“What’s on my mind?” I don’t want to be me, I want to be her. I don’t want to be small and dowdy and forgotten. I don’t want to be “her ...ndoors”, shuffling around in tunic tops and A-line skirts, baking endless cakes for “good causes”, popping round for coffee and chatter about houses, gardens, and “how wonderfully Nathan is doing at his new school”. I want to be tall and elegant with platinum blond hair falling about my shoulders. I want to be the Jean Harlow of his office; foundation, powder,. I wandered into her bedroom and opened her Victorian wardrobe, admiring her collection of basques, girdles and suspender belts as they nestled with her lacy bras and panties. My young, trembling fingers gently caressed the soft fibres and my young prick hardened almost immediately in my trousers. The softness of the underwear and the faint perfumed aroma coming from the depths of the wardrobe had me in a state of sexual abandon. As my eyes wandered around the old piece of furniture, there was a. More

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