He took the set from me. He massaged the material, admiring the delicate embroidered patterns. Together we picked out a new pair of stockings to go with it. Since his pair in the back had a small run in them we figured it was best to start over with a fresh pair.
“Go ahead, put them on!” I said. He unzipped his jeans and revealed to me he was already wearing his own pair of turquoise lace panties. “But those don’t match mine.” I pouted.
“I don’t know,” he nervously fumbled.
“Come on!” I said. We heard another blast of thunder. The outside world felt incredibly apocalyptic. It gave me a rush.
He took the panty set and began heading toward the bathroom. I stopped him.
“Just change right here! I’ll help you. There’s no one in here… and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, really.”
The store was empty, and I figured anyone who would suffer through extreme weather conditions to come into an adult store would also be tolerant of a man changing into lingerie in the middle of the store. The bathroom was a terrible fitting room, anyway.
“It’ll be fine! If anyone comes in you can hide behind the DVDs,” I said with a wink.
He still seemed unsure. I batted my eyelashes and did my newly learned incredibly amateur twerk to entice him. He laughed, a hearty belly laugh, but I noticed that he didn’t look away. I truly was learning how to become a proper female. I had never used my ass or my eyelashes for any kind of persuasive act before.
“Okay, okay, I’ll change out here.”
He unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor around his ankles. His long T-shirt went halfway down his thighs. He slid off his jeans and his boots. He made sure his crotch area was covered with his T-shirt. It was endearing that even while surrounded by blow-up dolls and dildos he was still nervous about showing off his own sexual package. He slipped his turquois panties off, and he rolled them up and put them in the pocket of his blue jeans. He took the purple lace panties and slid them up his hairy legs. The juxtaposition of masculinity and femininity mixed in one was arousing to me. He turned around and faced away from me and adjusted his cock so it would tuck in and fit appropriately inside his new bottoms.
“How do they fit?” I asked.
“They’re great!” he said. I lifted up his shirt and he looked incredibly vulnerable and nervous, but I rubbed his belly and it seemed to soothe his demons. I took the garter and put it around his waist, I stretched it as far as it could go, and it successfully fit on the very last fastening ring in the back. We both cheered.
“Yay, it fits!” I cheered. I never cheer. What the hell has come over me?!
“Take your socks off,” I said. I slid a chair over to him, and he sat down while I took out his new pair of nude thigh-highs. He took one sock off and revealed an unexpected very subtle pastel pink pedicure. His toe nails were short and filed down, and the skin on his feet looked incredibly smooth. I carefully tried putting the stocking over his toes while they were pointed up like an L shape, and then he changed positions and pointed his toes down and arched his feet like a ballerina. I didn’t want to rip them, I remembered how sensitive he got about that last time.
“I read somewhere they would go on more easily like this,” he said. He was indeed correct—the stockings rolled onto his feet and up his legs smoothly with just the slight change of direction. I could see the bottom of his balls sticking out from underneath his purple panties from where I was sitting. I never would have expected the combination of lace and testicles to turn me on, but it did. I slid the stockings up his thighs, as I sat with my knees on the dusty concrete floor, listening to the thunder and rain outside. I wasn’t so sure about the structural integrity of this building; the roof could have blown off at any moment, and we would be flooded. Billy and I would be underwater, swimming down the street in our matching lingerie. The thought of that actually didn’t frighten me.
He stood up, with his long T-shirt still on and the black garter straps dangling down his thighs. His big thigh muscles seemed to have temporarily held up the stockings, since they weren’t falling down like mine did. However, this was no excuse to avoid the task of attaching the thigh-highs to the garter. Like Isaac Newton says, whatever goes up, must come down, unless it’s fastened by a garter.
“Maybe I’ll have an easier time getting these on you,” I said.
He laughed. “I can do it if you want!”
“No, I got it!” I said. I wanted to wear the pants and the panties in whatever kind of fleeting relationship this was. I made the nylons my bitch, shoving them against the tiny clasp that so gracefully fell on his hairy leg, and I didn’t let that little plastic ball escape from me. I felt like there had to be a more efficient way for these to have been made. Could they have been replaced with some kind of button? I guess that wouldn’t work. It would tear the stocking. A buckle? No that wouldn’t work either. An invisible zipper? Maybe? I was surprised that in the entire season marathon of Shark Tank that I watched on Sunday, not one housewife/entrepreneur had any solution to make this any easier.
I concentrated and successfully got the front of the right leg done. I was down on my knees, and looking up at him he seemed to be 100 feet tall. Like he was the giant and I was Jack, and the magic beans led to an adult store inside of a strip mall in the sky.
He reached down to help me and our hands met in the middle of his thigh. I missed out on that pre-pubescent romance everyone else had in middle school, where couples “accidentally” held hands inside their big buckets of popcorn on awkward dates at the movie theater. This was what it must have felt like. He gripped onto mine, strongly, our eyes locked, and I felt a rush throughout my entire body.
I moved to the back garter, and his furry, but firm, toned ass was right in my face. The garter tightly rested against it as I latched onto the stocking and locked it into place. This was going smoothly. Thank goodness. Moments later all six garters were done, three on each side. I stood up and hugged him, our bottoms matching in purple lace panties, black garter, and nude stockings. We held each other and listened to the loud rain, and the jazz instrumental track of what I believed was a Nickelback song, and then suddenly, the lights went out (and so did the song, but that was actually more of a relief than a stress).
It was now pitch black in the store, and cracking the door to peek outside I could see nothing but a charcoal sky. The street lights were off as was the glow in the nondescript marquis outside that never changed, reading “VIDEO, DVD, XXX.” I had goosebumps all over me; the temperature must have dropped at least eight degrees in the past thirty seconds. Billy held me closer. He and I didn’t know much about each other. I didn’t even know his last name, but something about our chemistry just meshed. I literally, and figuratively, felt warm in his big, burly arms.
I boldly placed my hand on top of his panties. I went up and down his thighs and felt the garter I so brilliantly put together. It was on there so snugly. I felt the top of his thigh-highs, I slid my fingers up and down and felt where the stocking ended and his thigh began.
I slid his T-shirt above his head. I played with his chest hair, and my fingers ran through his beard.
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to kiss you, but I’d like to.” He put a finger on my lips to shush me. We remained in complete silence in the dark with only the hard noise of the rain. Our lips were close. I could feel his breath, minty from an Altoid. The boys in college never freshened their breath for me. They also never wore matching panties with me.