Tuesday, 6 May 2014

She's Like A Rainbow

I often wonder how my fascination with female clothes and my obsession with tights in particular might have developed in today's digital climate.  With a few clicks today, you are able to access a seemingly unlimited treasure chest of astoundingly sexy and fascinating photos.  Not simply smutty or dirty ones, but plain, simple images of girls and women wearing tights in all sorts of ways and in all sorts of textures, styles and colours.  I wonder if my obsession would have been sated and then withered away with time or maybe amplified had I had Internet access to tights in the way I do today.


As I've written before, as a boy, and then later as a teenager and even a young man, the only way of seeing images of women and girls wearing tights was to see either advertisements, packaging or fashion articles.  There was also the thrill of stumbling across articles in newspaper supplements or womens' magazines  (Which Are The Best Tights For This Season's Parties / Which Thick Tights Are Best For Winter?).  These often had a selection of lovely photos, usually cropped images of models' legs showing the featured tights in simple poses - like the photos on packaging.  At other times. there would be a printed advert for Pretty Polly, Aristoc or Bear Brand (now gone for good!) - the big British hosiery brands and I was always fascinated with these brief, snapshot opportunities to look more closely at the tights I loved.  I remember being fascinated by one of the first photos I ever saw of the darker top of some womens' tights - I was about seven or eight years old.  I marvelled at the darker top portion that covered the woman's knickers and the tops of her thighs, and wondered if she could feel the difference between the two fabrics at the top of those fascinatingly enticing pantyhose.


I can always remember getting excited as a boy when my mum had bought some new tights and left the packaging in mint condition, lying on the top of the bin in her room.  I didn't have the courage to take the packet for myself, but I'd often sneak backwards and forwards past the corner of the room so that I could stop and stare at the packaging as I went by.  That way, I had a perfect excuse if I was ever caught.  Sometimes if I was sure that I could get away with it, I would 'borrow' the packet and spend a few golden moments admiring and memorising every detail of the packet.


I can see many of them now, usual quite plain wrappers for Pretty Polly or Marks and Spencer tights - unusually always 15 denier black, barely-black, navy or beige - neutral.  The wrappers featured young women in odd positions, usually stretched or doubled over with their fingertips stretched over their legs, lost in a kind of rapture of the experience of wrapping themselves in smooth nylon.  More often than not they had nothing on their lower body - so that they were dressed in a white blouse tights - nothing more.  The pose meant that they often covered their knickers by positioning a thigh or knee in the right place.


I looked at these photos and melted inside - not with any kind of lust but with a mixture of admiration and envy.  I endless speculated on how it must feel to wear tights so beautifully, and without any inhibition like these women on the packets.  I wondered what it must be like to feel the nylon against you, looking and feeling as seemingly ecstatic and lost as these women did in their exaggerated poses.

Today, whilst I'm lucky enough to be completely familiar with the feel and texture of tights, having worn some hundreds of times, I still love looking at new photos of lovely girls wearing tights themselves and imagining what they're feeling and experiencing at that moment.  It's as exciting today as ever, it's incredibly soothing and escapist too.  The only sadness comes from knowing that I still can't be as uninhibited as them.

As I stare into their expression - these beautiful females, I recognise a gentle honesty in their eyes that I never have when I'm in my own tights.  They're completely at easy because they're wearing something 'normal' for them.  I know that my obsession will continue until I've felt that same normality myself.


Wednesday, 30 April 2014

A Flight Of Fancy - Part Two

Wow!  My last post seems to have caused quite a flurry of activity!  I don't think I've had a reaction quite like it!  It seems as though I'm not the only cross-dresser or tights obsessive who adores the fantasy glamour and sheer sexiness of airline stewardesses!  Can I just thank you for the feedback you've sent and rest assured I will return to this theme and discuss it further as time goes on.

***

I must clarify some thing about my last post, since it also seemed to confuse a few readers.  The second part was devoted to a fantasy scenario that I formulated when I was ten years old, as a direct result of sitting opposite the two Britannia Airways stewardesses at Luton airport back in the early 1980s.

In the fantasy, as a ten year old boy myself, I am 'forced' into disguising myself as a girl so that I can catch a plane and be reunited with me parents.  Please be aware that I created this story when I was a boy myself.  In the fantasy, I am still ten years old, as it's preserved back in time at that moment in my life.  It just doesn't work if I've grown up for all sorts of reasons:  If I was older the whole cross-dressing thing would be different with the adult women - who treat me as if I'm a poor little puppy in the story.  I've always fantasied their attitude as being kindly and compassionate, and their forced feminisation of me works because it's not sexual.  I'm simply being given a chance to wear the oldest disguise of them all - to pretend to be the opposite sex.

This 'childhood' aspect worried a few readers who didn't really get the idea of me describing myself as a "little girl" and "little boy" in the story, and I can appreciate that this has some rather unsettling connotations if you don't appreciate the context of the fantasy in the right way.  Sorry if this wasn't clear when I first posted it, but the whole scenario is meant to be quite innocent and it doesn't have any sexual aspect to it at all.  I created it as a pre-pubescent boy, and there's no element of arousal in a sexual sense - just a giddy childhood excitement like going to a theme park.  My Disneyland happened to be getting the chance to wear some girls' tights!

I created this story as a rather confused and obsessive ten year old boy who wanted the chance to wear tights without fear of humiliation or punishment.  If you follow its logic, then you can see how I might well have created it back then.

