Miss Aisle

When you meet the right woman, she’s may well be a Missile aiming for Miss Aisle. And as she walks towards the Groom, she’ll be remembering the sequence ‘Aisle, Altar, Hymn. So what if the congregation hears ' I’ll Alter Him'. You have a choice? One anagram of Evil is Vile – but one can Live again. I'm glad Jane & I got through it.

** Going offline for a week or so while my computer is in drydock. Thanks AP
V sorry - there was a typo even in the heading!!! I hate it when others do that.

I was born in a small village – even then there were no shops, no offices, no business, no pub, no church, no nothing. I wanted to leave almost as soon as I could.

But we were stuck where we were. Short of money enough to move anywhere better. It wasn’t dreadful living in that quiet, hidden-away hole. But we wanted more. Not a lot – just a bit more. My dad, Pete Bell was a middle-level manager at the local factory; My mum, Pam, worked as a senior buyer at the local department store. I was the eldest, Henry, with two siblings, Patrick and India (and yes, she was conceived on holiday).

My childhood was boringly normal, a few mates round after school and in the holidays. Mostly doing typical boy stuff in the woods, by the river, on the hills. The girls kept to themselves from the age of about 10 – when we all changed schools, of course. Then the girls started having cliques, and the boys had their gangs – and woe betide anyone who was in any way different.

And different could be so many things. Getting too many answers right in class – swot or teacher’s pet. Being too tall, short, thin or fat. Red-hair, early puberty, late puberty, making a mistake that was ‘unforgiveable’ by some sort of unstated rule. Awful. And you very rarely knew what you had done wrong except for the actual physical elements. Big Nose, Big Ears aka Elephant, Stammer-boy, Bucktooth aka Rabbit, so many many ways to become a target.

And if you didn’t become a target than you pretty much had to join in the teasing and general nastiness or be a wuss, wimp or worse.

And this is before sex came along as a topic. Or any ‘relationship’ with the aliens ie girls. Some lads, like me, had sisters which gave them some understanding, even some leverage in meeting other girls, as well as some leeway on how they were allowed to behave.

So far, so ordinary.

I grew up – just a little. Eventually. I didn’t smoke or vape or drink or sniff glue. I didn’t shoplift or any of the other uglinesses that teens get up to in the bigger towns. I

Group pressure eventually allowed boys and girls to meet, interact, behave and probably misbehave at times. I’d guess I was better behaved than most and more willing to work my way from acquaintance, to friend, to good-friend and hopefully more or, at any rate, closer.

When I did do things wrong, it was stupidity, ignorance and misunderstanding rather than deliberate or thoughtless. I had been brought up to think that planned nastiness was a lot worse than ‘just getting it wrong’. Tho’ my dad did say you had to know for yourself which was which and whether what you did was actually bad.

He went on about the difference between Reputation and Honour – ‘Honour is what you know about yourself; Reputation is what others think of you. You should know yourself better than anyone – if you can stand up straight and look yourself in the mirror and say ‘I did that well’ then you’re probably on the right track. If you have to say at the end of a day, ‘I should have done that better’ then do it better next time.’

Some of the things my Dad said were pretty good. I can even remember some of them still – and I try to teach the best ones to my kids – well to any kids I meet.

And, yeah, I’ve got kids. And they have mates – and I find, now and again, that I talk to them and their feedback is at the level of ‘Jim’s dad ain’t too bad, he listens and then he says a little, not much – he’s not pushy but he’s often kinda sensible’.
I think that’s a good description to have earned. Thanks folks.

But how did I get from then to now, from there to here.

Some of it’s a long story, some of it can be told in, say a hundred words.

When I was about fifteen, my life – that of the whole family – changed enormously. A distant uncle died and we were the only relations. He had been clever, hard-working, inventive and, eventually, rich. Very rich. His inventions and patents almost overflowed his life and he had to work differently hard to prevent the damage that can be caused by being too rich too quickly.
But money cannot cure medical issues – his work had exposed him to too many chemicals and they had destroyed his kidneys. It took a while and he died. While dying, he had investigated us, his only relatives, to see who would be least likely to be crushed by sudden and enormous unearned riches. So, while we were hugely wealthy. The money was tied up in a series of trusts. We COULD get the money, in dribs and large drabs, by showing the need and the potential benefit. The whole town knew about the millions – only we knew about the strings. That’s just background.

But one thing we did do – was leave. We all left. As I said, there was nothing there. And while we weren’t aiming at the skies, we could aim at the horizon. We weren’t stupid enough to try to play it big – so we went from the small village not to the big city but we bypassed the small town and went to the big town. We thought we could be sensible, watch how things went, grow into how to use the money and ‘do alright’. We didn’t want to be greedy, or throw the money away. Like a few lottery winners, we aimed for medium but better.

But I was still at school. Every school has its gangs, cliques, groups, peers and pressures. And now I was rich but keeping it quiet – I was immediately seen as different. Having the money, did give us a chance to relax instead of worrying about every penny. I suppose it helped me grow up too.

Then my life became tangled.

