DAVID M.'s EXPERIENCES HEAVENLY MEADOW EXPERIENCE
As a relatively new visitor to your excellent website I am amazed at the detailed and comprehensive amount of imagery and written material you have compiled on the subject of ‘petticoats.’ I thought that I was one of only a few guys who are interested in what is concealed under women's skirts and dresses, and I regret that nowadays very few ladies appear to wear them.
I was born in 1950 and it wasn’t until 1958-59 that I really took any notice of petticoats as such.
My earliest recollection was when my teacher, Miss Barr, used to sidle past me and brush her wide starched skirts against my chair or over my knees. I used to wonder what made her skirts stick out so much. When she sat at the front of the classroom I could clearly see under her hem and there were layers and layers of white lacy nylon which forever held my attention. I simply couldn’t take my eyes off her petticoats and loved it when she bent over, crossed her legs or squatted down, and I could see all those flouncy nylon multi-layered hems clearly on display.
The assistant trainee teacher was younger and wore brightly coloured bouffant style dresses gathered at the waist with wide belts. I remember she used to sometimes sit at the back of the class with her feet on the chair in front. This often allowed a glimpse of her ‘black’ petticoat, which must have been the fashion, briefly, in the UK at that time. She used to sit with us nine year olds and take us for individual one-to-one reading sessions. It appeared magical to have a wonderful, perfumed young woman sitting next to me spreading her full dress and rustling underthings against my knees (boys wore short trousers in those days). I used to feel the scratchiness of the stiff nylon netting on my skin through her cotton dresses as she made herself comfortable.
At around the same time, the girls in the village school started to wear wide skirts and petticoats. At first I didn’t notice, until an American girl arrived from the local USAF airbase. Her name was Cheryl and she was tall for her age, slim, with long blonde hair in a ponytail. Her skirts were twice as full as every other girl's and she used to dance about in the playground with her many petticoats peeping out from under her plaid full-circle skirts.
As nine-year olds, Cheryl and I got on very well together and she would visit me at my home at weekends.
I remember having a ‘Scalextric’ model car-racing set and we’d spend hours in my room putting the track together and racing. I’d be lying on the carpet slotting components together with Cheryl above me walking about, or standing over me, in her crisp cotton skirts. Her skirt and petticoat hems would sometimes brush against my hair or tickle my neck as she stepped over me. It was amazing.
More often than not I would see up or under her petticoats. She seemed to wear at least three at a time, all tiered and multi-layered. Some were edged with flounces or ruffled and ruched. Some had lace at each tier. One petticoat, which seemed to be her favourite, had very deep flounced lacy hems and was pale pink with white lace. I also remember she had a very full pale blue underskirt which had eyelets, scalloped hem and little rosebuds which she would usually wear under a very pretty blue gingham dress.
She did not seem to mind me peeping, and teased me sometimes by standing above me, feet each side of my head, and asking me what colour petticoats she was wearing that day and how many. I remember feeling very embarrassed and not even being able to look or reply - Cheryl eventually returned to the United States and I never heard from her again.
In the summer of 1959 I attended a birthday party with friends from my class. After a while we all went to play in the large meadow at the back of the big house. We played a version of ‘tag’ where the girls had to wrestle the boys to the ground and pin them down. The boys were allowed to hide in the big meadow. I remember waiting, lying on my back in the long grass in the warm sun, and eventually being found by two giggling girls wearing very full wide taffeta and chiffon party dresses.
Judith, the older one, sat astride my chest as I pretended to push her off while Rachel held my hands. During the struggle Judith eased herself up my chest and placed her knees on my shoulders.
She then did an incredible thing. She flipped her dress and petticoats over my face so I was completely engulfed under several layers of pink and white net, which were the spread neatly over me as she was wearing a circular skirt.. I remember thinking it was both peaceful and exciting to be under Judith’s skirt, even though the many layers of rustling petticoats moving over my nose, cheeks and ears were quite deafening. I suppose it was my first physical awakening.
After a few minutes, she was off me but, to my surprise, Rachel decided that it was her turn to pin me down under her chiffon dress. She stepped over me then sat on my upper chest, her legs spread. Again I had three or four layers of petticoat over my face, with a much darker skirt above them. I remember that her net underskirt was far scratchier, as the hems were not finished in nylon lace, or ribbon as were Judith’s. The game of tag seemed to go on for ever and I was pinned down by several other girls, but not given the under-the-skirt treatment which I had enjoyed so much. I used to hang around with Judith, Rachel and their friends for the rest of the summer but was never again given the exquisite thrill I had enjoyed at the party in the meadow.
