Sylvia’s birthday part 2

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Sylvia’s birthday part 2Sylvia, open your eyes. I know you want to put on a show, and I think I know what kind of show too, do you want to get dressed up for the show first? I can’t believe what we found at my cousin’s house, you know who she was, right? Edith Head? the woman who designed gowns for all the stars? My aunt, my cousin’s mother, was her chief assistant…she has a whole house full of clothes for those people….look what we found…LOOK!A zippered closet bag. Inside, through the heavy velvet cover, a tiny green beaded gown. A little note card attached in exquisite fountain pen script: Mme. Piaf. 1948. Oscar. THAT’S what the note on the bag said.”She was tiny, like you, with big boobs. This gown might just fit…”Oh my god. Never in my life. It took a lot to get me to shut up, but this was one of those moments. Before the night was over, I had several. Judy got behind me, got me to lean forward and I tucked my big tits into the bodice. She zipped up the tiny dyed-to-match metal zipper in the back..uh, oh…I was bigger on top than Edith Piaf. I was a little bit over the top and out the sides…This gave me cleavage any Oscar attending woman would envy…Denise :”You are bigger on top than everybody, Sylvia. Here is the story, my dear: This gown, this fabulous gown, was made for Edith Piaf to wear to the Oscars in 1948. But she was not ödemiş escort a healthy woman, as I’m sure you know. In those days to fly from Paris to the U.S. was a long, long flight; She never came, never wore or even saw a picture of the gown made so perfectly for her. This gown is yours. But it’s not free, no it’s not… I know some things you like, dear, some things you hate, but if you like, if you get my meaning…you will have to do some things to get it….””Walk around with the gown on…”It fit me; ass, hips, shoulders, tummy, hem…and it made my breasts, that I had always hated, look, well ….great Hollywood word… “fabulous”.Oooooohhhh… I was just sixteen years old. the big room had mirrors everywhere, full length, of course. I was in heaven, tossing my head, looking at myself in this green beaded dress, with my red curls.Denise said,” Remember, I told you Norma was kinky? Sylvia, I’m not giving away any secrets, am I, if I say that you like that a little, too? I do, Judy does, Devon and Barbara like that too, all of us do. You are so crazy, Sylvia, we love you so much. ( I was melting for joy. I thought I had no friends) Do you think…oh how shall I say it?”,Rolling her eyes upward for that extra dramatic touch she loved.”Would you like to have lots and lots of sex?” Ooooohh, lots and lots…(Marilyn Monroe could not have escort ödemiş said that with more hints of incredibly kinky things than she did.)…and then…get ..ahem..down and dirty? Like you like?” She made a very delicate, feminine gesture of a woman squatting to pee.”For your birthday, we want to be kinky with you, in the bed of one the queens of it….would you like that?”If you can imagine me without words.”But you have to sing a song for us in that dress, Sylvia, do you understand?”Did I understand? I had the song in my head before she posed the question.So there I was, a snotty, bratty little girl, not at all pretty, sixteen, in Edith Piaf’s 1948 Oscar gown, in Norma Shearer’s bedroom, singing “La Vie en Rose” and twirling around, gesturing with my face and body, as if this was the last song I was going to sing before I faced the Gestapo firing squad, waiting, bored, in the rain-soaked alley behind the theater. In my fantasy, I threw the blindfold they had given me into the gutter, crushed the Gaulois I had been smoking with my high heel into the cobblestones, looked into the eyes of each of my executioners, cursed them for their tiny penises and balls like the squirrels of Paris.”‘Your mothers went through such pain to bring you into this world. Look at you! Of course, I shot the SS commander! Of course, I did! If I were to live, I ödemiş escort bayan would do it again, as many times as it would take! It’s my delight to die this evening for freedom and for France!” I held up the crucifix I always wore, though I had abandoned religion for love and sex when I was a guttersnipe of thirteen. ” Aim for the crucifix, you filthy pigs. I ‘ll not forgive you!” I grew up in Hollywood, California. I had been to lots of movies!Judy had invited some k**s and college k**s we knew…nobody from high school except Denise. I was already regarded as the high school whore, So was Judy, Denise was too, but not as famous for it as we were getting to be.These were mostly art k**s, music k**s, theater k**s, not jocks or cheerleaders, mostly gay or bisexual k**s who had to be in the closet about themselves in 1966..the kind of k**s that would be into this. I took off the dress and was naked on that sumptuous bed. Some of the art and painting students messed around with props and things so that I looked like the model for Manet’s “Olympia”. I posed with my legs closed and flowers over my pubes, tried to get the expression of Manet’s model right, and they took a ton of pictures. Somebody said my boobs were wrong…oh well, I thought, Sylvia Greenburg, loved to be the center of attention. I’ll bet Manet’s model had to suck some dick, an awful lot of women do. If I had to suck some for that, oh well…as some star said: “Just don’t put it on the front page..”That was fun, I loved it. first I was Edith Piaf, now I shocked the sensibilities of the art world in 1866…”