Pink Panty Post

When I reached puberty, at about thirteen and my hormones didn’t know what to do. There was no real sex education in those days (The fifties). I began to really want to do something about the panties, girdles, slips and garter belts I saw in those catalogs. In each of the catalogs, there were sizing charts. I learned that Marilyn Monroe’s figure was 36-26-36 and that was the ideal figure. I wanted to have that figure! So I often borrowed my mother’s tape measure and went into the closet to take my measurements. I was 36-28-33. Wow! I would draw outlines of my “curves on large pieces of paper comparing me to Marilyn.
When my dad got orders to go to Alaska, we were to join him, but spent 3 months in Seattle in preparation for our reunion. There I met a girl my age, now 14, we were both smitten. I told her about my “curves’. We measured each other. One day, as we were playing in the front yard, she ripped her shorts, revealing pink, nylon panties.. When she came back out to join me after changing shorts, I told her that I wished I could wear panties like that.

Instead of saying something like, “Boys don’t wear panties”, she said, “Do you want to see them?”, She turned down the side of her shorts to reveal the top band and the pink nylon panties. “Go ahead and touch them! She said. I felt the smooth nylon and was immediately hooked. I had to get me a pair.
In those days, teenagers did not have any expectation of privacy, like many do today. My mother inspected every square inch of our rooms, not to be snoopy or intrusive, but to teach us neatness and organization. It was a military family, after all. One time, I bought a copy of “Battle Cry” because there was a sexy scene in it that would be nothing today. My mother found it and confiscated it. So I knew that there was no way to keep any women’s underwear. By now, her expectation of me were all about being a real boy, so there was no playing on that.

We moved to Alaska and lived in a cabin in the deep woods until my dad could secure quarters on the base. We were there for my entire 9th grade year. It was great, because I was left alone on several occasions while my mom walked over to visit with a friend of hers in a nearby cabin. From her bedroom window, I could see her walking over to that cabin and back. I invaded her lingerie drawer. Everything was white, no pink available. But it was almost all nylon and a perfect fit for me. I don’t have to tell my fellow panty boys what that moment was like, when I first donned those panties. It was ecstasy! Putting on a bra and a full-length slip was even better, because of the sliding of the materials over one another. I soon began donning garter belt and hose (this was before the day of pantyhose).
I could always tell when mom was coming back from the neighbor’s cabin. There was no cleared path, except by her footsteps, so it took a full 10 minutes for her to return, and I could see her the whole time. So, if I was even fully dressed, I had sufficient time to remove the clothing, fold it up carefully and place it back in the drawer or on the hangers in the closet.
I was never sick, but I feigned sickness a few times, just so I could invade that drawer and closet.

After we moved on base, my opportunities to dress were very rare, that is, until my mom set me up with babysitting jobs to obtain spending money. Here is where I got very daring! On several occasions, after putting the children to bed, I would go into the parent’s bedroom and dress up in the clothing of the lady of the house. Most of the time, these were officer’s wives, Captains, Majors, and once, the Base Commander. I don’t know how I did it, phenomenal luck, with no one coming home early might be one, but I am grateful, because, my father was an enlisted man. He would have caught the brunt of it and passed it on to m. At school, I would be ridiculed beyond belief. It retrospect, I should have been more frightened, but it just goes to show how strong the drive can be.

We moved back to the lower 48, and I had only a few rare occasions there. By the time I met my wife, I had decided to give up my “fetish” as the library books I found called it. Or, worse yet, it was often called a “perversion” in the literature.

A little over a year into our marriage, I discovered, quite by accident, a garter belt. I was cleaning out a room in the Student Union of the campus where I was a custodian. I immediately such it in my pocket and took it home at the end of the day. I had no idea how I was going to explain this to my wife, but the desire to wear women’s clothes had returned with a vengeance.

That night, while in bed with my wife, I told her about my strong desire to cross-dress.
Her answer must be the answer that every panty wearer or lingerie-loving man would want to hear. She hugged me and reassured me that it was fine. We were on a very limited budget, so I asked if it was OK that I buy a pair or two of panties. She said yes, and suggested that if I wanted any outer clothing, we might try the Goodwill Industries in the town.

All of the time the kids were growing up, I was very discreet about dressing, usually just dressing in all male attire. I purged a few times, but my wife had a way of hiding the purged items until I changed my mind and they reappeared.

After years of guilt for my feelings, I finally went to see a professional counselor. He was very understanding, and accepting. He assured me that there was nothing wrong with my feeling and behavior, he saw that it made me a more sensitive person and that I would make a good counselor myself.
I began to be able to enjoy my “hobby” guilt free. It was more than a “hobby” however, I am convinced it is a part of me, just as my love of baseball is a part of me.

Since retirement, I have more fully embraced my feminine side. I wear women’s jeans, shirts and slacks, and always, yes always wear panties underneath–no male under wear. I always sleep in silky nightgowns and wear girdles and hosiery under my clothes in the winter time. I also take jewelry-making classes with my wife. She is my wife, my lover, and my sister, all wrapped into one.

