This is a fetish piece, which means it is a guy wearing women’s undergarments. Don’t like that sort of thing? Then this is not a story for you. This story is inspired by a man that lives half a world away from where I live. Yet I feel like there is a part of our being that is in perfect sync. He loves to dress as do I. I am sure he will recognize the picture I used. Perhaps you will find a bit of yourself in this.

My hands glide down across the silky nylon slip. I could feel the warmth of the body within and as my fingers passed over the bodice the lace produced a contrasting feel from the slick nylon. I could tell with just the feel of it that this was a high quality slip. It sent my mind back many years when my mother would move between the bathroom and her bedroom wearing a slip and stockings.

I would peek around the corner to see what color slip she had chosen for the day, would it be pink, baby blue, or perhaps that silky black one that I loved so much? My hand moved down and I could feel the garter belt under the slip, it was wide lace trimmed, the tummy slimmer style that reminded me of my mother’s girdles from back then.

And then I felt it, my hard cock encased in my panties with the nylon slipping across the tip of my cock. I loved the feeling of multiple layers and wondered if my mother enjoyed the same feeling. When I stand and move I can feel the slip slide ass my panty covered butt. But more than that I can feel the slip clinging to my legs, caressing my legs gently and my arousal builds.

It is dark in the house, winter nights bring on darkness early and this is my night to treat myself to feminine attire. As much as I love the contrast between dark stockings and a white slip I chose to not wear the stockings tonight. “Why is it?” I question in my mind, “that only women are allowed sensual garments?” My hand glides down my front again.

The nylon against my bare nipples sends a chill down my spine and I know that it won’t be long before I must finish what I have started. I open a window on my computer to see if there is anything on my favorite porn site to add to my evening. There are so many gay stories and so few stories about me. “What about me?” I ask aloud. I wonder over and over if I am the only one in the world that knows the simple pleasure of wearing clothes that are meant for women.

Am I the only one that inspects every seam, tag, and detail of a garment? Are the strap adjustments on the vintage slip metal? Is there that cute little satin pillow tab sewn across the elastic waistband of the vintage panty that I have been seeking?