In describing it here, please recognise that I've added a lot of descriptive detail to embellish it in the here and now, in 2014.  Whilst is was always a very detailed and vivid fantasy scenario in my mind - I would play out every scene for hours like it was a three hour movie each time - this is just one re-telling and it's shaped by the perspective I have as a man of my age.  Naturally, it would have been less verbose had I had the courage to write it down back then, but the storyline and the details would have been identical!

I hope that this makes the story easier for you to read and engage with.  If this really isn't your thing, then please just pass and return a few days later.  Not everything here will be to your taste, and I appreciate that we all have our own fascinations that take us to our own special places,  This happens to be one of my mine and I do hope you enjoy it as much as me.

Love for now,
Samantha.

***

My First Flight Of Fancy

I had often dreamt of having to wear tights as a young boy aged between five and ten, (I have written about some of those fantasies before and I will share more later) but when I was so very young before this moment, I had always created fantasies where I was still a boy - but one forced into wearing tights for parties, fancy dress outfits, or because my shorts had been ripped at school.  (I've shared these fantasies before, a few years ago.)

This was to change.  The sight of two beautiful stewardesses, each wearing their magnificent blue tights and shoes elevated my imagination into new areas that were very exciting to go to - albeit in the safety of my own mind.

Later that afternoon on the plane, and on my many happy occasions afterwards on holiday, back at home, in school and travelling in the car - I would retreat into a safe, secret fantasy world and dream about sitting in an identical skirt, wearing a stewardess outfit in an airport myself, so that I too could wear these sheer blue nylon tights and show my legs off to the world.  I still return to this fantasy every day or so.

***

The full scenario and fantasy inspired by the airport experience came to me when I was only ten:  In my storyline, I was travelling to meet my parents abroad on holiday.  They'd left a week earlier for some time as a couple whilst I had to finish an extra week at school and stay with my grandparents.  I was dropped at the Luton airport by my relatives and ushered through security to wait by myself for my flight.  In just two hours my parents would meet me at the airport in Spain and the family holiday would begin.

Somehow, in the departure lounge I get confused about the aircraft gate numbers and end up missing my flight.  I am scared that I will get into trouble and that my parents too will be worried sick when the flight arrives without me!  I sit down in a corner and begin to cry, until I am spotted by some stewardesses from my airline who take pity on me and my miserable tears of anguish.

I am soon sitting amongst them in a quiet private room that smells of expensive perfume, surrounded my lockers, lights, mirrors and make-up.  I tell them my story and they feel very sorry for me.  Soon, the girls concoct a plan so that I can be back with my mum and dad without worrying them or my grandparents.

The next flight to Spain is on a faster plane and it leaves in 20 minutes.  If I'm on board, I'll arrive in time to meet my parents and they'll never know the truth.  The stewardess girls are scheduled to be the cabin crew for that particular flight, but they check the listings and discover that it's already fully booked.  There is a ray of hope though as they phone up the ticket desk to do their best for me - a late cancellation has suddenly occurred!

I'm incredibly lucky, because another boy, supposed to be travelling alone that day has been unable to take his flight, leaving an empty seat.  The lovely stewardess on the phone nods, saying the words 'ten years old' at one point, and 'Jay Greene'  at another,  It seems as though Jay is the boy who is unable to travel, and I may be able to take his place.  The nods and murmurs continue, and I notice a sly, knowing smile emerge on the stewardess' face as she brings her conversation on the phone to a close.  Just why is she smirking at me all of a sudden, and why has she summoned her colleagues into a huddle?

The air becomes full of indistinct girlie chatter - its sounds incredibly excited and determined in tone although I can't hear any exact words.  Although I am still nervous and upset, I am very happy to see eight smooth nylon legs clustered together at the end of the room.  I notice to my immense pleasure that the ladies' tights are all an identical shade of blue.  They look stunning and I wish I could only tell them how much I admire them.

The chatter subsides as my favourite stewardess comes over to me.  She wears secretary style glasses and she's an impressive brunette, smiling wonderfully at me as she reveals a surprise that makes me literally shake!

This final surprise sends a shiver down my spine - it turns out that 'Jay' is a ten year old GIRL.  If I am to fly as her today, I will need to be disguised as a girl!  With a little bit of cunning disguise, I can bypass security and still make the flight, but I'll have to become a female for the journey.

My tears dry up and the sun comes out again, and to complete the illusion I make a point of saying that I don't want to dress up as a girl to the cabin crew girls.   The lovely women smirk and smile and tell me not to be silly.  It's only for two hours, and if the price of missing my flight is to be a girl for the afternoon, isn't that a price worth paying?  I pretend to accept my fate grudgingly, but inside I am as happy as it's possible for a year boy old to be!

They hurriedly begin pulling some items from the lockers around the room.  One of the girls passes me a little blue tote bag with a petite stewardess uniform inside, complete with several pairs of new Pretty Polly tights all wrapped up inside ready for me - they're navy-blue to match the uniform.  I am told that it all belongs to Gillian, one one their smaller colleagues.  These are some of her spare uniform items and it'll be fine for me to borrow them.

Before I really know what's happening, the four women manipulate and move me like a doll, dressing me and making me up to look as convincing as possible.  Although my hair is short, some little clips are applied and a feminine style fashioned with a little parting and fringe.  A tiny bit of make-up smoothes out my boyish features and lipstick softens my lips, and my shoelaces are soon untied and my socks removed.