As many young people do, I went through a period of blaming my parents for my own shortcomings. But I want to say this; I am so grateful to my mother for the Halloween party. Not only was she proud of her “little girl”, but she was proud of every one of my achievements in my male life, whether in music, sports or my career. She is gone now, but I love her very dearly, and my feminine side came from her. I am sure that now she is equally proud of this boy and this girl.

We were at “Aunt Carol’s” house, where Marla was staying for the summer. We had already set the date for our wedding. Aunt Carol was out of town visiting family, so we had the house to ourselves. We had never before had this opportunity to be alone together for hours at a time. We just couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
We had had sex two or three times that morning and Marla decided to surprise me with breakfast in bed. I had fallen asleep; that is when she got up and went into the kitchen.
Her panties were lying on the bed. As I turned over in the bed, my face was on the panties. As I lay there, smelling the warm scent of Marla’s sweet sex in the panties, I recalled the many times I had tried on my mother’s panties and the panties of women for whom I had baby-sat.
My cock became very erect as I continued to inhale Marla’s scent. Soon, I could contain myself no longer. It had been years since I had been able to put on a pair of panties. I slipped stealthily out of the bed, quietly closed the door and rushed over to slip on Marla’s panties.
I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. They were a great fit, although the presence of my erect cock forced the cotton fabric tighter around my hips and ass.
I rubbed myself through the panties. The excitement of the panties and my already erect condition caused me to come almost immediately.
At just that precise moment, Marla opened the door, entering with the food.
The semen was flowing right through the fabric and dripping down my leg. I was gasping from the climax as Marla’s gaze went straight to my soaked crotch. She almost dropped the tray as she set it on the edge of the bed and tossed me a dirty t-shirt to clean up with.
She said nothing as we both ate breakfast. I kept trying to think of something to say, but could not, and kept quiet. I do not know what Marla was thinking, but my thoughts ran something like—“I’ve blown it; she won’t want to marry me now.”

After breakfast, we dressed, sat down in the living room and Marla said, Now, do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
Suddenly I told Marla all of the things that I had told no one (except an Air Force psychiatrist), about my penchant for women’s clothing. I told her of my sessions in my parent’s bedroom, of my exciting ventures into the lingerie drawers of three different officer’s wives and one sergeant’s wife. I had tried on several of their clothing after putting their children to bed.

“Did you masturbate into their panties?” Marla asked seemingly in a state of shock.

“No, Marla, this is the first time. It happened so fast.

“The panties missing last month from the girl’s dorm, was that you?”

“I have never stolen anybody’s panties!” I said defensively, but not too firmly. I felt very vulnerable, having, moments ago, stood in front of my future wife in her wet panties.
“I don’t know what came over me. I will never do this again,” I promised.

“Well. We will have to see about that! This was Marla’s first comment that had the ring of judgment to it
It did not bode well for me and our future.

Telling me that she needed some time to think, I went home. The next day, Marla’s mother picked us up to take us to Beacon, Minnesota to meet her family.
When we arrived at Marla’s Aunt Lois’s house, she called me aside.
“I want you to go into the bathroom and remove your boxer shorts, put them in your pocket and put these on in their place. Understand?” With that she crammed something in my pants pocket and walked away.

I did as she instructed me to do. Having the experience of being given orders by Marla excited me and I began to get a visible erection. When I arrived in the bathroom and reached in my pocket, I was amazed to find some very sheer nylon panties in a bright pink color. I did as directed, my member getting larger as I slipped the panties up my smooth feminine legs and onto my round ass.
I was fearful on my return to the front room. My very erect penis made a highly perceptible bulge in the front of my trousers. I felt as though all three women were looking at my bulge, (looking back, I’m sure they were). Marla had a big smile on her face as she gazed directly at my crotch. This, and the feel of the fabric as I strolled across the room, served only to increase the size of my member.
I sat down next to Marla, covering myself as best I could. As Marla’s mother and aunt talked, Marla whispered in my ear, “All right, Panty Boy, hand them over,” referring to my boxer shorts, which were in my pants pocket. She immediately stuffed them in her purse.
Later that day, I observed Marla tossing them into the trash barrel outside.
She repeated this same ritual in other living rooms (even in church!) until I no longer had any boxer shorts, only panties—light blue, beige, black, red, green and the aforementioned pink, of which I now had three pair.
On one occasion, in the car parking lot, she sat next to me in the back seat, and told me to sit still and be quiet. I complied. She then began repeating the words “Panty Boy” over and over as she stroked my cock. I came very quickly, just as Marla’s mother was getting into the car. I was so wet that I was afraid of being seen. I will never know for sure as I was wearing khaki and quite visibly wet.
Before we returned to Dallas, she caught me alone one morning. I asked if she still wanted to marry me.

She said, “Yes, but even more than being my husband, you will be my ‘Panty Boy’. Now, SAY IT!”

“Say what,” I asked.

“Say, ‘I am Marla’s Panty Boy’. SAY IT!”

I didn’t hesitate. I had never heard her speak with such force. She demanded obedience. “I am Marla’s Panty Boy”

“Louder!!!” I want mother to hear it!. It will freak her out to know that I can control a husband where she never could

I then nearly shouted, “I am Marla’s Panty Boy!!”