 Back Home |
 Back to Chapter 3 |
 On to Chapter 5 |
A soul which knows it is loved but does not itself love betrays its dregs - its lowest part comes up. - Nietzsche
I don't think that being in an all boys school helped. I felt best around girls and there were no girls around. My desire to dress was pretty constant and I wore my hose at least twice a week, sometimes every day. I even wore them to gym class a few times. We wore sweats so they would be ere hidden, but changing in the locker room was a challenge. I would go into the bathroom there and change. I didn't continue this as it was just too difficult. At home, the gratification I got from them (combined with some manual manipulation) is hard to describe. The sexual aspect of CDing was definitely predominant at this point in my life.
Around the time of high school, I purchased my first leotard. Mom had one I tried on and I loved the way it covered my body. So, I bike up to the mall, went to a hosiery shop and bought one. I remember looking at the selection and not knowing what to get; I opted for a large. Paid for it without incident. I wore it every opportunity I could (especially to bed.) Needless to say, I wound up with several of these (they are still one of my most favorite things to wear.)
Eventually, I got up the nerve and bought a few pairs of panties. This was an interesting experience! I biked to a Marshall's type store, went in and looked around. I had no clue what to get. I look at a rack with some on sale. A cute sales girl came up and asked me if I needed some help (I obviously looked like I did!) So, I told her I wanted to buy some panties for my mom (how lame!) She asked what size and I told her I didn't know. She stepped back and asked "Is she about my size?" I answered "Probably." She told me that would be a size 7 and suggested two pairs to me. As I was paying for them (total around $10), she smiled and told me that if there was any problem with them that I could bring them back.
I think she knew. I'm sure she knew. It made it that much more exciting. Again, combined with liberal manual manipulation I found the sensation hard to describe.
I was hooked...
By my sophomore year of high school, I transferred to a co-ed school. I felt much better making several female friends quickly. My dressing eased a bit, but not much; maybe for a couple of months.
I was wearing panties more than hose now and I had quite a collection: I'd guess about ten pairs of panties and four or five pairs of hose. I started buying my panties at Macy's, as the selection was much better. It was such a rush just being around all that lingerie. One day, while browsing, I got the urge to get a bra (if you thought I was clueless the first time I bought panties, this was even better!) I looked at one that looked about right and bought it. I guess it fit. I didn't care.
One summer, I remember putting on a terra cotta colored leotard with a tee shirt over it and going out biking a good ways from home. Once out, I took off my shirt. Another exhilarating feeling. Biked around for a couple hours and had a great time. There was just one problem; tan lines! I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and saw a noticeable tank style tan line on my shoulders and back. Now what the hell was I going to do? You can't untan yourself. I had a plan. The next day, went out biking again; no shirt, lots of sun. I got myself a pretty good sunburn, but it covered up the other lines. I did not repeat this mistake again!
My urges continued to become stronger. I now had three bras. Here is where the guilt starts. I felt that no matter how much fun my friend and I had swapping undies, there was something not right here. So, I tried to ignore it (I know, been there, done that, doesn't work!) It only made it worse. By graduation time, I had bought a skirt (slip on with an elastic waist) and a shell style blouse I would wear in my room sometimes.
My senior year of high school was a real joy (yeah, right!) It was bad enough that I felt the way I did, but now a got it bad for a girl in my class. I really, really liked her. It took a while, but I finally asked her out; she said no. I got the "your a really sweet guy, but..." routine. Sweet. Just what I was shooting for. I could have all the girl friends I wanted, just not a girlfriend. I got real depressed. (I've been overweight for most of my life and while not surprised by her response, it hurt none the less.)
I wanted to die, quite literally. I thought about suicide and joked with a friend of mine about what would be the best way to do it. She would tell me to knock it off and not to talk like that. She was a good listener and took the time to talk with me about my recent rejection (I thought it best not to mention my other problem ). I don't know if she ever really took me seriously about killing my self, but she did help me put the thought out of my mind, for a while at least. Later that year, a girl in my class asked me "What are you, about a B cup?", patted my chest, smiled and walked away (I have what I think is an above average amount on breast tissue for a male. I remember our doctor commenting on this when I was younger.) I couldn't die soon enough.
|
Back Home |
Back to Chapter 3 |
On to Chapter 5 |