I am told that I have to remove my socks so that I can wear some tights properly with my dress!  To make the disguise convincing, I cannot simply wear jeans and hair clips.  Fortunately,  Gillian's uniform dress will fit me if it is tucked in a little at the back.  The tights will complete the look and make it realistic, (who's ever going to think a little girl in a blue dress and tights is really a boy?) and  there are plenty of spare pairs in the bag for me to put on.  Again, I utter a protest but the girls are having none of it - time is running out and the plane will not wait!  I am told to stop being silly, grow up and put my tights on now!

The sheer blue tights are soon wrapped around me - they feel incredible, of course, even if I don't dare admit it.  The girls ask if I've ever worn them before, because for a boy, I certainly pulled them on very confidently and knowledgeably and I didn't really seem that reluctant to wear these most feminine and 'uncomfortable' of items.  I say no, but get more smirks from the lovelies - especially one of them who wears glasses who seems to have seen me admiring my legs.  I don't think they believe me, but I have no time to blush.  My hands or pulled upwards and the tight blue pinafore dress is pulled over my head.  It's a near perfect fit, as are Gillian's court shoes that I step into.  I see the dark shadow toe of my navy tights disappear into the rounder front of the shoe, which feels surprisingly hard under my feet.

I'm ready.  I don't really get the chance to take in what's happened.  I have a second or two in front of the mirror, where a girl in a blue dress, blue tights, heeled girl's shoes carrying a tote bag stares back at me.  She looks pretty, but also unremarkable - just any little girl about to set off on an exciting flight on holiday.

Before I know it, the girls take my hands and walk with me through the terminal to the doors of the plane.  Along the mirrored corridor and in the sheets of glass in the terminal building, I see my reflection many times, and observe that my legs are exactly the same colour and shade as the beautiful stewardesses who walk with me.  My tights have the same soft sheen as the glamorous women I am with, and for the first time in my life I experience the sensual thrill of a free-flowing dress - its skirt allowing me a strange draughtiness around my legs that I've never experienced before.  My tights are snug underneath, tighter around me than I anticipated and I feel the nylon rubbing between my legs - this is so, so different to those few moments spent dressed secretly at home.  Girls really do wear very different clothes to boys, I think as I look down at my legs once again.

All eyes are on us though as we glide through to the plane - an image of female loveliness together that everyone, male and female stop to admire as we go by.  I smile and lower my eyes like a bashful girl for the first time in my life - and get a wonderful smile back from a girl my own age - dressed in a little red dress and thick black tights herself.  It turns out she is to sit next to me - her name is Joanna and we will soon be great friends - although that's another story for another day.

I am waved onboard as 'Jay', and am soon sitting next to window with my dress pulled tightly across my lap.  This is new!  My seat belt fits smoothly across the the waist of my dress, and for two hours I have a perfect view of two navy-blue knees in silky soft sheer tights.  It is barely believable that they're my own.  I am wearing tights!  My dream has come true.

My fingers stretch and smooth their tips on the nylon, making tiny circles that feel oddly rough, considering how soft the tights feel on my legs.  Best of all though is the conspiratorial winks from my friends - the girls in the the cabin-crew.  They treat me and Joanna like royalty, calling me 'Miss' and her 'Princess' at every chance, complimenting me on my lovely dress and pretty face, and telling me that I'm the best little girl they've ever chaperoned.

Finally, as the flight draws to a close, the prettiest stewardess (with the secretary glasses), who I've had the biggest crush on all day leans over and whispers in my ear.

Seeing as I've been such a good girl and been so brave travelling by myself, and seeing as I appeared to love getting dressed up and being a real girl today (they all chatted together and laughed about me it seems - four real women in their twenties and they've never seen tights put on so well - they couldn't have pulled their own tights on so expertly and they've been wearing them every day for years!) they're going to let me keep my outfit forever!

All I need to to is get changed into Sam's boy clothes again at the other end before meeting my parents.  Everything I've worn today will be put in the tote bag and hidden in the bottom of my rucksack.  When I get home, all I need to to is put it in a safe place and no one need know about 'Jay'.

Would Sam like her and the girls to put the tote bag in his rucksack  so that Jay can fly with them again one day?

My pretty little smile tells them yes, yes, a thousand times yes - even if I can only lower my eyelashes bashfully for the second time in my life to let them know - for fear of alerting Joanna or anyone else to my secret.

I needn't worry.  This is only the start of my high-flying adventures, and Joanna knows a lot more than she's saying!

Monday, 28 April 2014

A Flight Of Fancy - Part One


One of my very favourite female outfits and fantasies is an air stewardess, or cabin crew attendant.  Since boyhood and my very first visits to the airport, I've been bewitched by the smart, formal and incredibly sexy outfits worn by these lovely ladies.  I'm going to spend a few posts taking about my love for them, and there's also two fantasy stories to accompany them over at samanthassexualsecrets.blogspot.com

Ready?  Doors to manual -  prepare for take-off!

***

My fascination and love of female cabin crew and uniforms started even before puberty - just like my obsession with tights.  One key moment from my childhood still shines bright in my memory.

I can vividly recall watching some young women in navy-blue uniforms sitting opposite me in a departure lounge in the early eighties.  Before one family holiday flight to Spain I was treated to an incredible display by two stewardesses from the now defunct Britannia Airways.

