I've always loved black stockings. I remember when I was a little Joli Heath, I found a pair of my mother's old suspenders, from when stockings were the only option, in the dressing-up box.
I thought they were fascinating and wanted to try them on with some stockings, but my mother still bought my clothes and there was no way I was brave enough – or rich enough – to buy a pair of stockings that I would never really dare to wear outside my dressing-up games.
Instead I took a pair of my school tights and cut the legs off. Now I had, to all intents and purposes, a pair of stockings. Hesitantly I rolled them onto my plump small legs and clipped on the suspenders.
I probably looked ridiculous. The suspender belt was pale pink and the 'stockings,' were thick, opaque 60 denier black ones. The tops were frayed and rolled over on themselves and there was a hole in one of the legs, which was why I had chosen that pair to cut up.
In my mind, though, I felt amazing: womanly, sexy and glamorous. That feeling has never really gone away.
When I get dressed now I savour every moment of the process. I spend time in the shower carefully shaving my legs so they're smooth, then rub in cocoa butter in small circles moving upwards.
When I am dry and moisturised I stand naked in front of the mirror and run the brush through my long, dark blonde hair as I dry it, relishing the anticipation of getting dressed.
I walk over to my bureau and pull out the second drawer. It runs smoothly on its runner, gliding open to reveal my underwear in all its splendour. I select a bra from the small pile on the right – black with sky blue ribbons threaded through the trim and a small bow between the cups.
Now for the matching panties, no decision to make there, but the suspender belt, now that's complicated.
Black is the obvious choice, but the lacy, flimsy one I wear for dates or the deep, satin one with six straps that provides all day security? I'm going to work, so I choose the satin one and then pull out a pair of barely-black 15 denier stockings with a deep, reinforced top and toe.
I lay them out on the bed in their anatomically correct positions, then pick up the suspender belt. I pull it on and settle it over my hips, smoothing it down, then sit on the edge of the belt.
Taking one filmy stocking I seize it between my fingers and thumb in each hand and gather it up so it's concertinaed with just the foot hanging down.
I pick up my right foot from the floor, automatically pointing my toes elegantly as I bend my knee. I slip my foot into the silky embrace of the stocking, then very carefully work it up my leg, inch by inch.
The smooth, tanned skin of my leg is lovely, but it looks even more amazing encased in the shimmery, sheer fabric that tints my leg with a delicate shade of black. I ease the reinforced top into position, then clip on the front strap.
I twist my hips slightly to the side, watching the fabric pull taut against the first strap, then clip on the second.
Smiling, I pick up the second stocking and gather this one up as well. I slide it up my thigh and fasten the first two straps, then stand up.
Immediately I slip my feet into my high-heeled, black work shoes. The leather feels smooth and cool around my foot, the stocking slippery against it. I take a moment to admire my feet and shapely ankles in their elegant shoes, then twist around to reach the tricky back strap of the suspenders and fasten that on too.
I pull on my hipster panties over the suspender belt, savouring the tiny oval of bare skin between the top of the panties and the bottom of the belt, then clip on the bra, pulling up my breasts so they sit comfortably in the cups, the generous curve of them spilling over the top.
I stand in front of my dresser and pick up the bottle of tinted, shimmery liquid I use as a make-up base. I blend it into my face, working it carefully around my jaw line. I love doing my make-up standing in my underwear. It makes me feel sexy all day.
I rub in the cream blusher, line my eyes with black, powder my nose, curl my lashes and coat on black mascara that makes the greenness of my eyes stand out against my light tan.
I fluff up my hair and enjoy the sight of myself looking all sexy and slutty in my elaborate underwear, full makeup and come-to-bed hair. This is when I love my rich curves and rounded belly. When I'm naked or in my underwear I feel womanly and attractive.
This is the image I hold of myself all day. It's what gives me my confidence and sex-appeal. It's the reason I wiggle my hips when I walk and hold my head up high.
Every time I cross my legs I feel the stockings slipping across each other, creating a silken caress that can't really be described unless you've experienced it.
I am intensely aware of the thick straps digging into my tender flesh and the large, bare gap at the top where I can feel cool air brushing the skin of my thighs and buttocks.
Armed with the secret knowledge of my underwear I am coolly in control at the office. I order people around, lean back and cross my arms arrogantly and I am invincible.
It's the same when I'm on dates. The knowledge of the stockings that drive me and most men wild makes me into a more powerful, sexual Joli Heath than I am without them.
For dates I pull out the large guns. Fully fashioned, seamed black stockings. Reinforced, toe and Cuban heel with lace trimmed tops and a keyhole loop at the back.
When a man runs his hand up my thigh and I feel the warmth and silkiness as it travels along the stocking, then the dry, coarseness of his bare palm on the delicate flesh at the top I have to bite my lip.
I love standing in front of a man as he sits on the sofa or the edge of my bed, having him caress my legs, then lifting my dress up over my head, allowing him to appreciate the satin of my bustier, or the plunge of my push-up bra and the way I am bound and enveloped by my underwear; presenting to him a stunningly wrapped package of female flesh for his delectation.
But probably the very best bit about stockings is being able to wear them during sex.
Lying on your back, naked except for the suspender belt encircling your waist, the elastic straps and the silky, black stockings is incredible. You're naked, but you're also dressed. It really is indescribable how you feel sexual and vulnerable at the same time, dressed and naked.
Looking down at your own legs encased in stockings while a man buries his face in your wet, fragrant Joli Heath is such a turn on.
Even better is having him lie on top of you, holding your legs over his arms while he thrusts his big, hard penis into you.
Your legs are sliding against his arms because of the stockings, the exposed flesh feels so much more sensitive and the suspenders cut in to your hips and hold in your stomach.
The sensation of being fucked is mind-blowing, but what you are really focused on, as your whole body trembles with the white-heat explosion of orgasm, is how kinky and sexy you must look, lying there in your stockings.
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