This post first started out being a quick afterthought of my deepest crossdressing fantasies (with pantyhose of course), yet somehow blossomed into a longer erotic story. It’s funny how when you start writing about something you can’t stop thinking about, words just flow and you just can’t stop.
More like I don’t want the fantasy to stop either.
So I hope you enjoy my personal fantasy tale and tell me what you think in a comment below. Leave one of your own fantasies (though much shorter) if you so desire.
It seemed inevitable, but as pantyhose manufacturers realize that a good majority of sales are from men (a good majority of those from yours truly), then somewhere the light bulb flicked on and thought, hey, we might as well cater to them too.
At Luxelegwear.com, a Web site based in Atlanta that offers European brands to buyers in America and worldwide, about 80 percent of sales are now to men.
And we now have an influx of the so-called “mantyhose,” everything a man could want in the woman´s version but tailored specifically to him. How nice of those manufacturers to do for us.
Well, I’ve gone as far as to even try a pair, actually the exact brand in the image above. They certainly weren’t cheap and shoddy and actually fit quite comfortably on my legs and ass. Yet, unfortunately, a major mark against them is that they fail to satisfy the most important task of all:
Pantyhose enthusiasts (or fetishists, perverts, weirdos if you’re so inclined) generally have a routine whenever there is a day off with some time to kill or the wife and kids have left you alone for a few days. Ah, yes, now free to see the “mistress” that is our beloved woman´s garment. Yes, that includes myself if you couldn’t tell already. So here’s a little insight to a hot date with a longtime love affair…
As a longtime lover/wearer of pantyhose, I’ve noticed around the web, especially those in the USA, that the preferred taste is somewhat limited. I’m sure many crossdressers and pantyhose enthusiasts still would rather travel to their nearest supermarket and pick out a pair along with their groceries.
Or worse, use the same brand they fell in love with ten years ago and haven’t caught up with the times. Hello L’eggs.
I won’t claim to be the genie for pantyhose fetish tastes but I have sampled a lot (including “playing around” in) and developed my own criteria for judging a pair of hose:
It makes me look feminine as opposed to a man in pantyhose
Sheer to waist and thick, 40 denier or more
It has a nice shine and in my preferred shade
It is so soft and sexy, that alone turns me on
Durable, doesn’t run after a couple uses
So here we have the winners, in order by favorite:
Action time! I break out of my “disguise” of jeans and t-shirt to reveal my silky fuscia babydoll and Wolford pantyhose to the lovely Racquel. What a feeling of finally sharing my sexy girly side with another.
My girly cock was thinking the same thing too.
I lied down on her bed and caressed her black stockings with my hosed legs as she approached me. Then the unthinkable happened. She begins to strip down the Wolfords. Uh-oh, instant turn-off.
I don’t think Racquel particularly minded the lingerie and pantyhose (I believe she even called it “cute”) but only saw it as an obstacle to her real desire: get right to the cock.
Ok, so I know we’re not exactly two lesbians going at it but thoughts of manly gay sex began going through my head enough to cause a panic. I always envisioned myself a woman going at it with another hot woman, not two men who put aside their femininity to fuck.
In other words, the Wolfords and the babydoll had to stay on to preserve the “womanly” nature of the fucking.
Fortunately, Racquel played along, began to make fun of me (nicely) and pulled out a pink lace babydoll from her closet, then asked if I like it as she slipped it on. Actually she said, “Will this do, honey?”
Just to recap, I was on the verge of taking a major life turn by venturing out of the lingerie closet and into the transgendered world. Just some mingling with the gurls.
In other words, I was starved for a girly hookup. So why not just do it? Mosey on down to the nearest gay bar or, even better, a gay-friendly neighborhood and everything will probably take care of itself. That was the plan anyway.
Time to prepare. Shower, shave (everything of course), clean out my ass and slip on my favorite silky fuscia babydoll and some Woldford pantyhose. OK, I’m an absolute little bitch when it comes to going out in any kind of en femmme, so a disguise of jeans and a t-shirt went over these.
Alright, take a deep breath. Time to head on down to the gay district, toward the evening time, like a lamb sacrificing itself to the wolves.
I’ll be crossing into the bisexual barrier with no turning back. I have nothing but respect for being gay or bisexual, but it’s a major decision for someone who has has only known being hetero, you know.
What if I don’t like the experience? Will I feel “weird” and require therapy? Ok, maybe the therapy is a stretch but they are plausible questions.
Will I find myself transforming from a closet crossdresser to a full time transvestite? Again, it’s a major decision and requires a major life change.
Will my friends, oblivious to my crossdressing, eventually find out? I live in two distinct worlds that haven’t collided yet.
For as long as I can remember, crossdressing has given me a feminine side that I truly couldn’t live without. Also, as long as I can remember, I’ve always been what they would call “hetero” with typical vanilla relationships with women.
Being the coward I am, I’ve never been able to share my alter ego with any of my past girlfriends. God forbid their reactions or, gasp, laughter if they reject my inner woman. Worse, what if one of them let the cat out of the bag to one of my friends? I’d have some explaining to do.
In that time, though, the inner woman grows up and wants more out of herself, to look more passable, be more sexy.
Not to mention feel more like a woman would too.
Ok, that is somewhat difficult since there is that matter of male genitalia getting in the way even though it’s used to enhance the “female” pleasure. Let’s not lie though. Wanking it is about as male as it gets and, after years of rinse and repeat, is about as vanilla as the hetero relationships too.
I guess I’ve talked about pantyhose enough thus far and, what can I say, it’s an integral part of me being Sheery the crossdresser. It’s my favorite “partner” turning me on anytime, anywhere she wants.
Once in a while, I wear only pantyhose when I feel like it but they are an absolute requirement anytime I change en femme. When I get in my real girly mood, though, the “look” just doesn’t seem quite complete without its complementary pieces.
Namely, fine lingerie.
For some reason I have an odd relationship with lingerie. Sure, there are the favorite items, some of which, I paid quite a price to get (but look so good in). When you think about it, too, lingerie should make you feel more intimately feminine than anything else you could slip on.
It shouldn’t be news to anyone. Yes, I love to slip on one of my hundred or so pairs of pantyhose and change into my feminine side. Sometimes I’m left wondering, though, why am I left massively horny even after the ten thousandth or so time this happens?
When you think about it, a pair of pantyhose is just inanimate garment of nylon and spandex with a little color thrown in. Not exactly in porno flick or blow up doll territory. Fairly innocent to say the least.
Of course, I could go into the soft clingy feel on my legs and body or how I love checking out in the mirror the shine they leave on my legs. Yet, I sure as hell don’t feel the same way when putting on a tight pair of jeans. Shine alone isn’t exactly something I have a severe fetish over either. I’m not a moth.
Then the answer dawned on me. Let’s just say, hypothetically, that pantyhose were acceptable in society to be worn, not strictly by women, but equally by both sexes.