They had on the familiar tight, straight skirts and neat jackets worn by so many cabin crew both then and now; and whilst their figure hugging skirts and jackets weren't my major focus and fascination as a ten year old, their incredible tights certainly were!  Unbeknownst to me as I waited for my flight that summer, I was about to get my first real, close-up view of some real women's tights, (outside of seeing my mother or family members, but that didn't really count) although I didn't know it as I slumped down close to my parents who were absorbed in magazines and bags of travel sweets.

***

Perhaps because they didn't realise that a young boy might be fascinated by their outfits and appearance, and because I looked too young to be ogling them in a sexual way - I was treated to a close-up, startlingly detailed view of these women's legs and tights that left me feeling very strange, confused (the dawn of a hormonal rush?) and amazingly envious of them indeed.

The two beautiful stewardesses sat and chatted away happily, sitting opposite me for what seemed like eons while waiting for their flight.  They were in the chairs nearly opposite, about four feet away at the most.  I sat glued to the sight of them as they looked around, their eyes (light blue eye-shadow!) seemingly everywhere except on me, and realised that I had an almost perfect, eye-level view of their smooth navy blue legs - and that there was nothing stopping me from looking ahead and getting a flawless view.  All I needed to do was look ahead as if staring out of the large plate glass windows, and I could simultaneously gawp at the girls and their astonishing tights.  Even as a ten year old I realised how lucky I was!

***

Goodness me, how my eyes grabbed this feast - this was exactly what I'd been dreaming about and imagining for years - all of those hours and evenings lying in bed as a boy wondering about the possibility of wearing, or getting close to some tights myself.  (Why did I want to wear them so much?  I was a boy, after all.)  I didn't have the same perspective of my obsession at the time, or really understand that I was well-into the development of a fetish that would last a lifetime.  All I knew is that I liked girls and loved their tights more than anything, and being able to have a good look at some from very close quarters was a treat that I rarely got.  This was a special occasion and I recognised it as such then, just as I would now.

From a few feet away, I stared and studied the two women's tights - seeing things I'd never seen before, even though I'd secretly worn tights myself several times since the age of eight.

I watched as tiny folds in the nylon wrinkled up around the rear of their, smart, mid-heeled court shoes, and then smoothed out again as the flexed their legs.  The same tiny folds in their smooth nylon appeared around the creases behind their knees as they put their feet backwards beneath their seats (keeping their knees tightly together), or even more excitingly, the tights clearly rubbed and moved on them as they lifted and crossed their legs with effortless feminine loveliness.

I watched spellbound, able to see the individual threads in the nylon weave as it stretched around their legs, getting lighter at the knees but darker as the tension in the tights decreased on their lower legs and feet.  For the first time I was struck by just how much a woman's legs were left exposed by wearing her tights and a skirt.  You really did have them just 'out there' for all to see.  I was electrified- realising that if I was gawping at her tights, other boys might be too.  The excitement and intoxication grew more potent, if that were possible!

I recall getting a pretty good glimpse of one woman's thighs as she moved - and although the view was too dark to see up her skirt, I did see plenty more of the top of her legs and her sheer blue tights as she adjusted herself and moved her knees apart, just for a few seconds.  It's incredible how these formative moments imprint themselves on your memory so strongly, but I really can recall this like it was yesterday.

Even as a boy I watched all of their tiny movements, body language and seating positions with awe - focused with rapture as their hands moved down to check and grasp their handbag straps and handles, hold their document wallets or smooth out their skirts.  They had on nail polish (although I can't remember the colour).  I remember this very clearly because of what one of the women did next.  Unconsciously, her hand moved to her hemline, and she put her fingertips on her knees - making tiny circles on her own tights as they stretched from under the hem of her skirt and over her rounded smooth knee.  I must have been open mouthed at the time!  I was in heaven, absolute heaven.  Goodness knows what anyone would have thought if they'd seen me from a distance!  A young boy staring at two grown women, watching their conversation and staring at their legs!



***

This wonderful moment also inspired also one of the first occasions where I imagined myself dressed up, become an actual girl and be seen by others (my first full-drag fantasy if you like), so taken was I with these women and their uniforms.  Clearly, like many other incidents in my childhood it has had a long lasting, permanent effect on my identity, sexuality and psyche.

In my next post, I'll tell you about the fantasy that I devised way back when I was ten, having watched those two gorgeous air stewardesses in Luton airport -  but that's a story and a fantasy for my next post, and for Samantha's Secrets - my companion blog.  I'd love to tell those two women - probably in their late fifties of even their sixties now just how much they changed my life.

It's thrilling to think that somewhere out there, probably in the south of England there are two retired cabin crew uniforms sitting in a wardrobe, and every now and then, two lovely ladies sneak a glimpse of them, maybe even putting them on if they still fit.  They do it to remind themselves, their husbands or their perhaps their daughters that they used to be queens of the skies.

In my memory too they are forever sitting together waiting for that flight, looking more sophisticated, feminine, beautiful, exotic and intoxicatingly glamorous that it's possible to be.  If only smartphone cameras had been around back then!




