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Why I Love Pantyhose
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Why I Love Pantyhose Why I Love Pantyhose (Originally written in November 1999) Once again, I find myself sitting in front of the keyboard, strangely compelled to bare my soul. What I’d like to do is attempt to answer the question so many have asked, but few have answered. What is this obsession with pantyhose? Where does it come from? What is it about pantyhose that excites men so much? My reasons for loving pantyhose may not be exactly the same as yours. Yet, nevertheless, I’m writing this essay so hopefully I will learn as much about myself as the people who read it. I still remember my first encounter with nylons. I was 7 or 8 years old. I was staying at my grandmother’s house for the weekend. But for some reason, my grandmother wasn’t around. Being the curious prepubescent boy that I was, I started rummaging around in her room. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I didn’t need an excuse to be curious at that age. What I uncovered was an opened package of Leggs Sheer Energy pantyhose. You know, those kind that come in those purple square packages. Well, what got my attention wasn’t the pantyhose. It was the outline of the female anatomy on the back. I remember seeing a minimal drawing of a woman with two breasts and two legs closed together, with a simple V between her legs to outline her female sex. It was the closest thing to pornography I had ever seen at that age. In my subconscious, I was already starting to associate pantyhose with female nudity. Without considering any of the consequences, I pulled the silky undergarments from the package. They were all balled up and wrinkly. To look at them, they weren’t especially interesting in any way. But touching them was different. They felt really nice, so smooth and tingly against my fingers. I rubbed them all over my hands, my face and my legs. Then, it occurred to me. I should put them on, just like the woman on the package. From the moment the thought came into my mind, it seemed like a great idea. I stripped out of my clothes and awkwardly fumbled around with the Leggs Sheer Energy down around my ankles. Somehow, even in my youthful ignorance, I managed to pull them on. The sensation was electrifying. I got so excited that the muscle in my right leg went into spasms and started bouncing up and down. I hadn’t discovered masturbation at that age yet. So my goal wasn’t reaching orgasm. My goal was to understand what it felt like to walk around in this soft, delicate material all day, just like a woman. Suddenly, I was startled by a voice coming from outside the bedroom. It was my aunt, Alyson, my mother’s sister. She walked right in on me. All I remember is the sound of her laughing hysterically. I was mortified. “Timmy’s wearing stockings like a girl,” she joked. I didn’t think it was funny. I just wanted her to leave me alone. I pulled my shirt back on and sat there on the end of the bed, stiff as a bored. I didn’t want to stand up or try taking the pantyhose off. I was too embarrassed. I didn’t want Alyson to see me undress either. To make matters worse, she hopped on the bed to taunt me even more. She couldn’t have been more than 16 at the time. At that age, this sort of thing was very amusing. I didn’t know what else to do. So I just showed her the package I had found. I explained that I just wanted to see what they felt like. She seemed to enjoy staring at me as I wore them. It wasn’t uous in any direct way. It was just youthful curiosity, the excitement of seeing something totally foreign, considering all the possibilities. When I realized she had no intention of telling anyone about the incident, I relaxed. Alyson left the room giggling and shaking her head. To her, I was just a silly little boy without a clue. That’s how my obsession began. From that day forward, my awareness of pantyhose as a sexualized item was keen. When my mother would walk around our apartment wearing her stockings, as she called them, I would feel highly uncomfortable. She didn’t feel like she was undressed. But I had already developed my association with pantyhose and nudity. So, seeing my mother half dressed in her stockings was always unpleasant, but it continued the sexual association with pantyhose in my subconscious, whether I wanted it to or not. As a , I spent quite a bit of time at church. My mother was a very religious person and she wanted me to be as well. But I didn’t go to church to sing songs and learn about Jesus. I went to look at the women. At our church, back in Boston, everyone dressed to the nines. I would sit in my seat and looked down the rows and see women’s legs in all shapes and sizes. Every one of them wore pantyhose with their high heels and Sunday dresses. Fantasizing about all those women was the best way to escape those boring sermons. I would watch the women cross their legs back and forth, dangling their shoes and running their hands over the nylon, relishing the luxurious feel of that glossy material. Again, pantyhose always equated with sex in my mind. In junior high, my favorite teacher was Miss Romanos from 7th grade Spanish. She was half Puerto Rican, half Irish American. She had light blonde hair and freckles, but her complexion was actually quite tan. I don’t remember much about her face or her eyes. I just remember her coming to class everyday with that sexy Hispanic accent, wearing denim skirts or summer dresses, with high heels and pantyhose. Most of the students in her class were boys. She had a famous habit of sitting up on the edge of her desk during her lectures. All the boys locked their eyes between her legs, as she crossed her legs back and forth for 45 minutes. She didn’t seem to be aware of the way she teased us, giving up brief glimpses of her crotch every 5 minutes. But all the boys believed she was giving us a show on purpose. It was my first pantyhose leg tease. When I got to be about 17 or 18 years old, in my sexual prime, a new<b> neighbor </font></b>moved in next door to us. Her name was Shelly. She was about 30 years old, 5’7”, 115 lbs., dirty blonde hair, green eyes and C-cup breasts. I could always tell when she was going to work or coming home because I could hear the clickety-clack of her high heels on the concrete as she walked through our apartment complex. Whenever I heard those high heeled footsteps, I leapt to my window to catch a glimpse of her in a tight skirt and suntan pantyhose, which she never failed to wear. I can’t tell you how many times I jerked off dreaming about this woman. One great thing about Shelly was that she had a . He was about 9 years old, but we became friends anyway. In fact, we became such good friends that Shelly would let me stay with him in their apartment whenever she went out. Him and I would watch movies or play games for a while, but