaled the delicious sexy scent of her foot, and took myself in hand for a quick w**k. The nylon on my face, the thought of her polished toes winking at me through her stockings, the smell of her feet and the leather of the boot always made me come quickly. And then the door openedů
I looked up and Jean was there in the doorway. She had come downstairs for some reason without bothering to switch the vacuum off. Looking right at me she was, w**king away, smelling her boot knelt over like a dog, I dropped the boot, and as she walked towards me I could only focus on her feet, her toes and her silky nylon legs and I couldn't possibly hold back - I came in my hand and tried to hold onto the mess but it trickled through my fingers and some went onto her precious boot. I pulled off the stocking mask and then I just froze and felt sick. I can't remember who said what first - I was saying that I was sorry, sorry, sorry, please don't tell anyone and she just said "Peter. What do you think you're doing? What on Earth do you think you're doing?" I stood up and thought she might possibly not have seen everything I'd been doing (not a chance)- but amazingly she wasn't actually angry or anything, just a bit shocked I think - I was only a young boy after all, not some old perv, and she was a grown woman. I do know she had a couple of teenage sons and a daughter, so looking back I expect she knew about young boys w**king all the time.
"If you're going to make a mess like that, you really ought to clean it up and not leave it for me to do - Don't you think?" I felt two inches tall. She stood quite still while I knelt back down and started trying to wipe my come off her boot with my mother's stocking. With my own mother's stocking! I was trembling, and quite tearful, but she just turned around and went back upstairs.
She would tell my mum and dad, probably leave the job, leaving me in a world of trouble and shame. I could hardly speak to her after that, but she came and went as usual, and after a few days I gathered that she hadn't and probably wasn't going to say or do anything. Not that I felt too good, I couldn't speak to her and tried to avoid her as much as I could. When I saw her shoes by the back door, I felt sick remembering my pathetic coming on her boot, looking up at her with my mother's stocking tight over my face, pumping away, and unable to do anything about holding back - But she was still friendly to me, and looking back as I do once more, I can see that it was probably not a very big deal to her - She may have been flattered in a funny way - I will never know now certainly.
My reasoning behind this is something that happened three weeks after 'the big mistake' - I was sitting at the kitchen table finishing lunch, when a pair of hands clapped over my eyes, I knew it was Jean, her hands smelt of polish, and she was laughing "Surprise Peter! - Who is it?" - "It's you Jean" I was so pleased that she seemed to have forgotten things and I wasn't going to be exposed to my parents.
But when I looked round at her, I saw that Jean had taken off one of her own stockings (OMG she 'did' wear stockings) and pulled it down over her own head, just as I had done, and she was giggling and looking at my shocked face. "Do I look nice Peter? Does this look pretty? Do you like this?" Her face was all squashed up under the stocking, and she just stood there smiling through the sheer nylon at me. She put up her hand to take the stocking off, and as if it was yesterday, not twenty years ago, with a dry mouth I said "No, please don't Jean, please don't take it off."
And God bless her, she didn't, she let it drop back down over her face, she sat down next to me and put her hand on my arm. "I can't sit here like this all day, if your mum comes home she'll think there's a burglar. It was such a weak joke, but I'm sure she only said it to defuse the situation. I was almost going to faint with nerves, this was something I had only dreamt of - No internet in those days to look at picures of masked women, just a rather kind middle-aged lady, wearing one of her own stockings over her face and talking to me kindly for a few minutes, letting me sit and look at her. How sweet it would have been to have a digital camera (not around at the time) to be able to see that face just once more. It was just an act of kindness, and did she realise that I would have just liked to squirt all over her face, there and then? I doubt it. I can't remember much about what she said to me, something about boys/men being funny creatures. A fetish Mrs. Robinson if you like. It was a bit of a joke after all, from her point of view, and a little bit of friendly teasing as if to say - "It's all our secret". She couldn't have possibly guessed the effect this had had on me, and the memory still does, even as I type, I tremble.
I think I told her I loved her, or thank you, or something I can't recall as I was in a total state of shock in all honesty. She slipped the stocking off her head chatting away, and went out of the room to put it back on before making both of us a cup of tea with some biscuits. Such a lovely person. She wasn't trying to seduce me. And it never happened again. I always hoped it would, and I dropped some clumsy hints about playing at burglars, but Jean never took the bait. Just smiled. However, she never made an effort to keep her boots or shoes out of the way when she took them off in the morning, quite the opposite. From then on, when she took her shoes off in the morning she would leave them just inside the door of the downstairs loo instead of by the back door. So that if someone had felt like it, they could go to the loo, lock the door and have as much time as they wanted with Jean's lovely leathery, sweaty smelling shoes and no-one could disturb them - If they wanted to that is. She must have known what I did with them anyway.
We had to move down to Exeter in the South of England for my Dad's work, and I was heartbroken that I wouldn't see Jean again or get my hands on her shoes or see her beautiful skinny painted nylon toes again. But I still do see them, when I shut my eyes I see them, and her, and the day she sat there talking to me with her stocking mask despite having caught me helplessly coming all over her boots - Dear sweet kind Jean, I hope life is kind to you. The girls I have had in my life, and my dear wife have all indulged my stocking mask fetish (My wife is quite happy to sit wearing a mask and watching me smell her boots and pleasuring myself, bless her. She doesn't know I'm living that day with Jean out again and again. As long as we are both happy, what's the problem she says) , maybe it isn't really a big deal for them and men are just strange creatures?
I hope you liked me recounting this weirdest of events in my life, writing it has made it all seem like yesterday. Today my wife wore a pair of tan mid-heeled boots with bare feet, even though it was warm out. She pretended she couldn't get them off because they were sticky and asked me to pull them off. She knows I always clamp the warm damp boots over my face and take deep breaths when I do this for her - Apparently it makes her feel like a queen.