Nancy in Nylon

I first saw her when I was 7 years old, on a November evening nearly 30 years ago when my parents introduced me Sir Carol Reeds 1968 movie rendition of the musical Oliver! Nancy, the female protagonist of Charles Dickens Oliver Twist vibrantly brought to life on the big screen by the British actress Shani Wallis. Brave, gorgeous, star-crossed Nancy, clad in her famous red dress and purple tights Shani's most famous, remembered, and cherished role. Here I was, a young boy close to the title characters age, watching with bated breath and an unfamiliar, unprecedented, novelty-hot delight in the pit of my stomach, and especially in my young loins the radiant Shani stealing the show as the voluptuous Nancy. Within the first few moments of her first appearance a lively bar ditty in which she sings about her and her friends shoddy circumstances, while concluding, with several cheerful flicks of her vivid red skirt that Its A Fine Life I was hooked. It is a fine life indeed, one that Nancy has touched forever. From that fateful night in the late 1980's to today, I have remained mesmerized by this vintage beauty: by her long strawberry-blonde hair; by her rambunctious, twinkling, adventure-seeking eyes; by the swooping decollatage of her famous red dress; by how, throughout the film and especially in her several dance numbers, she graces me with several views of her shapely legs, clad in violet tights. Red and violet have been my favorite colors ever since that night; their combination is a bona fide fetish for me. I imagine that, by now, several of my readers will know of the movie and beauty of whom I speak. I will not bore you then, dear friends, with the details of how I fell unto hopeless love and hottest lust with this belle from the Golden Age of Musicals. I will, however, try to ignore my cock, which is stiffening relentlessly as I sit here and write this story, so I can share my favorite method of pleasuring myself to my Nancy. Out of a rainbow of fantasies and fetishes, Nancy and what I am about to describe to you has been, and will forever be, my favorite method of masturbation. I have an old nylon sleeping bag that is a faded canary-yellow in color. My ritual, for over 20 years, has been the same. I roll up the sleeping bag, smooth yellow side up, until I have it in the shape of a body pillow. (Over the years, the sleeping bag has flattened out due to my ubiquitous use, requiring me to add layers of sheets and towels within the roll to keep it a perfect blend of fluffy and firm.) I then lay my improvised love doll on my bed and set up a movie player on the adjacent nightstand. I start the film, skip to one of Nancy's scenes, and move on to Step Two: the tights! For it was none other than Nancy who gave me my lifetimes fascination with tights and stockings! As I begin watching, I put on a pair of opaque tights (and nothing else), in homage to Nancy's wardrobe. Then, clad in my tights, I mount my rolled-up sleeping bag and, as I continue to watch Nancy I just dry-hump away! It should come as no surprise that I have gone through several pairs of tights, eventually and inevitably wearing holes into the crotch of each pair. Today, I use a dark-fuschia pair that perfectly complements the sleeping bags canary yellow the coupling of which, in turn, provides an abstract, color-wheel complement to Nancy's red and purple. By the time I've slipped into my tights, all the while watching Nancy sing and dance through one of my favorite numbers for a couple of minutes, my cock is hard as a rock inside the smooth, girly nylon! Sometimes I cum very quickly; a few measures of her song and a few thrusts against my sleeping bag the nylon of my tights sliding deliciously against the nylon of my improvised and long-cherished love doll and I am overcome by the legendary sight, the legendary sound, the feel, the smell of this childhood crush. Sometimes, however, I take longer; and when I do, I enjoy the fuck out of the movie players loop function, which allows me to view any clip as many times as I want! Either way, the experience is similar. It is pleasure transcendent: In my mind, in pure abstraction, that old, rolled-up sleeping bag is Nancy herself. I imagine the top part, where I rest my head, where I bury my face, to be her chest, her perfect vintage boobs pushing against the musky fabric of her grimy red bodice. My tights-clad legs hug the lower half, where her own legs would fill that swirling, bountiful red skirt, as my Muse dances across the screen and across my heart. I dance with her, my hips thrusting into the perfectly firm sleeping bag in time with her moves, my arms embracing her, squeezing my lifetimes great Obsession with all my might. I breathe in the musky smell of her imaginary bodice, of so many countless prior orgasms, of all the sweat and all the pleasure Ive poured into my Nancy over so many years the fragrance is intoxicating! I am at once the little boy who fell in love with Nancy so many years ago, who worshipped her and longed to throw his little body onto that female perfection; and the adult man who steadfastly adores her today and fantasizes about making the sweetest, epic love to my life's great Love. Nancy reaches the climax of her song, of her brilliant red-and-violet dance, as my head spins with euphoria; my lungs thirstily drink down the smell of my own pleasure; my loins catch fire inside the smoothness of my nylon tights, as they rub feverishly against the nylon-clad Princess beneath me as they rub against Nancy, making love to her with all the desire of nearly three decades adoration! I let out every sound, voluntary and involuntary, that escapes my lungs as my cock fires rope after rope of hot cum right into my tights!! I then lie there in the glow of my orgasm; my stomach and my thighs and my cock glued to Nancy beneath me; my head resting on that imaginary bosom; my heart still making love to the pauper Princess on the screen and in my arms. As I write this, I am wearing my favorite fuschia tights and can scarcely continue to ignore the strain of my throbbing cock against the smooth nylon, let alone the abundance of images of my Victorian Muse, of strawberry blonde and red and violet all of which have fueled my fiery composition of this story. It goes without saying what I will be doing immediately upon concluding here! Please feel free to comment to this story, especially if you have similar experiences to share. And now, dear friends, my Nancy awaits