**SISLAW#6**

“Tracey can you get your mum to call me urgently, This is uncle Jim”

“F*** off yer prat this ain’t Tracey, I’ve hacked her FBook account. F*** off you w**ker”

I was shocked when my brother in-law Jim drew my attention to this. “Marianne, you need to report this as this bozo is giving Tracey a bad name” Jim told me when he eventually got hold of me via messaging. When I questioned my daughter about it, she admitted that her ex-boyfriend Morgan had hi-jacked her account, changed the password and wouldn’t give it back. I had only met him a few times and didn’t like him; he was one of those swaggering gangsta yobs with their trousers hanging ridiculously low but Tracey liked him and thought he was cool.

I’m not very IT literate so Jim sent me a link to report the account hijack except I couldn’t get anywhere. My husband Kurt even tried reporting it to the Police as identity theft but they just weren’t interested. Kurt’s criminal record for dodgy dealing didn’t help nor did getting angry and swearing at them. He wanted to go around there and punch the guy’s lights out. I managed to calm him down, distracting him with a low-cut top, a short skirt, stockings and suspenders and high-heel which soon took his mind off it. Well it is so small that it can only handle thinking about one thing at a time. After getting Morgan’s address from Tracey, I went around to pay him a visit as I wasn’t going to stand for this creep giving my daughter a bad name.

It was cold outside so I put on my long thick coat. Morgan lived in a run-down part of town where the drug dealers and other low-life scum lived off benefits. Tracey had already told me that the council had given him his own flat in a tower block. Of course he lived on the top floor and the lifts were vandalised so I had to climb the dank concrete staircase that smelled of urine. That made me remember being in a concrete high-risk car park with Jim going up similar stairs to these, putting on a foreign accent and saying “English toliet” then pretending to whip his dick out and spray it everywhere. By the smell of it, that must have been exactly what these filthy yobs had done. I continued to climb in the gloom because all the lights had been smashed. Oh well, at least it gave my legs a good workout climbing all that way. Luckily I didn’t meet any yobs on the stairs, lucky for them that was. In the mood I was in by the time I got to the top with my calves and thighs burning, I would have kicked their teeth right to the back of their slimy mouths if they got in my way. As it was, when I found the flat and knocked on the door, I just barged right in when the creep opened it.

“Oi, whaddya think you’re doing, mon. You can’t come in here, git out” he protested. He had one of those low, slow drawls and speech pattern trying to emulate the black kids that they thought were so cool not realising that from a white kid, it just made them sound stupid. I spun around to face him, fixing him with a no-nonsense glare through my spectacles which magnified my eyes and, so I’d been told, made me look fierce. “I’m not going anywhere until you’ve given me the password to Tracey’s FBook account” I said with a stern tone. I never used to be that commanding but having 5 kids changes that.

I saw the way that he looked at me thinking I was an unattractive old turkey who had no right being in his flat. I know that I’m not beautiful what with my long narrow face, a nose which is too long and prominent, and the lines around my long broad cheeks are a bit deep. The rectangular specs I wear magnify my small blue eyes and make me look real gawky. My mouth is small with a narrow jaw and deep chin, although Jim tells me my mouth is very kissable - the cheeky blighter. My mousey blonde hair is home-cut with a fringe across the front above my eyebrows, then flowing down over my ears to my shoulders. Luckily I hadn’t worn it clipped back which exposes a lot of forehead and my large sticky out ears, he would have thought me a right ugly old cow instead of just an old turkey. Well I might be getting on a bit but I am not passed it just yet. At least my brother in-law, Jim finds me attractive and I think he secretly fancies me and I can still get Kurt going when I need to.

It was very warm inside his flat so I took off my coat and hung it on the stair newel post. When I turned around I got a shock for he was eyeing up my bust. I’m actually quite proud of my bust. It used to be quite small but after 5 kids it had sprouted out into a nice pair of knockers which given my slim figure made them seem quite large. To be honest, I had forgotton that I still had on the clothes that I had used to calm down Kurt. With his lecherous gaze on my mounds and cleavage formed by the bra I was wearing, I became self-conscious and wished the pink top wasn’t so tight fitting and had such a low neck-line.

