My elementary school was just around the block from my house, so I
walked to school. One morning, when I was in the third grade, I passed
by the house where two girls lived, about three houses down from mine.
One girl was my age; the other was three years younger. This particular
day, they wore matching plaid bouffant dresses, and Jackie Kennedy hairdos. This would have been 1963.
Their mother was standing on the front lawn with a camera. She wanted me
to pose with the two girls. The question arose about which of us should
stand in the middle, as there were three of us. The younger girl was suggested first, and then the mother said that I should be in the
middle. I guess because I was the only boy. So I did. I acted like I hated the idea, but there was a part of me, a strong part, that enjoyed
it. I still look back on that with a lot of fondness. In fact, I think
that was my first genuine turn-on. The idea that I was caught between them, almost like a prisoner, and they were the guards. I wish I still
had that photo.
I've always been turned on by full skirts and bouffants, and wish they
were still in vogue.
The ideal situation would be if I could stroll along a lane in the country, or a park, with a lady in a full-skirted dress clutching either
arm. The ecstasy of hearing the ruffles of their petticoats swish
against my blue jeans. The ladies twirling their skirts with their free
hands while keeping a firm grip on my elbows. Hearing their girlish titters all the while. I don't know why this particular fashion excites
me so much; it just does.