Pantyhose Vs Stockings

Comfort, fashion or erotic appeal?

I enjoy the possibilities of both pantyhose and traditional nylon and silk stockings but when it comes to choice of what I prefer to wear I’m drawn to the ease and comfort of pantyhose as well as their body shaping qualities. When I was younger the exotic appeal of stockings was unparalleled; they seemed hidden and forbidden. The very nature of their design further enhances the roundness of the legs. Stockings offered access to mysterious areas but pantyhose were what were around.

My mother kept hers in the bathroom closet and that’s where I’d take them from to sneak away to my bedroom and put them on. I never got caught wearing them. I’m sure there were a few close calls with my brother who shared my room but none that I recall now.

I once read that older male children often become “leg men” as opposed to “breast” or “ass men” later in life because as their mother’s held younger siblings to her breast they sought comfort from her by clinging to her legs. I think for many growing up in a time when women traditionally did not wear pants (am I showing my age?) the comfort we felt was of a nylon nature.

So in my budding sexuality and interest in dressing like a girl I had retreated to a comfort zone where I had unknowingly eroticized, legs!

The problem a young man interested in wearing pantyhose faced was in acquiring them.

If I ever noticed a pair of my mother’s ruined hose in the trash I took them.

I swiped a blue pair from a neighbor’s house (my mother wore only nude or black) and in the basement of my best friend’s house I liberated a white pair destined for some craft project from a large bag of his sister’s and mother’s ruined hose.

Eventually I realized I could just buy them myself and when the need arose I’d buy them at drugstores and convenience stores that I seldom shopped in.

And so it went until eventually I wore them in an encounter with my friend E. If he could admit his curiosity and desire to experiment with me sexually I could certainly admit to wanting to wear pantyhose while we did it (at least occasionally). Once that happened there was almost no turning back. The fetish was developing and in the years to come it would manifest in many different ways.

The advent of the Internet and sites solely devoted to pantyhose and nylon fetishism was an awakening. There are others like me.

I enjoy the way nylons feel when I rub my legs together and the sound they make. I like the round smooth feeling of my ass when I wear them and the tingly excitement when I caress another pair of hose covered legs with my own.

I love pantyhose. I love to wear them and always notice when women are wearing them.

I’m sure I’ll have more to share on this topic in the future.

AS SEEN ON TV

AS SEEN ON TV

I always loved the packaging of this pair of pantyhose I once bought. The burst in the upper left proclaiming AS SEEN ON TV juxtaposed with the bold Queen Size and the bulleted • pantyhose for the larger women, just seem like someone at the manufacturer was in on the Drag Queen, transvestite joke.

Maybe not but the fact that it made me chuckle more than made up for the disappointment of finding out that these hose while somewhat sturdier were prone to runs and holes like any other pair of pantyhose.

While I’m visiting the subject of pantyhose and TV, I’ll confess to watching hours of several television sit-coms in order to catch a glimpse of pantyhose covered legs. I’ve only ever seen them in reruns and not when they originally aired but the three culprits that would draw my attention and sometimes even warrant watching with the sound turned off are:

“The Nanny” Double entandres and a gay sensibility but I could only bear the insipid plot lines for the glimpses of Fran Dresher and her incredible hose covered legs and saucy outfits.

“Just Shoot Me” This show took place in the offices of a fictional fashion magazine and there were plenty of short skirts and hose covered legs.

“Friends” I know this was one of the most popular shows of its time but I never watched it until I caught a glimpse of Jennifer Aniston or Courtney Cox in a short skirt and dark hose in a late-night rerun.

I also wasted one or two hours watching a late night infomercial for some incredible new waist-sliming, behind-enhancing brand of pantyhose. It may have even been broadcast in Spanish.

Showing my age again, I miss the days when Leggs and No Nonsense pantyhose were heavily advertised on television. (sigh.)

Some Results

So I placed an ad looking to meet another like minded
individual for some pantyhose fetish fun.

In my ad I carefully composed it to give someone an
idea of where my head is at, what my interests are,
and what I'm looking for in a potential partner.