Monday, 21 April 2014

Two Lovely Places To Visit


Just a micro update to share two online sites that I really enjoyed looking through last week when I stumbled upon them.  They're beautiful Pinterest sites based on Brides, bridalwear and female wedding accessories.

https://www.pinterest.com/endlessink/bride/
http://www.pinterest.com/catherineford73/rebecca/

Whilst it's not my absolute fantasy, like many cross-dressers I do have quite a soft spot for wedding dresses and I'm certainly not intending to die without having worn one - along with all the associated underwear / lingerie that no beautiful bride would ever be without.



I know that a dressing agency will be my best way of fulfilling this fantasy - and it's one that I've just explored briefly in Samantha's Secrets.  You can read about Samantha's wedding preparations here - and it's a subject that I'll definitely return to this year - hopefully after I've been brave enough to get to The Boudoir or Femesque this summer and become a real, blushing bride myself.

http://samanthassexualsecrets.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/a-sight-to-behold.html

Back soon,
love from Samantha xxx


I promise not to end 2014
before wearing a wedding dress!

Sunday, 20 April 2014

A Sudden Shock - Help Needed Please



This lady looks like she's
just had quite a shock.
This weekend Google has stopped listing anything to do with I Love Wearing Tights.  From being amongst the top entries when you searched for tights, pantyhose, transvestism, cross-dressing and stockings, there's now nothing there.

Whilst this is a shock, it's also a problem for any new readers who won't be able to stumble upon me when searching for anything girlie and hosiery related.  My Twitter account is helpful, but Google and Bing bring most of my visitors and I'm sure many of you wouldn't have found me without it.

Can I please ask that you share and publicise I Love Wearing Tights as much as you can until Google pick it up once again.  I can only guess why I might have suddenly vanished, but so long as the word gets out, I can keep writing, sharing and posting.  There's so much more to ponder and share here, so please do what you can to spread the word.

Whilst I'm here, a little extra vote of thanks to Janice, Paul, Helen, Sarah and Julie who've all been in touch and are amongst my most loyal readers and supporters.  I know you get the blog completely and I truly appreciate your love and support.

Also, thank you to Emily for your kind words too.  I don't really have female readers for obvious reasons, but you are only too welcome to share my world and it's incredible to think that a real girl has been able to empathise with the frustrations and guilt of transvestism.  I am just one of the thousands out there who crave and need to wear tights and female clothes but can't.  Hopefully in our lifetime, we will be able to.  Knowing there's a girl out there who now understands why men might be led towards cross-dressing makes me incredibly happy.

See you soon, lots of love from Samantha for now.
xxx

Samantha is her element - she's truly in heaven here.

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Would You Like To Share Samantha's Secrets?


As you may have seen, I have just started a new blog as a companion piece to this - I Love Wearing Tights - my original autobiographical blog about my love of all things to do with tights, female clothing and femininity in general.

My new blog is devoted to the fantasies I have to do with tights, girls, transvestism and trans women.  Like all fantasies, they're all very personal and so they won't all be to your taste, but if you'd like to pop along you may well come across something that seems exciting for you too.

Please feel free to visit Samantha's Secrets, or ignore it as you wish at: samanthassexualsecrets.blogspot.com

***

I would like to request a little feedback, interaction and suggestions from you, through comments or directly to my email address.  Whilst most readers (nearly all of them male, but a couple of supportive real women too who are wives of trannies) are really appreciative of the blog - I've become a little disheartened by the moans and complaints that I've received from some readers about the gaps between posts and updates.  Please remember that I write all of this in my spare time for free - so far over 20,000 words!

My email is atightspot@googlemail.com or you can comment using the buttons below this entry, or over at Samantha's Secrets.  I look forward to hearing from you very soon.


Lots of love, and please enjoy sharing my secrets.  I hope you'd like to share some of yours too.  I promise your anonymity will be safe if you share anything - with your name attached, or not.  Anything posted will not be named, I promise sweeties.

Love for now,
Samantha Denier
xxx
Samantha, relaxing at home.


Saturday, 12 April 2014

I'm Wide Awake - Part 3

Jane
Please see the other entries in 'I'm Wide Awake', as well as the entry of 20th June 2011 to place this story in context.

One of the most profoundly sexy things that happened during those first months away from home sharing with the girls occurred a few days before the end of the Christmas Term.  One of my housemates, Jane, with whom I would later develop a lovely rapport and friendship (and share a particular conversation that still haunts me even today!) was in the process of getting dressed for a big night out.

Whilst this is being recalled from a considerable distance of twenty years away, I am confident that what I’m describing is incredibly close to the events of the day itself.  I can still see Jane now.  She was wearing a plain black t-shirt that reached down to her mid thighs.  I’d seen her in it many times before as she’d worn it around the house as a kind of nightshirt or pyjama top.  From a micro second glance I’d had once – entirely accidentally a few weeks before – I knew that she wore knickers underneath when wearing it around the house, and so this particular day was not exceptional.  She was wearing the t-shirt as her outfit inside the house that day.  Jane was padding around the house for most of the afternoon in her t-shirt and fleecy socks, and it was only at about six o’clock in the evening that things took an unexpectedly exciting turn.

Without warning as I came out of my room that evening, there stood Jane.  She was wearing the same black t-shirt, but instead of the socks and bare legs, she was wearing a most extraordinary pair of black and green striped opaque tights.  Not for the first time that autumn and winter, I found myself stunned into silence and could only guess that my own stunned expression must have been a sight to behold.