then I’d let him go outside and play with his younger friends. This, of course, gave me the opportunity to browse around in Shelly’s bedroom. I opened drawer after drawer looking for her sexy unmentionables. Then, finally, I hit pay dirt. She had all sorts of lacy bras, satin panties, garters, thigh highs and, of course, dozens of pairs of pantyhose in all colors. I was in Heaven. I spent hours fumbling through her underwear drawer, until I discovered her laundry hamper. That’s where the real buried treasures were hidden. All the pantyhose she had worn during the week were in that hamper. I lifted them out to sniff the crotch and smell her sweet perfumed scent. I sniffed her cotton panties too, but the pantyhose were what I loved most. I would stuff them in my pocket, take them home and jerk off with them in my room. Then, I’d wash them in the sink, let them dry and sneak them back in Shelly’s room a few days later. She never caught on. One day, I used a pair of keys that Shelly had given to my mother for emergencies, to sneak into her apartment while she was at work and her was at school. I went through my normal ritual of pulling pantyhose from the hamper, when it occurred to me that I should try wearing Shelly’s pantyhose myself. These pantyhose weren’t the cheap kind like those Leggs Sheer Energy. These were an indescribably soft blend of cotton and silk. They had no reinforced toes, no control tops, nothing unsightly at all. They glided up my legs like a second skin. I was so horny, it was almost painful. I didn’t even want to touch myself in them. I just walked around her apartment wearing her pantyhose like I imagined she did. I started looking at the books on her shelves, when I noticed a small book with a strange flowery cover. I pulled it down. It was a diary. It was Shelly’s diary. I sat down with the book and slowly turned page after page. Shelly had written down her experiences from high school, college, all the way to the present. Most of it was pretty boring stuff, but every six or seven pages there was something written about a guy. Shelly had been with a lot of guys. She described all sorts of men, White and Black, tall and short, skinny and fat, young and old. She even described how good they were in bed. She liked the ones with big cocks. She loved the ones who ate her pussy. She tried anal sex a few times. She found that she didn’t mind the taste of semen that much. She liked to be tied up and spanked more than she expected. She loved letting men have control. She even wrote about being with two guys at the same time. It was unbelievable. I sat there reading those memories over and over. I fondled my cock through her pantyhose as she recalled the best sex of her life. But the hottest stories were the ones she wrote about playing with herself. Shelly seemed to like masturbating more than she liked intercourse. She wrote about masturbating in the shower and in the tub as a . She wrote about using her first vibrator in college. She wrote about using dildos, even putting them in her ass. She masturbated with cucumbers, brush handles and wine bottles. She described her sweaty, screaming orgasms in vivid detail which always made me shoot cum all over myself, wearing her pantyhose. I don’t know how good a job I did getting the cum stains out of her nylons, but I never heard a word about anything. Shelly was the woman who firmly cemented my pantyhose obsession. When I started working full-time in different offices around the city, all the women dressed to impress. Soon, all my fantasies involved women in business suits, wearing blazers and silk blouses, short skirts and expensive leather pumps. My boss was a 40-year-old Italian blonde with a taste for straight mini skirts and sheer clinging tops. I’d sit in her office and try to conceal my erection as she crossed her legs right in front me. I’d hear the crisp sound of nylon rubbing together and chills would go down my spine. She was an older woman. She was in great shape, but she wasn’t exactly beautiful. Still, all I cared about was ogling her legs in those hot little skirts. I almost never called in sick. Moving from the North to the Southwest was a huge adjustment. I was glad to be in college, but the weather in Arizona kept most of the women in shorts, tank tops and sandals. College girls don’t dress like the career women I used to see in the offices back home. Thank God for the Internet. Browsing the Web, I found tons of pictures of sexy secretaries, erotic executives and busty businesswomen. But the pictures I found on the major porn sites were missing the intimate thrill that I felt when I saw a woman in a short skirt and high heels just walking down the street. Then, one day I discovered the Amateur Index. There was a link on the site to another site called Amateur Adrianne. Here was an amateur model whose specialty was actually modeling in pantyhose. I knew instantly, this was the site for me. I followed the link and my life hasn’t been the same since. Adrianne allowed me to rediscover my love for sophisticated women who dress to thrill, in high heeled shoes and exhilarating pantyhose. Since discovering Adrianne, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting other lovely ladies like Annie, Cinnamon, Kristy, Brianna, Isabell, Hotlegs, Lara4Play and the fabulous Elise. All of these women in their own unique ways, truly personify the sensual mystique behind that simple article of clothing called pantyhose. So why do I love pantyhose so much? Well, it’s all about the art of the tease. When a woman wears pantyhose, I feel a signal. I sense her inner desire to be admired. Subconsciously, she’s asking me to look at her legs, to enjoy their shape and their shine. She wants me to notice how sexy she is. Yet, unlike stockings and garters, pantyhose aren’t as obvious. To me, that’s a good thing. A woman wears pantyhose the way men wear socks. The fact that they’re so ordinary is the reason they’re so intriguing. To a woman, it’s a natural, essential part of her wardrobe. And that’s exactly what I want to see, the things real women wear everyday. I don’t want her to pretend to be sexy. I want her to be herself. Natural sex appeal is always the most alluring. Pantyhose are really underwear worn as outerwear. They cover the private area, but they’re always visible. They conjure the mystery of what’s hidden underneath. Pantyhose suggest the potential of full nudity, without giving the prize away too quickly. They create a fantasy, where I imagine how the nylon might feel against my body. Somehow, I want to share in that soft, feminine sensation, and feel what it might be like to live inside a woman’s skin. Lastly, to put it simply, when worn by the right woman, pantyhose enhance the natural beauty that’s already there. Pantyhose are the foreplay of my sexual imagination. T. Scott 11/4/99 |
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