One of the inevitable side effects of getting older is that you seem to attend more and more funerals with every passing year, which is ironically just part of life, but for me funerals have had a profoundly erotic effect upon me ever since the incident that occurred on the morning of my grandfather’s funeral in 1963 when I was just 13 years old.
We were all staying at my grandparent’s home in Childean and it was a full house so I took the chance amidst the hustle and bustle to sneak into my Aunt Julie’s bedroom while she was having a bath so I could go in her handbag and pinch a couple of cigarettes.
But she finished in the bathroom sooner than I anticipated, so not wishing to get in trouble for stealing I hid in the wardrobe instead.
I was hoping she had just forgotten something and wouldn’t be long and would return to the bathroom but she didn’t so I just waited and watched her.
She was sitting on the bed as she dried her long brown hair which was very boring and I thought about stepping out and confessing but then she stood up and I watched her as she turned her back to me and began drying her curvaceous body with a large bath sheet but she offered tantalizing glimpses of what was hidden from view and all of a sudden I was sporting a serious woody.
I carried on watching as my stork grew until the moment she turned around and threw the towel on the bed and I saw the first naked woman of my life.
My eyes were like saucers as they were drawn first to her great globular breasts, surmounted by erect pink teats and then down to the fluffy curly brown triangle and as I fidgeted in the closet I came in my pants.
Even after I’d shot my load it didn’t stop me looking at her as she began to dress, first she put on her black suspender belt around her narrow waist and then pulled on a pair of black silk French drawers.
Aunt Julie did each item deliciously slowly just as if she knew she was playing to an appreciative audience.
Next she sat on the bed and pulled on the first of her seamed black stocking up her long slender leg and as she leant forward to fasten the suspender her breasts hung voluptuously then at the same slow deliberate pace she repeated the process for the second stocking.
Aunt Julie stood up after fastening the second suspender and seemed to look straight at me and smiled before she harnessed her large round breasts in a black lacy construction.
And when she had finished fastening her bra I saw the image to which every woman would be subsequently compared for the rest of my life.
The addition of an under slip did not diminish my appreciation of her but when the dress went on I knew the show was over.
I had to continue to wait in the closet with sticky pants for another 25 minutes after she finished dressing while she applied her makeup and only when she finally went downstairs could I escape my hiding place and change my pants.
As I got to the door I looked back towards the wardrobe and I could see the reason I thought she was looking at me and smiling because next to the wardrobe door was a full-length mirror.
That day stamped a mark on me that has lasted a lifetime and now whenever I see a woman in Funereal Finery I get aroused.
Most of my sexual triumphs over the years have occurred as a result of meeting women at funerals.
At Aunt Julie’s wake under the pretence of consoling her I managed to seduce her daughter Elaine, of course the underwear was different, tights instead of Stockings, satin instead of silk a thong instead of French drawers.
But the contents were every inch the likeness of her mothers.
I suppose I should feel shame for what I’ve done, exploiting the vulnerable at their time of grief but I don’t and I even attend the funerals of people I don’t even know just to meet women.
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