Colin was a third-year uni student. Like thousands of others, he had to work to survive the rigours of student-life. His chosen line was to serve coffee in a trendy downtown eatery. He was fortunate to rent a room in his sister’s house. It was cheap, but Colin had to do the housework and prepare 50% of the meals, by way of compensation. The house got pretty untidy as his sister, a nurse, often had her friends stay over, or change after work before going out for the night. Life’s compensations, he thought…

Everyday before and after work, Colin would take a ‘shortcut’ through David Jones’ city store, to and from work. This pathway took him through their Hosiery Dept. He would often glimpse at the women shopping for stockings, and his eyes would linger on the plaster-cast ‘legs’ adorned in the latest fad- fishnets, stay-ups, seamed pantihose, et al, high above his head. One day, as he absent-mindedly perused the rows of nylon and elastine, he was aroused from his reverie by a middle-aged woman; she was immaculately dressed and made-up, and had the demeanour of a typical DJ employee- confident, bordering on arrogance. She was in fact the supervisor for ‘Hosiery’ (an important position with the store, given the surprisingly large turnover it made from stockings).

“Hi. I often see you in our department. Your girlfriend must be pleased that you take such an interest in hosiery. Or do you buy for your mother?”, she inquired. Colin thought he detected a sly smirk on her face. “I…. I’m just passing through”, he remarked. “I work in the café just outside that exit”. He could feel his face redden; he hoped she would not notice the semi-erect bulge in his pants. As he spoke, he was aware of the pre-cum that was staining his underwear. “I know. You’ve served me a few times. You probably haven’t noticed; you always seem to be staring at my stockinged feet, or the feet of other ladies”. “My name’s Delia, by the way”. Beads of sweat trickled down Colin’s face. He had often fantasised about being ‘humiliated’ by an older woman. In fact, it was his dream; but he felt uneasy, even as his fantasy was being played out. Delia seemed to be able to read his mind, and know an awful lot about him.

 These thoughts were compounded by her next statement. “You live in Heidelberg, don’t you?” Colin was astonished. “How…how do you know?” “It’s alright, I’m not ‘stalking’ you!” she said, with more than a hint of irony. “I live in Rosanna, and have noticed you getting on the train, occasionally. Always, the same procedure- staring at women’s stockinged feet, with a look of longing in your eye”. Colin tried to deny this, but was quickly admonished by Delia. “Don’t worry, little boy. Your secret’s safe with me” Once more, Colin tried to remonstrate, but was again stopped, this time by Delia putting her finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.

 “What are you doing tonight?” She inquired of him. “Nothing… oh, I’m studying… lecture notes… yes…”. “Would you like to come to my home for a visit? We can have an interesting conversation about the merits of pantihose versus stockings”. Colin’s unease was plain to see. He just hoped his erection was less so, not to mention the dribbling pre-cum that he felt, wet and sticky against his thigh. An impulse led him to ask, nervously, “Who will be there?” She knew he was hers, then. Her manner became more abrupt. “We’ll be alone. Meet me at Young and Jackson’s, 5pm”. She made a point of removing her shoe, and adjusted her stocking, all the while looking at Colin. Yes, he was hers, her plaything, her masseuse, her maid…

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