Stripey tights are pretty common today.  Young girls wear thick, woolen versions of them in pastel and primary shades in playgrounds and they’re ubiquitous amongst a certain type of teenage girl and young woman who favour the proper, 60 denier nylon versions.



I’m stereotyping of course, but ‘Alternative’, ‘Indie’, ‘Emo’ or ‘Goth’ girls all love their stripey tights and you can’t walk through any suburban shopping mall today without seeing them in every shade and combination.  Red and black, black and white, yellow and navy blue etc, and they're most frequently worn with shorts or very short skirts to maximize their exposure and visual impact.  Stripey tights are now almost mainstream, but this wasn’t the case back in 1990.



I had seen girls wearing stripey tights before, but very rarely, and I’d never really seen any close up.  My fetish meant that I was absolutely fascinated by them even if they didn’t hold quite the immediate visual gratification of regular opaques for me.  Nonetheless, as Jane strode down the hallway into the kitchen, I was entranced – completely helpless.  Without a second thought I followed blindly after her so as to get a better look.

***

I didn’t have long to appreciate her, but boy, did I get what I hoping for!  Whilst making my cup of tea I kept sneaking glances at Jane’s legs as she too busied herself.  She was in the kitchen to use the iron, and to my delight she had a familiar short black dress over the ironing board, getting it ready for the evening ahead.  From the security of the other side of the room, I was able to see her for two or three minutes, with her back to me, seemingly oblivious to my fascinated gaze that was fixed upon her legs and stripey tights.

It was clearer to see, close-up, that these particular stripey tights were very close to regular opaques.  The black portions of the tights were like regular nylon black tights, whilst the green sections were similar - just affected by being dyed a different colour.  It was clear that they’d feel similar if not identical to some 40 or 60 denier opaques to wear, although I wondered if it were possible to feel the horizontal seams where the different colours interlocked every inch or so up your legs.

I drifted into a fantasy of actually being Jane, standing there; ironing my dress whilst wearing these wonderfully erotic items myself.  What must it feel like to stand there, wrapped up these fabulous tights whist having someone look at you?  My sensations span and my cock burned painfully below me.

The final treat of the night happened a few short moments later.  I took the initiative and made my way back to my room before Jane finished, so as to not appear suspicious in any way.  I left the kitchen, and just a few steps behind me, Jane followed, clearly engaged with getting herself up to her room to get fully dressed.  Our eyes didn’t connect; she was focused only on going back upstairs.  And, by some miracle of timing, lighting, fortune and serendipity, I was about to get the most staggeringly intimate real-life view of some tights that I’d ever had.

Jane launched herself up the stairs, and carried on going – no more slowly or quickly than she normally did.  Time for me though slowed down, as my eye line met her wonderful black and green striped legs at knee level.  A second or so later, her thighs and the hem of her t-shirt were just a few centimeters from my face, and I could scarcely believe my luck.  The inevitable happened, of course.

A moment later, and Jane was now another couple of feet above my eye line, and as I glanced upwards, I was met by the astonishing sight of her bottom and lower body bobbing up the stairs – a genuine, real life, fully animated upskirt for my exclusive delight and pleasure. 

For those remaining stairs, I had the privilege of watching Jane’s beautifully wrapped bottom go up the stairs.  There was the top of her tights – not striped, but a plain green pantie at the top.  There too were her knickers, plainly visible, made of smooth white cotton, hiding beneath the ecstatically tight emerald nylon.  Dear Lord - her legs, bum and tights looked unimaginably tactile, sexy and enticing.

Think about a green and black version and you're pretty close.

The hormones rushed through me, and I longed for those tights like nothing so much before.  I wanted to be her – to wear the tights, feel the knickers and nylon for myself, to trot up the stairs and have my own backside be glanced at from below.  I wanted to dress like a girl and be a girl - like Jane so, so much.  Not to have a man lust after me, but just to inhabit and exude that sensual female beauty that touched me like nothing else.


I’m sure that you’ve felt the same way if you’re reading this now.  It’s the never ending, never soluble contradiction of being a transvestite or a lover of female clothes that we want to be feminine, and to look like, act and be seen as women, yet feel desire and admiration for women at the same time.  We don’t as a rule seem to want male attention, but do want a female identity and feminine acceptance of our desires – although your experiences may be different.


My evening concluded with a spell in my room, alone, joyfully reliving the experience of watching Jane’s bottom go up the stairs in her stripey tights and little ‘dress’.  Like a few weeks before with Alice’s blue tights, I was unable to hold myself and back and I was soon trying to extinguish the excitement and desire by replaying the scene in my mind whilst making myself cum.


This happened very quickly indeed, and I spent the next 16 hours going through a cycle of resting, sleeping, awaking in a state of outrageous arousal before once again climaxing – each time hoping to find my desire and frustrations of wanting to wear some tights and be like Jane calmed.  The initial, almost wild arousal did subside, but that’s the only part of my desire to dress as a female that ever did. 

As I write this now, I feel identical, and will go to sleep very soon playing a scenario in my head where I stand at an ironing board in a thigh length t-shirt.  I’m ironing a lovely little black dress with a delicate floral pattern, and I’m also wearing some tight little white panties and some lovely new tights.  I feel every tiny breeze on my legs – they’re freshly waxed and gorgeously smooth after all.  My tights are so wonderfully snug and smooth against my legs and lower body that I can’t help dabbing them with my finger tips or caressing my legs against each other so that my thighs rub the nylon between them, or my knees come together creating a warm space as they join up beneath me.