I tried to ignore him and spotted the door to the living room and headed towards it. Somehow I knew that he was eyeing up the back of my legs as he followed. That was when I realised that he had only ever seen me in leggings and a baggy T-shirt. He had never seen my legs before. Well he was certainly getting an eyeful today. For I was still wearing the very short black mini-skirt I had put on to keep Kurt quiet; although why I bothered I didn’t know as he lost interest really quickly. I also had on high-heeled shoes which really showed off my well-shaped calves.

It was strange but when I was younger, men never bothered with me but now they really seemed to like my legs and I kept catching them looking when I walked down the street. Although I was 5 foot 9, my body was quite slim, not bad given that I had so many kids, and my legs long, slim and shapely. My thighs were sleek, strong and toned as were my calves which were long with a thick shapely calf muscle. These drove Jim to distraction and I loved to tease him, flexing my toned calves and watching him trying not to stare at them and failing. He was always going on about the beautiful strong diamond shapes, the cleft between and the muscle tone. I developed these legs from many years of walking down from the hill where we lived into town then having to walk up another hill to take the kids to school or go the shops. Try doing that several times a day. The kids may have left school now but I keep my legs and the rest of my body toned by working out regularly in the gym that the Salvation Army have. I’m in their militant wing and know how to take care of myself which has greatly boosted my confidence.

Entering the living room, I spot a long sofa along one side so walk over to it, sat down then crossed my legs. Oh damn, I forgot how short this skirt was and felt the hem rise up onto the thick black stocking tops. There was no chance that Morgan hadn’t noticed. As he sat down next to me, his eyes were wide and glued to the top of my thighs, gawping at my sheer black nylon stockings and stocking tops. I was disgusted, this was my daughter’s ex-boyfriend and his eyes were lusting over my legs and bust. Jim and Kurt kept telling me how great my legs were but honestly! I just couldn’t get over how my legs produced such a strong reaction in men especially after all those years of being the gawky beanpole of a girl that no boy would ever look at twice, let alone ask out on a date. I was still amazed that an ordinary not very special looking housewife like me could get men going just by showing off my legs.

I glared straight at his eyes letting the magnification of my glasses unsettle him. “You will give Tracey back her FBook account. You stole it and are giving her a bad name with your abuse” I told him trying to sound stern. “F off. She dumped me, I keeping it as a memento, innit” he put on that stupid accent which grated on my nerves. Instead of having the decency to look me in the eye, his gaze never left the top of my thighs. Right you bastard, I thought and raised my knee subtly higher which caused the hem to slide back to expose a glimpse of the patch of bare skin above my stocking tops. His eyes practically bulged as he realised that I was wearing stockings and suspenders and a bulge began to form in his trousers.

Too late, I realised that had been mistake when I saw the calculating look in his eye as he raised his face to mine then placed his hand on my knee. “Look love, eyes tell you the password if you’re good to me, if you know watta mean?” the slimy creep said. “Innit” my mind silently added mockingly. “Morgan!” I was shocked and forcibly removed his hand by bending back his little finger causing him to yelp. “I came here to give you the chance to do the right thing” I told him sternly. “You got great legs for an old turkey. I do the right thing for you alright” he said in that silly accent winking suggestively.

I was disgusted. My daughter was 18 and this creep only 2 years older. “I’m nearly twice your age. Keep your hands to yourself. Now give me that password” I demanded angrily. “Then I ain’t saying nuttin” he said stubbornly still staring hungrily at my legs. I’d wish I worn a longer skirt now. I looked away in despair trying to think what to do next when my gaze fell upon a shiny metal pole running vertically at one end of the room. To be honest, I remembered noticing it before but was too wrapped up in the conversation to comment. “Dats where me birds gimme a dance. know wadda I mean?” he said noticing where I was looking.

“Did Tracey do that?” I asked. He didn’t seem to notice the tension in my voice. “Yeah, she was crap knaw wadda mean like, innit” he said dismissively. I stood up absolutely fuming wanting to teach this creep a lesson but couldn’t think how. “Nice calves” he remarked. “For an old bird, that is” he added. He was a leg man alright, but he was getting on my nerves. On purpose I raised myself onto my toes, making my long shapely calves harden and swell into hard edged pointed slabs. The muscle tone was enhanced by the sheer black nylon and the seams running vertically along them. “Phroar great calves, shame Tracey dun take after you. She kinda podgy” he remarked. It was just puppy-fat but I wasn’t going to waste my breath trying to tell him that.

