I grew up in a very homophobic household. My macho rugby-playing father thought Noel Coward's effeminacay was an insult, while my mother would be equally disparaging about the overt bisexual mannerisms of the lovely Marlene Dietrich. I suspect that if I'd sported a Gay Pride lapel bage back then I'd have been shown the front door.

The 1960s in Britain was a repressive era, although the first refreshing winds of change came in 1967 - five years after the Cuban Missile Crisis - with the official decrimilisation of homosexualaity. Even though I was only eighteen, I remember both momentous events vividly, hoping that my first sexual experience would be with another male.

The 'black sheep' of the family (my mother's brother) was Uncle Guy. Back then, I didn't pick up the overt camp signals, such as the pink silk pocket handerchiefs or his idolization of the American crooner Johnnie Ray. Bachelor Guy ran a weird bric-a-brac shop in the London district of Soho, which was then full of Bohemian jazz clubs, casinos, strip joints (the forerunners of sex shops) and over-made-up street walkers, whose trademark salutation was: "Would you like a nice time, dearie?" I loved wandering the area, especially at dusk, when it began to get 'edgy'.

One day my father gave me an envelope which he said had to be urgently delivered by hand to his brother-in-law. I was given the fare to travel up to London from the suburbs by bus. It was nearly five o'clock when I eventually reached Uncle Guy's shop in Soho, called Bijou Ephemera. Its garishly-illuminated shop window featured all manner of bric-a-brac: antique jewellery, old china, leather-bound railway almanacs, split-crotch panties, mildly erotic Edwardian postcards and some very naughty Aubrey Beardsley prints. Lettered across the shop window was the boast: 'London's Premier TV Centre', although I never recall seeing a single television set for sale in that shop. Along the back wall of this jumbled window display was a trio of tailors' dummies dressed in ornate Victorian corsets. 

The doorbell clanged as I entered the musty interior and Uncle Guy appeared from a back room. His broad smile showed that he was obviously pleased to see me as I handed over the envelope. "I'll close up now, Tim, and we'll go through to the back parlor." His after-shave smelled remarkably like an expensive French perfume my mother sometimes wore.

The shop's back room was cozy and warm. "Take your jacket off, why don't you?" my uncle invited. "How about a nice glass of sherry?"

Without waiting for my response, he poured us two generous measures from a cut glass decanter from the sideboard. I noticed that hanging in a dark corner of the room was yet another Victorian corset, this one in purple, with vivid emerald side panels and a black bra and suspenders. And as if I needed further sexual arousal, alongside it hung a Victorian print of a buxom corsetted lady, face-sitting an aristocratically-attired gent who she was expertly masturbating.

I fidgeted uneasily and looked down into my lap, as I felt the first stirrtings of an erection. Guy caught my glance - for all I know he'd spotted the bulge in my trousers too. Looking across at the corset on the wall, he said: "Lovely isn't it? Should fetch at least £50 if I put it in the window." I blushed and fingered my empty sherry glass, which he quickly refilled. "You know it would look really cute on you, Timmy."

The idea of wearing a woman's corset was both scandalous (given my sexually repressed upbringing) and mildly erotic. Especially the idea of wearing an intimate garment that a woman had once worn. He stood up and took the corset from its hook.

"How about it?" Now I was blushing profusely. But I was also getting very hard.

Without waiting for a reply he began to unbutton my shirt. "Can you slip your trousers down for me?" Now there was no going back - and no hiding my erection, which was creating a huge 'tent' in my underpants. He slowly slid them down, revealing my erect cock. "Oh my! What a magnificent sight," he murmured without touching it.

Shyly, I stood up in order to be 'fitted' with the corset. It took some doing, although he was extremely dexterous with the side laces. To simulate my bosom he rolled up two dusters and slipped them under the front's black lace top. He sensuously ran his hands slowly over my hips. His heady after-shave / perfume was overpowering and I could feel his urgent breath close to the nape of my neck.

"To complete the ensemble," he announced, "we really need to get you into some sexy fishnets." Reaching for a drawer in the sideboard he produced a pair of black stockings. "Just slip these on, will you? I'll see to the suspenders." This final instruction was to be my undoing, for once into the fishnets and fastened to the corset, I sudenly felt terribly feminine. "May I touch you?" my uncle courteously asked. I nodded shyly.

His touch was tender and gentle, far removed from my lustful nightly jerkings. His rhythm slowed, sensing I was close to climaxing.

"Ever been sucked?" I shook my head nervously - a response which he took as an invitation to fellate me. And in that department, I have to say that my Uncle Guy was extremely proficient. First he pushed his puckered lips onto my glans, licking up the droplets of pre-cum which were weeping from my pee-slit, before gently sliding my rigid shaft deep into his mouth. I instinctively clasped the back of his head - first gingerly and then more urgently - at the tell-tale signs of my fast-approaching orgasm. The climax was gloriously fulfilling, with every drop of my young semen going into my relative's mouth to be eagerly swallowed.

                                                                 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"And how was my brother?" my mother enquired when I got home, without looking up from the kitchen sink. "Much the same?"

"Not at all," I replied enigmatically. "We spent a very pleasant hour together in the back parlor of the shop." I decided it was probably best not to go into details.