Why do they commonly and generally refer to the singular of panty in the plural, as in panties? That always struck me as odd. Yet, now that I am so accustomed to writing panties instead of panty, when I write panty, it just does not sound correct. I end up changing it back to panties.
This story is about the only fetish that I think that I have and that being, panties. I do not think that I have another fetish. Well, now that I think of it, I am definitely a tit man. I love tits, big tits, medium tits, and small tits. The size does not matter. What matters more are the shape and symmetry of the tit and the nipples, of course. Yeah, tits could be one of my fetishes. I will have to write a story just on tits, then, too.
Okay, now you have me thinking. I have never been a butt man until I met my girlfriend. She has the best ass that I have ever seen, bar none. So, I could be an ass man, too, I guess, for story number three. Yeah, don't tell my girlfriend but, because of her, I find myself staring at butts. It is a rare occurrence to see a shapely butt. Most butts are oversized. Shapely butts will have me staring after her while watching her walking away.
Then, there are legs. There is nothing like a shapely, shaved leg to make me want to stalk, er follow the possessor of such fine limbs to see what the rest of her looks like. Tanned legs are my favorite with nicely developed but not overly developed calves with toned thighs. Too many women have knobby knees. Knobby knees ruin the leg look. Yeah, I could write a story, just about legs.
Are women considered a fetish? I could write about women as a fetish, as well. Actually, I could write a book about women and the different types of women who have made me the pervert that I am today. Man, I love women. Not all women, of course, I hate bitchy women and women who do not have a sense of humor. You have to be able to laugh at yourself and trust me, I laugh at myself all day long.
"Ha, ha, what an idiot I am. I cannot believe I wrote that story."
Nonetheless, this story is about panties. I shall do follow up stories on my tit, er breast fetish, for the politically correct, ass, er buttocks fetish for all you ass men, leg fetish story for those who are into legs, not including feet, however. Sorry, about that, but feet do nothing for me. Then, maybe, one story just about women, tall women, short women, young women, old women, thin women, and not thin women.
It all started when I was around 13-years-old, er, I mean, 3-years-old when I would lie on the cold tile of the kitchen floor to catch a glimpse up my aunts and my mother's friends skirts and dresses. Unlike today where women either wear panties and/or pantyhose, there was much to see, back then. Before the dreaded invention of pantyhose, which I detest, everyone wore slips, nylon stockings, garters, girdles, and, of course, my favorite, my fetish, panty, er panties.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Boy, it is amazing what a guy can get away with when he is only three-years-old. Only, I wish they had invented the digital camera, back then. All they had was a Polaroid camera and it was black and white, and not many of us could afford one of those cameras. I swear, I was a born up skirt fan. Only, I am not a fan of those up skirt photos where they only show women's legs and a panty and/or pantyhose clad ass and pussy. I need to see the rest of the woman, especially her face, to appreciate the photo. Hey, I am not a forensic scientist or mortician; I do not get off on body parts. I need to see what the woman's looks like, too. The whole package of what she looks like before the up skirt makes it more exciting and makes me feel like I got away with something by stealthily stealing a serendipitous stare of her panties.
Anyway, when I was a kid, I got to see my sister, all of my cousins, aunts, female family friends, my sister's girlfriends, and even my mother's panties. I guess women figured they were safe from sexual stalkers in their own home or in the house of a friend or relative and could relax their posture not figuring that my man desires developed so early. Yet, there I was always looking, hoping, waiting, and expecting to see panties.
They were all too busy talking to notice what the Hell I was doing until it was too late and after I had already gotten a good glimpse of the goods and continued returning for third and fourth stares, the greedy little panty maven that I was. Besides, back then, everyone smoked, especially the women. I would wait until they all gathered in the living room lighting up their cigarettes and working on their second drink, then, stealthily, under the cover of the blue hazy cloud of Raleigh and Marlboro smoke, I'd make my entrance crawling on the floor on my back like a Ninja. Boy, there was no talk of second hand smoke back then.
"What the Hell is little Freddie doing?"
"He's trying to see your panties," said my mother in-between a drag of her cigarette. "Freddie, get up and get out of here before you get thoughts." My mother never said sexual thoughts, only thoughts.
Going way back, I was just a kid, maybe 15-years-old when my aunt and her daughter, my cousin, stayed with us during her trial separation from her husband. We had a small apartment and the women all bunked in together. My aunt, probably, in her late thirties would put her nylons on in the kitchen and I would watch her on the pretense of mindlessly talking to her. She would put those things on like she was making love to them, careful not to run them and to get the seam in the right place. When she sat with her leg raised to start the nylon on her foot, I was rewarded with a flash of panty between her legs that continued when she raised her leg to slowly stretch and pull the nylon fabric up her calf and on up to her thigh.