His appreciation of my legs gave me an idea. Kurt once had one of his failed get-rich quick schemes where I was a Policewoman-o’gram hired to give guys a sexy lap-dance [JIMP#26]. I became quite skilled at it but I’d never done pole dancing. How hard could it be? I thought studying it. “Dun even think abat it. It for young birds not old turkey like you” Morgan said dismissively. That just peed me off even more and made me even more determined to teach the chauvinistic ageist pig a real tough lesson. “Let me show you what this old turkey can do” I told him.

There was a MP3 player in a docking system close by and I pressed play and some slinky funky dance music blared out. I began to get myself into the rhythm, swaying my hips and thrusting out my ample bust. At the same time, I bent my knees slightly as I pivoted around on my feet which made my sleek thigh muscles tense like hard slabs with steel cords within my stockings. Working up a sexy rhythm, bumping and grinding, I moved around the pole.

My backside is quite compact and firm what with all the exercises I do at the Sally Army gym, so turning my back on the watching creep, I hitched up the back of my skirt and thrust it towards him. I only had on a skimpy black thong which showed off my hard tight bare buttocks. “Nice arse, great legs” he moaned in appreciation which made me feel good. I continued to bump and grind around the pole, trying to remember the moves I’d seen on some of those sleezy cop films Kurt watched.

I hooked a calf around the pole then swung myself around it trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Getting the feel for it, I found that I could wrap the pole in the crook of my right arm, swing my body then grabbing hold with my left below my body. In that way, I could keep myself off the floor suspended horizontally across the pole allowing me to show off my stocking-clad legs in different ways which kept Morgan’s gaze glued to them. I folded them up in front of the pole, the large meaty calves flaring out on each side as they pressed against the bottom of my thigh. Stretching my legs out as I controlled my spin around the pole, he got an eyeful of the full length of my long legs, stocking tops and suspenders and skimpy briefs. The sheen from the sheer black nylon made them look even sexier and Morgan watched them like a hungry hawk. “This old turkey has good legs, Morgan” I told him, trying to put on a breathy sexy voice. “Great legs” he moaned in reply. That made me feel comfortable about showing off my legs to this creep.

As I continued to work the pole I gained the feel for it, gaining confidence in my ability to use it, using muscles that I never knew I had. All the while I tried to look sexy as best a 36 year old gawky looking mother of 5 could. “Yeah mon, work that body” he sighed in appreciation. That boosted my confidence, I was turning this young man on but I needed more of a reaction than that. I took the plunge to try something more difficult. Grabbing the pole with both hands, I went into a handstand on the floor then gripped the pole between the insides of my thighs while locking my ankles. My short skirt fell back, so he got full sight of my legs and skimpy covered crotch in all their glory as I squeezed the pole with my strong inner thighs to keep me inverted. With my strong legs keeping me in place, I moved my hands from the floor and took firm grip of the pole behind my back. Slowly at first while trying to look confident, I opened my legs and spread them apart wide. At that moment I was grateful for the weight training the Sally Army gave me that strengthened my upper body and allowed me to support myself like this without falling to the floor in an untidy heap. Upside down doing the splits, I saw the hard muscle of my calves flare out from my well-shaped lower legs. Men really found that sexy?

Spinning slowly around the pole, I raised my upper body to just below horizontal beneath my stretched legs. I then brought my right leg closer so that the top of my thigh touched my chest, trapping the pole between them. That allowed me to free a hand to catch the ankle of my left leg which I bent back behind me and pull it up so that I doing a variant of the front splits while stuck half-way up a pole. This was harder than it looked and I grew an appreciation for girls who did this for a living.

I got more adventurous, swinging around hanging back from the pole with one leg raised skywards and pulling the other ankle up behind me. But was it turning on Morgan? Hanging from the pole upside down with my hands holding the pole between my legs, I spread them out into a wide V shape. “This old turkey is lithe and limber” I told him, pleased to see that he looked impressed but I need a stronger reaction. I let my body corkscrew down and around the pole until I reached the bottom when I dismounted and writhed around, flinging my hair around as short as it was, trying to look wild and sexy. Morgan’s eyes seemed glued to my legs so I kicked one out straight and kept it held at waist height, pleased to see his rapt attention on it. Yes, he was a leg-man alright.