Soon my dress is ready and I’m off up the stairs to my bedroom to slip it over my head and reach behind myself to zip it up tightly.  On the way, I negotiate the hall and climb the fifteen stairs, knowing that all of my legs and knickers could be seen by anyone who happened to be below at that time.  It’s a mortifying thought – that my tights, panties and bottom could be seen by someone with me being powerless to stop it.  I am happy though – the only other person in the house, Samantha, left the kitchen a minute or so before me to go to her room.  She couldn’t possibly have been standing below watching me go up the stairs, could she?

I'm Wide Awake - Part 2

Please see the other entries in 'I'm Wide Awake', as well as the entry of 20th June 2011 to place this story in context.

Things didn’t stop there - the girls would continue to amaze and intrigue me with their conversations and their clothes over the next few months.  As I’ve written before, living with young women for the first time was a lovely experience and I loved being close to the paraphernalia of femininity.





The bathroom was full of pink and purple bottles and aerosol sprays, cotton buds, tiny balls of cotton wool, moisurising creams, salon-style shampoo bottles and conditioners. In the mornings and evenings the bathroom and hallways would smell of perfume and floral deodorants and the whole atmosphere in the house was very different to my boyhood home.

There was a lot of talking.  More than I ever thought possible.  The phone in the hallway rang a lot (This was 1990, remember).  Letters and postcards from all over the country with both masculine and feminine handwriting arrived frequently and there was always something for the three girls or their friends to talk about.  Whether it was at 7.00 in the morning as the girls made their way around the toasty kitchen or in the early hours after a long night’s clubbing, the talking didn’t stop.

I genuinely enjoyed it all, only bristling at the intensely female discussions about the boys and celebrities that met their approval.  It just didn’t chime with me and it was only here that I felt a little disconnected from them.  The rest though was brilliant – discussions about their sisters’ behaviour, chats about their college courses, chats about the summer holidays or talks about their clothes, hair, make-up, underwear, swimwear – it was a lovely to hear girls just simply being girls; and I felt like I was getting a privileged opportunity to be abandoned in this young female landscape that hadn’t been a part of my life until this, my nineteenth year.



Whilst we didn’t spend too much time in each other’s individual rooms – the kitchen and the living room were the sociable areas where we spent our time together – there was the occasional afternoon or evenings where two or three of use would end up perched on the side of a bed, listening to music or talking about our new college lives as well as the past and the future.

Thus, over the course of those first few weeks living away, I had my first experience of hanging out in a girl’s room.  I hadn’t had a serious enough girlfriend to ever get that far during my school days.  But here, away at university in a shared house I had the benefit of being able to reinvent myself; and also to share some time in my female housemate’s rooms in an atmosphere that made it perfectly normal and legitimate.  I was soon very happy indeed.

***

It was during afternoons and evenings like this that I would find my heart racing – suddenly spotting a lovely dress with its size and price tag attached hanging on the outside of a wardrobe door, or, best of all, seeing some brand new tights in their packaging lying on top of a dressing table.  This didn’t happen often but it did one or twice.  I tried to be subtle but I imagine, thinking back that my gaze must have returned to them a lot more than was normal.  Maybe this is what Jane picked up without my noticing, because, as I’ve described in my entry of 20th June 2011, after just over a year of living together Jane practically accused me of being a transvestite.  That though, is another story and those events happened a long time after my first term.  




The best experiences of all were of course seeing the girls wearing their lovely clothes – emerging into the kitchen or hallway each day wearing something new that I hadn’t seen before.  As the first weeks and months went by it became a lovely sort of lottery.  I gradually got to know the girls’ outfits but it was always a surprise to see what they were wearing.  Following Alice’s astonishing appearance one morning wearing her blue opaques, I longed to see all of my housemates in something similar.  The chance to see girls wearing tights in such a natural and unconscious way just a few inches away from me was just too exciting.  I didn’t want to be too obvious with this and risk being seen as creepy, and I was very careful to not be obvious when watching and I’d like to think I succeeded, for the most part.  Jane may well have disagreed.

***

Being confronted with a more intimate, physical manifestation of this wonderful young femininity was always surprising, emotional, affecting and almost overwhelming.  I would often come across the disarming sight of some worn knickers or tights rolled into a ball and semi-discarded in a corner of the bathroom or put loosely on the top the laundry basket.

For dozens of 19 years old boys this wouldn’t have been anything to get too excited or worked up about or even to notice – it was just some female underwear screwed up ready to be washed in the corner of a room after all.  For me though, it was astonishing – being this close to the female items that I’d idolised and obsessed over for so long.

I would often make up excuses to pick up items from the bathroom so as to walk past one of their rooms, just so I could grab a few extra seconds seeing the tights that either Martha, Alice or Jane had left lying upstairs.  One evening when I happened to be home alone for an hour or so, my heart skipped a beat when I spotted the legendary navy blue opaque tights that I knew belonged to Alice – the very pair I’d seen her wearing a few weeks before and then again the previous day.  They were definitely hers, and there they were, lying on the top of the wicker basket in the corner of the landing, alongside some towels and other odds and ends. 




My expert eye picked them out from ten feet away, and I needed a great deal of restraint to stop myself doing the inevitable.  Morally, I knew I shouldn’t even think of trying them on, and what’s more, I realized that if I damaged them or if any of the girls realized that I’d touched them – the entire atmosphere and dynamic amongst us would be permanently ruined.