The following is an actual response I received to my
ad.

i work in jersey by one enchange

Huh? Okay, to be fair I do mention in my ad that I
live in Jersey City and since I live here I do know
that One Exchange Place is an address for an office
building complex down town but come on. How about a
little more info? a name? a photo? Spell Check and
capitalization maybe?

I will kindly refrain from mentioning the senders
e-mail address

Bisexuality Part Two

It's a rainy day today, I've work to do at the drawing board and this is how I'm dressed. Black boots and tights, black bodysuit, black long sleeved blouse tied at the waist and a black leather collar around my throat.

I recently took stock of the number of people I've had sex with in my life and made two lists, Females and Males. The score is females 16, males 13. That's a pretty close race and I think it goes to prove my bisexual nature.

If youÕre wondering why I feel the need to expound on the subject of bisexuality it's because I believe it's an under explored and under represented area of modern sexuality. Sure, there has been a rise in the representation of bisexual women in the media, exampled by young women of the "Girls Gone Wild" variety and the "experimented in college" punch line. But male bisexuality seems hidden and is little discussed anywhere. I'm sure there are chat rooms, porno sites and discussion groups on line but in main stream society it's as if it doesn't exist.

Ya Gotta Have Friends! (An aside)

Of the thirteen males on my list, three were, are and will always remain close friends. The first E, was my friend from high school, he and I continued to get together from time to time through the years even though I'd moved over 500 miles away. I'll relate more of our adventures in the future.

The second friend on my list was met in art school, W, was a few years younger and married. We had become friends quickly and I think sensed in each other our sexual nature or interests. We began sharing erotic materials, explicit books and magazines, our own drawings, etc.

One day while I was at his house W was showing me an edition of Japanese Manga, showing me how to read it from right to left and telling and acting out the story as I sat next to him on the sofa. It wasn't an erotic work he was showing me but a futuristic adventure but sitting next to him I was overcome with a sexual spark of energy that had me nearly shaking. I felt the excitement of attraction and desire. It was all I could do to contain myself, riding out the pleasurable but confusing signals my brain was sending me and not blurt out something inappropriate.

That incident stuck out in my mind and sometime later, when he'd moved to another apartment and invited me over while his wife was away at a conference it was at the forefront of my thoughts. I think we were like magnets, magnetically drawn to the possibilities of the situation. His wife was away, we were watching a porno, and I confessed to my bisexual part, which at that time were the many occasions with my friend E and a one time anonymous encounter in a peep show. W confessed to experimenting back home when he was younger. Our talk led us to the bedroom where we shed our clothes if not our inhibitions. I was gung-ho, full steam ahead! He was open, somewhat reserved but honest enough to ultimately admit (after a good attempt) it wasn't working for him.

That's what I love about being open with someone about your sexuality, if you can trust and admit to them your previously held dark secret, communication between the two of you opens up on all levels.

Since then W and I have gotten together three other times physically, twice I dressed for him in full drag, the first an incredible afternoon burned forever in my memory. The second another "good attempt" that went the way of our first encounter. The last time the two of us got together was while he was visiting NYC and my then wife was at work. I was showing him a homemade porno my friend E and I had made with his wife (I told you there is more to that story). W dug the reality of the video and the tent in his pants proved it. He then extracted himself from his pants and began stroking himself. I was thrilled and ran to the bedroom and put on a pair of tights and heels. I returned and asked permission to finish him off. It was granted and I was on my knees. When it was over we returned to our visit in good cheer and company.

W lives somewhere in the middle of the country and now days our friendship is relegated to phone calls and e-mails. There have been a few steamy phone sex sessions since then and some surprisingly graphically written and enjoyed e-mail.

The point of all this? Im getting there. I've shared sexual experiences with people who are my friends; the friendships have endured, despite distance and time. The sexual nature of my friendship with these people has waxed and waned. When I do get together with these friends I'm always eager to share that particular aspect of our relationship. But it doesn't always happen, for whatever reason and I'm okay with that. I have to be I respect them and the choices we have to make.

When the film Brokeback Mountain was released there was a lot of coverage in the media of the story, of the two menÕs forbidden love for one another. I compare the character's experience to my own. I have had girlfriends that I truly loved, I have been married and have tried to remain faithful and struggled with my bisexual desires and have given into those secret temptations. I have come to realize that I can love and connect with a woman but there is a part of me that needs, seeks out and desires my encounters with men.

