Or the guys who came back the next day to return a hot black-lace number because it was like the new bikinis. A girl couldn't wear one unless she shaved down there. Seemed some girls didn't think shaving down there worth the bother. Maybe it was the new way to tell a fella to take off and keep flying away.
Or the occasional guy, often well-dressed and with a magnificent briefcase, and he walked all around Lingerie, looking for courage. Then he asked Helen to try on brassieres till he found one he thought was the kind his wife (oh, yeh?) had tried to describe to him before trusting him with her shopping. His wife was so busy, poor dear preparing her dogs for the dog show.
A couple of times, when she didn't have other customers waiting and the buyer was out of town, Helen did drape a few bras across her blouse. But then one of the guys wanted her to let him watch how she put a bra onto her bared breasts. Her beautiful big high-riding breasts, said this breast fetishist, drooling.
He offered her fifty dollars an hour to come to his apartment some evening with an assortment of revealing bras and try them on. On the naked breasts, of course, because he was so anxious to please his wife.
At first she refused. But her salary didn't cover her expenses and rent was terribly high for a single girl even though she had a roommate (female).
So one day, she said what the hell, it's not that I'm selling my body or anything like that.
"Okay, Mr. Wiskett, but if your wife is not at home I'm walking right out, see?"
Hamilton Wiskett lived on the 49th floor of a slender, svelte co-op building that looked out over the lake near the Elks memorial.
The Wiskett apartment reflected money and an artistic taste, although perhaps not a very good one. They had filled it with statues of nudes, some men, some women. They had nude paintings too, and Mrs. Wiskett – for the man really had a wife – confided that she liked to look from their back window at Chicago's tall buildings downtown, because they reminded her of so many erected penises. Well, one made allowances for the buildings that were too thick to make a penis of practical use, so to speak.
Now Helen knew why they lived in a tall, slender apartment house. And it was round, beside.
As fetishists go, they seemed well mated. The husband went around town bothering lingerie saleswoman, and the wife went around looking for a statue of a male nude with a hard-on.
Mimi Wiskett had been a bit pissed of bourbon by the time her husband came home with Helen Troy in tow with her stock of brassieres. When they settled down for a drink, preliminary to having the bra try-on, Mimi had more bourbon and got pissier.
She asked Helen to call her Mimi, and after a bit she confided something of her life's story.
She said she had had four brothers, so she got to know what a penis looked like and balls too. But she never could see any of her brothers when he had a hard-on.
A couple of times she had walked into the male dormitory, as they called the large room where the brothers slept before any of them married. And there they were, tickling each other around the balls or helping each other jerk off. But they wouldn't let her look. They said it wasn't nice for a young girl to see a man with a hard-on.
She said, well, she had seen them running around naked between the bathroom and their bedroom and if she could see them without a hard-on why couldn't she see them with a hard-on?
They said, no, and all she had to do was to go to the museum and look at male nudes, the ones that had forgotten to put on their fig leaves, and she would see plenty of marble pricks and balls but she would not ever see a statue with a hard-on. That was because it was not considered decent to show a man's stiff prick in public.
So she made a ten-thousand-dollar bet with her eldest brother Toby that somewhere she could find the statue of a male nude with a hard-on. The bet was to run for twenty years. She really was becoming desperate to find a statue that had a hard-on. Often, if she heard that some art dealer had a male nude statue, she would buy it sight unseen. She couldn't very well ask him in advance if the statue had a hard-on, could she? After all, she had her reputation as a lady.
Maybe she was a three-crack woman, thought Helen. A crack along her cunt, a crack along her ass and a crack in her head.
Finally everyone agreed they should get on with the business of the evening, which was bras, or, more accurately, breasts, tits, boobs, or whatever your favorite word may be for those wonderful bumps that girls carry in front.
Mimi had no objection to her husband's viewing Helen's bare breasts. She didn't even object to his personally putting on each bra and taking it off, during which time he made sure to finger Helen's boobs and worm a finger across each nipple.
It had been difficult for Helen to arrange to borrow two dozen assorted bras from the store. But they would be happy tomorrow when she brought in Ham Wiskett's check, because Mimi decided to buy the entire batch.
But first she made sure that Mimi tried-on every one of the frilly, peek-a-boo creations.
"You see, dear," she murmured to Helen, "I'll get a thrill out of wearing bras that you have worn on your perfect, perfect, lovely breasts. We both wear the same size but my breasts droop while yours stand up so proudly, and oh, dear, your breasts just put mine in the shade."
Mimi asked Helen not to redon her own bra until she had felt her pectoral muscles and had received advice on exercising for a firm, high bustline. Helen had learned all about that in the Wanderlust hostess school.
While Ham was trying to find his checkbook, Mimi hefted and tested and pressed and bounced Helen's breasts. Then she asked Helen to come to her bedroom, where she had a full-length mirror, so she too could strip to the waist and compare her breasts with Helen's, side by side.
Helen began to feel warm in the crotch.
She made sure she had Ham's check tucked away before she went into Mimi's bedroom. The couple had separate rooms.
"Let me try something," said Mimi. "I'll kiss you here" – just below the nipple – "and then I'll kiss myself in the same spot and see if the difference in firmness can be felt by the lips. Because the lips are our most sensitive feeler, Helen dear. I always believe what my lips tell me."
She kissed Helen's left breast near the nipple and said, "No, I don't think that's the right place." Helen quivered.
She kissed the breast near its top, in the area generally exposed by an evening gown, and said, her voice growing shaky: "No, that's too high." Helen felt moist in the box.
Mimi bent and kissed Helen's breast way underneath and said, her voice so shaky that she hardly could form the words: "That's… so sweet… I think the nipple area, after all. Look. See how I can kiss my own nipple?"
Her breasts were so floppy that she was able to turn one up and by craning her neck and pursing out her lips, kiss the nipple and run her tongue around it.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" Helen asked tremulously. She knew where she wanted to sit. On the bed. She had gone too far. She could not stop now. She was Mimi's.
"Why don't you sit on the bed, dear?"
Again the older, flabby Mimi eyed Helen's figure hungrily as she once more sucked her own nipple, did it again, said breathlessly, "Okay, now I can remember the feeling of the breast, right there."
She held her nipple in her mouth while her skirt, which she had unzipped at the side, slowly slid down her legs.
"Oh dear," she said, laughing a little. "Now, why don't you take off your skirt too, so you won't have the advantage on me? I'd like to compare legs with you anyway."
Helen rose, slipped out of her skirt and without allowing herself to think slipped out of her panties too.
"It's warm in here, isn't it," Mimi breathed, her face hungry with desire.