As I’ve written in an earlier post – the girls accepted me and liked me as a kind of mixture of friend and brother.  There wasn’t any frisson of attraction between us, and we had found a happy rhythm of coexistence where the boundaries were very loose, but clearly defined and tacitly accepted and understood by us all.  I didn’t want to damage it or even risk damaging it, and so I held back from creeping off to the bathroom and wearing the lovely blue tights for myself.  Instead, I did pick them up to have a closer look.  I did this incredibly carefully, making sure that I would be able to put them back in the exact same position afterwards.  It was unlikely that any of the girls would notice if I had moved them ore of a centimeter or two on the basket lid, but I went to great trouble to make sure that the tights were returned to a near exact position.

For the minute or two that I held them, I examined the fabric carefully and savoured the familiar, yet alien sensation of the soft nylon in my hands.  I pulled and stretched the inside of the tights very gently, allowing my finger tips to make the dark blue go lighter as the tights stretched in my hands.  I watched the sheen of the lycra reflect and stretch in vertical and horizontal lines whilst my face warmed, my pulse quickened and my cock became wondrously excited in response. 

Something else caught my eye, and I realised that Alice’s tights had a little white label sown into them at the waist. This was still a relatively new thing back in the early nineties, but I had seen this done once before.  The label confirmed my judgment:

40 Denier Soft Opaque Tights
Size M
Marks and Spencer

They were good quality, department store tights, and the richness and smoothness of their finish was everything I’d expected.  I knew at that moment that I’d have to pluck up my courage to go and buy some of the exact same tights from M and S very soon.  I just had to feel these on my own legs and enjoy their soft, tight smoothness for myself.  I couldn’t bare feeling so left out and excluded, and the company of my new housemates made me pine and long for the chance to wear tights more than ever before.




Friday, 28 March 2014

I'm Wide Awake - Part 1

Please see my post of Monday, 20th June 2011 and the blog from its very beginning to fully understand the biographical context of this entry.

***

I hadn't been living away from home for very long.  It was November or December in 1990 and I was adjusting to a lot of new experiences:  Living in a new city hundreds of miles away from home, getting used to university life, enjoying meeting new friends and most significantly - living alongside several girls of my own age (Martha, Alice and Jane) who wore dresses, skirts and even high cut denim shorts very frequently.

My new home town was quite a contrast to quiet, suburban city where I had grown up.  The streets were not halcyon tree-lined boulevards or quadrangles of amber stone.  I certainly didn't go to Oxford or Cambridge, although I did do fairly well at school.

My college town was a curious mix of post-industrial decline and frenetic 90s commercialism, complete with rows of the usual high street shops, rowdy, neon doorway pubs and clubs by the dozen - seemingly always busy.  (Who did go out drinking at 3 o'clock on a Monday afternoon?)

I was a fish out of water for the first few weeks, spending long afternoons on the phone to old school friends and my parents, but I soon adjusted and I was about to have the first of many profound and formative experiences - all to do with girls and tights of course.

The weeks moved on, I turned 19 and the leaves on the trees outside my lecture halls and bedroom window started fading to dark red, through gold and then pale grey-yellow.  The wind got colder, the nights got darker and then... something remarkable began to happen.

In the flood of emotions and new experiences of moving away, my fetish and desire for all things girlie had dropped from my immediate consciousness.  My desires and fetish for tights though were about to be awoken and stimulated like never before as the weeks up to Christmas unfolded.

Whereas the girls in the house had spent September and October in jeans, leggings, shorts, floaty little dresses and skirts, the colder weather and the demands of fashion that autumn brought the need for them all to cover their legs in nylon.




I remember being stunned one morning seeing Alice emerge from her downstairs room in an outfit she'd worn to college many times before:  A patterned blue shirt with denim shorts.  This time though, I almost gasped when I saw that she'd added some 40 denier navy-blue opaques. They looked  staggeringly good - and it was almost surreal to be standing just a few feet away from a girl actually wearing tights - quite without any self consciousness just getting ready for college.  My heart burned and pounded in excitement and I was completely disarmed, left standing motionless in the downstairs hallway, glued to the sight in front of me. The experience was magnified by the fact that I'd rarely been that close to girls actually wearing tights in real life, (not having a sister, not having had a 'proper' girlfriend yet) and that I'd had my lust on the back burner over the previous few weeks.

I can't imagine that my eyes strayed off Alice for a second that morning as she moved around the kitchen, fixing her coffee and toast as I'd seen her a dozen times before. I still didn't fancy her as such, but I did like her tights very much and there was something extraordinary about seeing a young woman my own age just acting naturally, wearing the things I'd obsessed over for nearly all of my life just a few feet away from me.  It was an incredibly emotional and moving experience that I can still recall vividly now, so many years later.


I had trouble holding back my excitement, and remember locking myself in my room after she'd left the house.  The image of her legs in that that smooth blue nylon and lycra circulated through my mind, and even after masturbating and cuming very quickly, I had that strange feeling of desire and excitement as though the orgasm just hadn't been enough to extinguish the fire inside me. This rarely happens as many men will know, but sometimes it seems as though just one cum isn't enough and you're soon able to get hard again and try for some more satisfying relief.


Little did I realise that this was only the beginning of a rather challenging period for a young cross dresser living with three girls for the first time.