Her name was Melissa. Melissa Owens. I met her through the girl I was sort-of going out with, Jane Horris. Jane was nice, not beautiful, but nice face, nice shape, she fitted nicely against me when we walked or snuggled. Together we had eventually learnt to kiss – both of having done nothing before we met. And we were quite comfortable with how things were going.

It wasn’t fair to Jane. My Dad said so. My mum said so. Jane said so. I knew it as well. But Melissa targeted me. It was in the last days of our last term – all exams taken. Teachers looking for things to do to pass the time without them being accused of ‘doing nothing’ and with neither them nor us actually attacking each other. It might have been that rare thing ‘Pupil Rage’ or sheer boredom – but it did happen in the occasional school or occasional classroom back in those days.

Melissa and I were put together for some stupid ‘task’ or other. I have no idea if Melissa made it happen – I wouldn’t put it past her. But there we were. And Melissa, I can put it no other way, she raped me. I wasn’t completely unwilling but I didn’t want to do it with her. She unwrapped herself, item by item in the woods at the top of the hill overlooking the town. About two miles away, I think. I had to carry the equipment – we were doing some sort of survey. Ha. I knew what Melissa got me to survey.

She was much more of a knowing woman than my Jane, who was several years behind in, um, mental and emotional maturity. To be blunt at the age of 16, Melissa had the body of an 18 year old, the morals of a 30 year old and the determination of am ageing and vicious witch. Jane was 16, but more like 15 in general style. And I’d have said I was similarly running a little behind my actual age. But Melissa wasn’t. NO way!

By hindsight, I’d have to agree that she was a grade A first-class Alpha Bitch. With no redeeming features. Yes, she was beautiful but her soul was a cesspit and her willingness to drag others into hell ….. do I need to say it all.

I was dazzled by her attention. I knew nothing of her complete insensitivity, immorality, amorality, vileness. For reasons I do not know her previous boyfriends, lovers, playthings were once smitten, forever silent. Fear, threat, blackmail, bribery, or maybe they were just damaged beyond repair by her treatment.

I’d like to believe that she wasn’t that nasty or evil to everyone. But how can I tell. I do know that nobody did or does tell about her.

Fortunately for all of us, she left to the Big City and I do not know if the world will be lucky that she will meet worse than herself and be destroyed or if she IS amongst those worst.

What did she do to me. Well, she wanted to be married. And she wanted to be married soon. And, for whatever reasons I was eventually the chosen target. I know of no occasion where she did not get what she wanted. She wanted an ordinary husband who would let her glorious beauty continue to shine. She wanted money, power and more power.

I’ll tell you one of the ways in by which she hooked her toys.

She persuaded them –( how hard does a beautiful, sexy, apparently willing girl have to ‘persuade!) – like I say, she persuaded them to dress up for her.

Her preferred target was not the rough tough sporty type, nor was it the geek who was intellectually more intelligent. Her target was the ordinary, the naïve, the inexperienced. Like me.

And when I say ‘dress up’ what I really mean is that she tried to get us to wear her panties first. Apparently she always used much the same phrase ‘So you want to get into my panties, don’t you, I bet you do. Tell me how much you want to get you hand inside those sleek, shiny, soft panties to the hot, wet pleasure that I can offer.’

I mean – what sort of teenager is going to resist that offer. They didn’t. I didn’t. To get into her panties as she appeared to promise, I was willing to put them on. Trapped. Tricked.

And that was the first step.

And from there it progressed. Blackmail – because of the photos of you willingly, oh so willingly, putting on those panties.

Always really girly ones, with lace and ribbons and maybe a rose or bow. Coloured not plain; tight fitting to ensure that your bulge showed; so girly for a intending-to-be-butch boy. But they weren’t. And I wasn’t.

She revelled in the power. It was hidden except to those who knew. But it was ugly.

But now I was her prime target. Mostly it was the money but I knew also that Melissa hated Jane. Jane was so ordinary but so kind, so nice that any boy who went with her, even for a while, never said anything nasty or unkind about her.

And still there was one thing Melissa wanted. I didn’t want to agree. She now wanted marriage – not because I was such a wonderful guy. Oh no, but because my money was such a potential. Money – the root of all evil. Melissa didn’t need money to become evil.

So, with some effort, I did succeed in preventing her having access to half my trust – which would be the case in a normal friendly marriage and divorce. Oh yes, I did know what she was planning. Her eagerness to find out about the money was just that bit too much of a signal. I managed to keep any mention of the trust and my so-useful trustees out of her sight. I saw quickly how greedy her eyes were – windows to the soul – so true.

One thing made a difference. I can’t remember which of her previous victims said it. ‘ Melissa is so absolutely certain of what she wants and so certain that it will happen exactly the way she wants that actually she is stupid. I would love it if someone was able to exploit it. I think it may be a true weakness in her armour, if you can set it up in advance, then you may be able to escape the worst that she can do’.

I watched to see if this was true. And just before I finally fell into her clutches I found it was true. I saw her reading some document – and she read the beginning and said ‘I never bother with the small print – give me the gist of the argument and I’ll make it work for me – you just watch’.

