How insightful, gotgyne, I had not thought of that. Because she lived in two worlds, she could maybe relate better to me as a boy developing breasts like a girl.
My aunt would sometimes blow into a room like a tornado, and it would be exciting and fun. Other times, she would come by and say but a few words, but always nice.
I remember one such quiet time, which made a lasting impression on me. I could not have been more than 9 or 10, so well before my gynecomastia began. It was a nice summer afternoon, and I was outside sitting on a bench when my aunt stopped by after a shopping excursion. She had a large bag from our local clothing store.
My aunt sat on the bench next to me, and without a word, took out just one relatively small box from her shopping bag. It was a box that said Playtex I Can’t Believe It’s A Girdle. She proceeded to open the box and slide out the girdle. She then unfolded the girdle and held it up in front of us to examine. She then put the girdle in her lap, rolled up the legs, exposing the garters in their tabs. She then proceeded to open and close the garters.
My aunt then placed the girdle in my lap. Not a word. After a moment, I began to examine the girdle, feel its texture, feel how it’s stretched, hold it up in front of me the way my aunt had, and play with the garters.
After a few moments, my aunt held the open girdle box in front of me, no words, but I knew I was supposed to fold up the girdle the way it had been and put it back in the box, which I did.
My aunt then said how much she liked that girdle, that it was firm control, but lightweight, soft, and comfy. That my mom should get one. So much better than the 18 Hour girdle that had that rubbery smell. She kissed me on the cheek, said she had to go make dinner for my uncle, and was gone.
Not a tornado; just a gentle breeze carrying the whispery sound of her nylon-clad legs rubbing under her silky slip and skirt.
I remember it like yesterday.