Were the protagonists of Brokeback Mountain gay? Bisexual? Does it matter what we label it? Apparently it does, because I'm still waiting to see a discussion, a report, and an admission of the bisexual undercurrent that exists in our society. I know it's there.

(To be continued.)

The Experiment

It's very hard to connect with the right person and share a sexual experience based on your individual fetish. Well, It's not really that hard, the Internet has made connecting with someone of like mind a lot easier. I remember the days when all we had were the personal ads in the back pages of the monthly tabloids on sale on the bottom shelf of certain newsstands and porno shops.

What I mean is scheduling a time and place to meet after you've placed or responded to an ad, sifted through your responses and weeded out the cave men, the ones who are too frightened to meet in person and the creepy or repulsive. You are always taking a chance. I find the quality of the writing in an e-mail is often a good judge for me. If they are willing to spend some time sharing their thoughts in written form it's a good indication I can get to know them better before we meet.

In the past five years I've gotten together with four people I've met on line, one was a disaster, it was his first time and I don't think he knew what he really wanted. One was with another gal like me with a thing for pantyhose, she was a lot of fun but hard to schedule time with. Another was a former cross-dresser and admirer who still had a thing for pantyhose and the last was another pantyhose fiend (do you see a pattern here?). Of the later three who I have nothing but good feelings towards they all responded to me with a regular photo of themselves. What I mean is, it wasnÕt of them cross-dressed or in fetish gear, it wasn't a close up of their genitals (thank goodness). They were ordinary and even slightly goofy photos and this showed me their honesty, their willingness to open up and be real with me.

Like I said before, scheduling an encounter can be a problem, we all have lives, work, family, different schedules, etc. And the folks I've gotten together with in the past have proved impossible to connect with this past year. So, eager for a date I decided to do something about it.

Just to let you know, I do not go for anonymous sex and have had only a couple of one night stands in my life. I am not promiscuous and want to be on friendly terms with the people I encounter.

A few days ago I placed an ad on craigslist.org and another on http://www.tgbeauties.com

My intention of course is to meet someone. But I thought it would be interesting to post the results of my ads here.

Well Heeled

No matter how much of a transvestite, cross-dresser or drag queen you may think you are you are't anything until you step into a pair of high-heeled shoes.

One could write a book on the social implications and ramifications of the high-heeled shoe in our society, it's history and it's impact on fashion. I don't have enough time to cover that story but I will tell you one of my own.

I remember the time period but the details have gotten sketchy with time. I had confessed my cross-dressing to my girlfriend with whom I was living. We were open and talked about it and she was very understanding. She made suggestions for make-up and wardrobe but honestly, I was interested in looking sluttier than her. Not that it was competitive in any way but she was a woman of style and beauty.

Anyway, It was a Saturday, I drove into New York City to Lee's Mardi Gras boutique over at the end of 14th Street. At Lee's you'd ring the bell at street level and then wait for the elevator and the door to open, step into the tiny elevator and rise up to the showroom floor. The people at Lee's have always been super friendly and helpful. That first time in there I was nearly overcome by the clothing, undergarment and shoe selection available to someone my size. I picked out a pair of black leather pumps with a three-inch spike heel and tried them on, of course I was wearing pantyhose beneath my jeans.

After leaving, I put them on in the car and drove home wearing them.

One night soon after that, I was anxious to give my shoes and myself a road test. My girlfriend was asleep; dead to the world. Excited by the prospect of stepping out on a warm New York night dressed in my female finery. I put on a pair of dark pantyhose a short black skirt and some kind of loose black top. With some make-up applied in the car I probably thought I looked pretty good,

I drove into Manhattan and parked on the lower east side near the Pyramid, a dance club with a reputation for being friendly to gender benders which was my intended destination. When I reached the door of the club I stopped, I didn't go in, I couldn't tell if there was a door policy and the people standing in doorway were bouncers who were ignoring me or just people standing blocking the door. I don't remember how long I stood in front of that club on Avenue A. I felt stupid, yet individually defiant; a man dressed in women's clothing at night on the sidewalk in the most famous city in the world.