With this suggestion now guiding me, I made her sign a pre-nup. The key to it was in the small print which I now knew she wouldn’t read. And I also knew she wouldn’t talk to a lawyer until much later – by which time the small print would already be in effect. In effect, what we signed to said ‘This is a friendly agreement between people who are intending to stay married. There is no need to involve lawyers while we are together and this agreement is not in effect. If any lawyer is called in by Miss Melissa Owens soon to be Mrs Henry Bell then this agreement is null and void except for the provisions listed at the end’. The end offered a fair and reasonable settlement but not the half that Melissa intended.

Melissa wanted that ring. The one which says ‘I get half your wealth’. The one which says ‘You’re stuck with me, under MY control, you’d better obey’.

As I’ve said – Melissa was NOT a nice person. I’ve met people who were just casually sloppy about kindness and unkindness, uncaring, careless. But Melissa planned everything. And her mind must have been crawling with maggots and the most ugly things.

She got me to the altar. Like a guided Missile I told people, except she’s more a Miss Guided to the Aisle.

She didn’t need to walk up the aisle mumbling ‘Aisle Altar Hymn’ as is the usual sequence.

She didn’t need to shout triumphantly ‘I’ll Alter Him’ which was what she intended and, indeed , was what she had begun.

Vile. Ugly. And then I saw her single bridesmaid. Jane. My heart twisted at Melissa’s deliberate unkindness. Perhaps I shrugged or gave some gesture to show ‘I don’t want this’. Jane’s eyes widened in shock. Melissa knew something had happened – but she never knew what.

So I was wed. And even then I wore panties under my suit. And more than that. Melissa had forced me to wear a full set of bridal lingerie – panties, garter-belt, stockings, bra and camisole too. She’d have had me in a dress if that wouldn’t have interfered with some other component of her plans.

Are you surprised the marriage didn’t last.

However hard you try, it is my belief that evil cannot hide forever. And Melissa had stopped pretending now that she was so close to her plan being complete. Power and Money – so close.

Melissa fell, trapped in her web of deceit.

But I fell with her. Nobody could believe that someone so beautiful could be so vile – therefore I had to be at fault.

One stood with me other than my parents, siblings and some of my family. A few friends stayed. The one – that was Jane. She knew too well how vicious, venomous and grubby was that girl. And now Melissa had become a woman, oh so wise in the ways of the world.

Jane had learnt. Perhaps too much. It has to be wrong to take someone clean, pure, nice and drag her through torment and ugliness. But while power corrupts the person using it, use of that power drags many through the cesspits.
Jane survived. For reasons I still do not understand, even though I love the aftereffects, Jane stayed. Jane survived and has helped me survive.

Obviously we moved away. We have used huge amounts of the money to help those abused, crippled and damaged by such as Melissa. We were especially keen against ‘forced-marriage or arranged-marriage whether this was based on Muslim, Pakistani, Indian, Jewish or other cultural beliefs. We found ways to get many more people to report abuse and rape. And, yes, men get abused too. And G & Ls and Ts and XYZs get abused. And it’s all wrong. And it’s almost always about power.

I don’t know how many men, and possibly women too (such as Jane) that vile, evil creature hurt or crippled. One is too many. Like any abuser, it was the power that she craved.

She was worse than a murderer, she murdered people’s souls. That commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ is pale compared to what I would write.

“Thou shalt not by action or inaction, by word or by lack of words maim, cripple, damage, abuse or destroy a person’s body, personality or soul.” – perhaps that would be a working draft.

‘Ordinary’ murderers kill one or maybe two. Serial murderers do more of course. Rapists maim far more than that because so many of their victims cannot or dare not reveal what has happened. The Pxxdophile, to my estimate, damages even more than the rapist. And it’s almost never about the sex – it’s about the power. The willingness to cause pain, hurt, injury, lifelong damage and trauma. Some adults can, with help, cope with rape – how does a child cope with repeated vileness.
Perhaps I was older than the typical target – but Melissa ‘ruined my life’. And the only gift she gave me was also vile in intent. Because if I were to reveal it, once again I would be ‘different’. But I can’t stop wearing panties. Fortunately, I never need to wear anything else. I mean I do wear clothes. But the only thing nailed into my soul like frilly stigmata – are those bloody, blessed panties.

There is ONE thing though. Jane knew about Melissa. Not everything at first, but Jane knew Melissa was demonspawn. My lovely Jane decided that if I was somehow twisted into being a panty-wearing outwardly-normal person then at the very least, it would be her choice as to what I wore. None of the ultra-girly frillies, silk, satin, sheer, slinky, that M insisted on. After a while, we managed to refer to her just as M or TDB (the Damn Bitch). Plain panties, simple, comfy, nice.

Except when things get to me and I find I have to wear TDB-panties, mostly the love and friendship of Jane keeps me on track.

So, I’m sitting here, in the dark, in the quiet, in my hideaway. I don't know what stressed me and made me look back, go back to those dirty days. Fortunately it doesn't happen often. And I’m wearing the frilliest, prettiest, most feminine panties that I could find. Because I must. Because that vile woman somehow made it important to me, essential to me, crucial to me. I hate it and I love it.