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I grew up in a very homophobic household. My macho rugby-playing father thought Noel Coward’s effeminacay was an insult, while my mother would be equally disparaging about the overt bisexual mannerisms of the lovely Marlene Dietrich. I suspect that if I’d sported a Gay Pride lapel bage back then I’d have been shown the front door.The 1960s in Britain was a repressive era, although the first refreshing winds of change came in 1967 – five years after the Cuban Missile Crisis – with the official decrimilisation of homosexualaity. Even though I was only eighteen, I remember both momentous events vividly, hoping that my first sexual experience would be with another male.The ‘black sheep’ of the family (my mother’s brother) was Uncle Guy. Back then, I didn’t pick up the overt camp signals, such as the pink silk pocket handerchiefs or his idolization Yakacık escort bayan of the American crooner Johnnie Ray. Bachelor Guy ran a weird bric-a-brac shop in the London district of Soho, which was then full of Bohemian jazz clubs, casinos, strip joints (the forerunners of sex shops) and over-made-up street walkers, whose trademark salutation was: “Would you like a nice time, dearie?” I loved wandering the area, especially at dusk, when it began to get ‘edgy’.One day my father gave me an envelope which he said had to be urgently delivered by hand to his brother-in-law. I was given the fare to travel up to London from the suburbs by bus. It was nearly five o’clock when I eventually reached Uncle Guy’s shop in Soho, called Bijou Ephemera. Its garishly-illuminated shop window featured all manner of Escort Atalar bric-a-brac: antique jewellery, old china, leather-bound railway almanacs, split-crotch panties, mildly erotic Edwardian postcards and some very naughty Aubrey Beardsley prints. Lettered across the shop window was the boast: ‘London’s Premier TV Centre’, although I never recall seeing a single television set for sale in that shop. Along the back wall of this jumbled window display was a trio of tailors’ dummies dressed in ornate Victorian corsets. The doorbell clanged as I entered the musty interior and Uncle Guy appeared from a back room. His broad smile showed that he was obviously pleased to see me as I handed over the envelope. “I’ll close up now, Tim, and we’ll go through to the back parlor.” His after-shave smelled remarkably like Kadıköy escort an expensive French perfume my mother sometimes wore.The shop’s back room was cozy and warm. “Take your jacket off, why don’t you?” my uncle invited. “How about a nice glass of sherry?”Without waiting for my response, he poured us two generous measures from a cut glass decanter from the sideboard. I noticed that hanging in a dark corner of the room was yet another Victorian corset, this one in purple, with vivid emerald side panels and a black bra and suspenders. And as if I needed further sexual arousal, alongside it hung a Victorian print of a buxom corsetted lady, face-sitting an aristocratically-attired gent who she was expertly masturbating.I fidgeted uneasily and looked down into my lap, as I felt the first stirrtings of an erection. Guy caught my glance – for all I know he’d spotted the bulge in my trousers too. Looking across at the corset on the wall, he said: “Lovely isn’t it? Should fetch at least £50 if I put it in the window.” I blushed and fingered my empty sherry glass, which he quickly refilled. “You know it would look really cute on you, Timmy.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32