Never mind that panty hose; why stockings and tights are rad & fab accomplices in midlife.

Late for a secret rendezvous I rushed into the garden to fetch my dogs. I stumbled, I screamed: I got my silky black stockings snagged by a bush. My hands trembled when sliding into the only other pair I had. The clips of the garter belt slipped off again and again. I couldn’t give up. This was my chance to escape my terribly dysfunctional relationship. I needed the sinful power of these…

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