Chapter 2 : She has a room - ready for him

Her apartment is on the sixth floor, the penthouse. Sanders leaves without a tip and takes the lift down again. As I follow Delma inside, the blend of perfumes is mesmerising, and I feel a bit drunk. She slips out of her jacket and leads me along a hallway, before opening a door and leading the way in. It's all pale blues, a variation on lilac pink. This must be her room. "I made what preparations I could, cousin, but - You have your own room of course, but you'll have to put up with some of my things in here." I can't believe it. This must be where she wants me to sleep. My room. I look at the soft covers on the bed, the frills on the pillowcases and cushions, the curtains are all lace and shiny silk. A dressing table mirror with glass bottles and stuff. If any man was going to sleep here, he would feel out of place, overwhelmed by the power of girls and women. She stands by the closet and opens it. It's filled with a row of dresses, all of them like they're in a Disney princess movie. When she sweeps them towards one end, they sway with softness and grace as if dancing, and the sweetness wafts into my nostrils. "You'll have to squeeze your things in here, for the time being, cousin." She has made about two feet of space. "It's awful of me to have this stuff in your room, I know, darling, but I'm hoping you can ignore things like dresses and slips and blouses." She's down at the floor, bending cleverly at the knees in her tight skirt, moving pairs and pairs of gleaming high heels, leather boots, slippers with pink pom-poms. I notice how slender her neck is. They talk about women having a neck like a swan - I just feel how awesome it must be to kiss her there, and feel that shiny blond hair where it curls under and leaves a nice bit of her ear visible with a pearl earring. "And as for your smalls, dear," she says, getting to her feet, "let me see what I can do in my chest of drawers over here." The dresser is tall with four drawers: white wood with golden trim and fancy gold handles. She slides a top drawer open and its filled with jewellery cases and perfume boxes, the drawer next to it has brassieres, folded small and in perfect order. The cups are pretty and on the small side, with dainty lace designs and narrow straps. "Hmm, I know I'll find you some space," she says as she opens the larger drawer underneath. My heart misses a few beats at the sight of soft, shining pairs of folded panties, from one end of the drawer to the other. Most of them pale pink, but there are white ones, some soft purple ones, some white panties with patterns in green, and at the far end, pairs of black panties. She slides it shut, the drawers moving as if they were satin themselves, and she opens the next one down. Petticoat slips, dozens of them. Like the panties, they are folded neatly in rows. She's a neat person. Her fingers lift out a set of slips and she sets them down on top of the slips further along the drawer. They look as light as feathers, soft and silky, dripping with lace on all the edges with very thin straps for her shoulders. I look at her arms more than the slips as she moves things around. Delma is a dream, her arms beautifully proportioned from her elbows to her wrists, and her hands are so feminine, like the sweetest girls. She puts the slips back again and moves to the bottom drawer. When it slides open, I swear I gasp out loud. It's deeper than the others, with room for plenty more of her lingerie, but there isn't an inch of space. I gaze at the spread of pure female stuff: mostly suspenders, but basques too with chiffon trimming along the bottom edge and thin black suspender tabs ending in little stocking clips. I feel so good looking at them and they make me feel attracted to their owner. God, I can't be falling in love with her. She's nearly twice my age! "This top drawer will have to do," she says, standing again and opening the drawer of panties on the right. "If I take some of these out and leave them on top, you can pop your socks and shorts in here." She turns a smile on me. "You may find they smell girly, but there's no harm in that." I get a frightening feeling in my knees: my legs nearly give way at the thought of putting my stuff next to her precious, smooth, satin panties. Everything in there is so soft and dreamy, and mega feminine. My lips do a bit of a tremble as I say: "Oh that's fine, d-don't worry." "If you need me darling, I'll be in the sitting room." Her face is getting to me - like she's a movie-star. Her lipstick is somewhere between pink and red, as if it's her natural lip colour but stronger, and shining like she's just moistened them with her tongue. "Come and join me when you've freshened up, all right?" She leaves me, closing the door silently, and I wonder what's hit me with cousin Delma Pensforth in London, England. Here I am, surrounded with everything a swell female gathers around her: pinks and whites, drapes and frills, silks and satins, and everything smelling so girly. Not what I'm used to at all. I open my case, and pick out a shirt. It's going to go in alongside these gorgeous dresses: blue and orange and pink. I get hold of the first dress on its hanger to move it along, and the dress feels so cute. My fingers hold its sleeve: it's soft and pretty. A frill goes over the shoulder and down the front, and the collar is white. I'd love to see her wearing it. the hangers are all girls' sorts: padded and shiny, and when I put one to my nose it smells nice. I hang up my shirt and look towards the door in case she's watching. I let my fingers feel some more dresses: a pale orange one that's see-thru, with frills and full sleeves. Even a grey dress is pretty. I feel very nice in front of Delma's dresses, and I get an idea into my head that later on - tonight when she's asleep, I'll be taking one or two of them out of here to take a closer look at them. ***

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