At some point I changed my mind about going in (Maybe it was based on a fear of crossing some barrier that it would be just too difficult to come back from,} then I walked across the street and through Tompkin's park. Sitting on a bench, just reveling in the fact that I was wearing a skirt, pantyhose and high heels out in public. The only person who approached me was someone selling ecstasy, and he was very non-judgmental about my attire.


After sitting alone in the park for a while I felt like I needed to connect with someone or to experience some cross-dressed sexual thrill. I walked back to the car then drove to a peep show near fourteenth street and third. I walked into the peep and got barely a raised eyebrow. I carefully studied the menus of the various videos available in each booth, as if making just the right choice would assure the ultimate sexual titillation and thrill. And, upon seeing me make the right selection a handsome stranger would approach me and profess his or her own secret sexual fetish, which would mesh perfectly with my own. I went into a booth and watched a couple of bucks worth of a bisexual-cross-dressing lesbian video then walked around the nearly empty store. I left disappointed; there had been no discernable interaction with another human being recognizing how I was dressed. Walking across Third Avenue to my car a convertible full of young men drove past and yelled out "Nice Legs!" they hooted off down the Avenue.

The night wasn't yet over so I drove to another peep on Eighth Avenue near Madison Square Garden. Whenever you enter a peep the rest of the customers always look up, some kind of instinctive reflex harkening back to fight or flight and a time when places like this could still get raided. So I tried to give everyone an eyeful as I strut into the shop, my long legs in a short skirt tottering on top of high heels. The few customers that are in the store look me up and down and decide I'm not their cup of kink. Just like the last place I'd walked in to, I'm in here looking for the impossible, someone who'll share my fetish and become my friend as we get to know each other.

That really wasn't going to happen here.

I walked around the shop admiring the displays of magazines, videos and sexual devices. Feeling on display myself and reveling in that feeling. When I approached the clerk at the raised counter for video tokens he looks down at me and says with a open empathy, "Honey, get a wig!"

I drove home humbled by the experience. Brought back down to earth by a clerk in a polyester flower-print shirt and a comb-over working the overnight in a Manhattan porno shop.

I bought a wig.

Bisexuality – Part One

I can trace the awakening of my bisexuality to the eighth grade and Xarviera Hollander’s book "The Happy Hooker". In her book Ms. Hollander’s admitted attraction and sexual encounters with other girls opened my mind to the possibility of having sex with someone of the same sex. It would be three years before I’d experience sex with anyone other than myself.

It was my junior year; the previous year in an art class where we were the sole sophomores I’d met a guy with a passion for illustrated graphics and we’d become fast friends. We were both awkward and odd, he was short and outgoing, and I was tall and shy. But we were honest with each other and when he confessed to keeping muscle magazines beneath his bed for their erotic stimulation, I recalled my experiences with Ms. Hollander’s book and confessed to being curious about sex with another guy. *

The rampant homophobia in our culture at the time (high school and otherwise), the fear of being labeled a fag, the fear of actually being a fag all contributed to uneasiness about the actual act of sex between the two of us. Beyond that, we we’re both socially awkward, but he proved much braver and made the first move. At first, I would only let him touch me (classic passive aggressive, I wanted it to happen but waited for him to take action) until eventually my hunger and desire for the experience made me reach out in his direction.

And then there was the guilt after everything had been cleaned up with Kleenex ®.

It wasn’t so much guilt at having done something wrong but it was guilt associated with the shame that attended the possibility of being discovered. Ninety eight percent of my life was as a walking talking heterosexual, that no one would likely guess was experimenting sexually with his best friend. But I could imagine the life altering/threatening consequences of openly admitting to that fact. It just wasn’t done.

I lead an outwardly normal heterosexual lifestyle, pursuing girls and eventually having sex with them. But the desire to be with another man would grow or the opportunity would present itself and my friend and I would get together and then feel guilty afterward.

I didn’t necessarily struggle with my feelings, it was everyone else’s feelings that I was worried about. The rejection by family and friends was not an option so my bisexuality was hidden and it took a few years before I could come close to feeling comfortable with my bisexuality but in the end, not comfortable enough to disclose it to but a select few.

To be continued…

* Full disclosure at some future date.