I hope you didn’t mind my sending you this. The 1950s were very innocent years. I never knew whether girls of my generation really knew how much they drove us guys wild by simply displaying their petticoats, or in my case being pinned down, sat on and covered in petticoats. Have any other guys been given this treatment? Is this a suitable discussion topic?
Further Memories of the 1950s
During the long summer holiday of 1958, I used to spend time with my aunt who lived in Macclesfield. My aunt had two daughters named Amanda and Katie. Both were in their middle teens, while I was a few years younger. I really got on well with my cousins, although they seemed much more worldly and more adult than me.
My room was at the end of a corridor. One morning, I remember waking up quite late to find both cousins in my room. My aunt had left earlier to play golf. They were both wearing the usual teenage sleeveless blouses with wide cotton circular plaid skirts, gathered at the waist over layers and layers of stiff tiered nylon net petticoats, which rustled and swayed as they walked about. They both wore ‘American-tan’ coloured nylon stockings held up by frilly white suspender belts.
They both sat on my bed in their wide full skirts, their knees bent across my legs, and asked me whether I had a girlfriend. I said I thought “all girls were stupid” and this seemed to provoke an unexpected reaction.
Immediately, they teasingly grabbed me by the hair and arms and pulled me off the bed and held me firmly down on the bedroom carpet, face up. Amanda said they would both take turns to sit on my face and smother me under their skirts if I didn’t apologise. I said that I would “never, in a million years”. She then stepped over me and lowered herself so that both her knees caressed my ears. I stared up at her thighs, her nylon stockings, and at her frilly white panties which were within inches of my face. She was holding her white nylon net petticoats and plaid skirt above me so that she could see the expression on my face.
“Say sorry, toe-rag” said Amanda. I said “no way, get lost,” and then everything went dark. Amanda sat on me and dropped her skirt and petticoats over my face, blocking out the light. In fact, her flouncy petticoats and skirt were spread over my face with her lace-trimmed white panties firmly pushed into my nose so I could hardly breathe. It was surprisingly dark under my cousin’s skirt and petticoats, and I could hardly hear her speak, or any other sound under the many layers of nylon and plaid which covered me.
After several minutes Amanda lifted her bottom off my face slightly then draped her perfumed petticoats over my cheeks, chin and mouth and rubbed the scratchy nylon net over my face many times until I was forced to say “sorry.” The froufrou noise against my face and ears, as petticoat layer slid against petticoat layer, was almost deafening. She seemed to take a delight in dragging the multi-layered, almost transparent, nylon lacy net over my facial features as if I was drowning in a sea of petticoats. She continued draping and dragging her stiff petticoat hems over my face over and over again, concentrating on my nose, mouth and ears. The excitement inside of me was almost unbearable. Amanda got off me and I lay back and relaxed, thankful it was all over.
My pleadings didn’t seem to stop what was about to happen next. They both pulled me onto the middle of the floor spreadeagled and stood over me, their nylon-clad feet moving over my nose, mouth, ears and hair.
“Say you are really sorry David, or we’ll really squash you this time.” Katie stood up and spread her skirts over me, I looked up to see her pink panties descending onto my upturned face under layer after layer of petticoat. She was wearing a dark blue skirt which seemed to contrast well with the starchy whiteness of her underthings. Again everything went dark and I didn’t know what to do. Clearly saying sorry had got me nowhere, so I was resigned to whatever was expected of me, having my head trapped under the many layers of Wendy’s net petticoats and lacy, frilly underskirts. Katie was clearly intent in keeping me hidden under her wide circular skirt and stiff net petticoats for longer than her sister. She sat on my face and rocked to and fro. All I could hear was the swishing and crackling of her petticoats moving over and above me. Sometimes she lifted her bottom and I was able to breathe slightly - then, everything went dark again. The lace trim of the many multi-tiered- layers were quite scratchy and uncomfortable, particularly as she didn’t seem to be able to keep her bottom still.
Eventually, Katie got off me and stood up with her feet to either side of my face, Her sister walked over and stood over me too. Both their skirts touched and I was treated to a view of a lifetime: Layer upon layer of scratchy stiff nylon net edged with ribbon or leader line. This framed glimpses of panty, suspender belt and stocking tops. For a young impressionable boy this was as close to heaven as you could get.
Suddenly, we heard my aunt’s car return
and my cousins ran downstairs. I was left in a state of confusion, and
hurriedly got dressed, wondering what the rest of the stay with my
cousins would bring.
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