by Michelle Story
Sissy was always Grandma's favorite. Grandma always wrote her letters when I didn't get any from Grandma. Grandma always made Sissy her favorite foods whenever we visited Grandma or when Grandma visited us. And Grandma always sewed Sissy such pretty clothes.
As a boy, I wasn't supposed to care about writing and cooking and especially about pretty clothes. Maybe I shouldn't have cared, but I did. I liked girl things. I liked the smell of make-up, and I liked the slippery feeling of women's lingerie. The only time I could satisfy my curiosity though was when I handled things while helping mom with the wash. There was always more wash when Grandma came to visit. Instead of jeans and shorts like my mom had become accustomed to wearing, Grandma always wore housedresses and mysterious underwear beneath them. In particular, I had a fascination with the stockings that she wore. They felt so pleasant in my hands and made my fingertips tingle whenever I helped mom sort the clothes. I wondered what they might feel like on my legs.
I don't remember what I did one day while Grandma was visiting. But whatever it was, mom gave me a spanking and told me to go downstairs in the basement until she told me I could come up. She told me that if I had nothing better to do to iron the handkerchiefs. (Believe it or not – we used to iron sheets and pillowcases, handkerchiefs and almost anything that was white and made of linen.) I didn't start my ironing. Instead, I lay down on the pile of dirty laundry to sulk. That's when it happened. The pungent aroma of Grandma's nylons caught the attention of my nose, though at that young age I didn't know what the aromatic smell was. I reached into the pile of clothes trying to find a hanky or an undershirt to wipe away my tears and search for the item whose perfume was calling to me.
I picked up an undershirt, and one of Grandma's nylons was clinging to it. I pulled the nylon off to toss it back into the pile – but instead brought it to my nose. The nylon had Grandma's scent clinging to it along with the odor of a day's wearing. It wasn't gross like one might think – since Grandma always kept clean and changed her stockings daily. She went around the house in her housecoat and slippers until late I the morning – then dressed for the remainder of the morning and afternoon. She faded shortly after supper and readied for bed with her nightie and housecoat once more. So – in my hands I held a nylon that had only been worn long enough to pick up her scent – along with the perfume she dabbed behind her knees and other bodily crevices.
I still don't understand it – but as I held the nylon, my penis twitched. This had not happened before that I could remember. I think this was the makings of my first hard on. I dove into the laundry pile with my free hand, searching for the other nylon – already knowing in the back of my mind that I was going to have to try them on. Before I found the other nylon, my fingers swiped across the silky pair of underpants my Grandma had taken off and added to the pile when getting ready for bed the night before. I knew what I was going to do. At the risk of getting caught, I took off my shorts and under shorts and pulled Grandma's underpants up my legs. To this day, I recall the pleasant feeling as the panties caressed my legs on the way up to my waist. They hung way too large on me, but looked like a tent in the front as my first hard on rose before me. The panties had given birth to a new use for my penis. Besides being able to give me relief when I peed, it could give me pleasure. It tickled so badly that I could hardly endure the wonderful feeling. I wanted something more – but did not know how to jack off yet or bring myself to orgasm through other means.
I looked in the pile again to take my mind off the tickling sensation and spied the other stocking. Like the first one, it had a seam up the back. I was intrigued by the darker color at the top of the stocking. Then I began to draw it up my leg after first balling it clumsily in my hands a I had seen mom do on Sundays and had seen my Grandma do almost every day. I arranged the seam in back like I had watched the women do. My leg felt so different – so girlish. It was a new and wonderful feeling. I hurriedly put the other nylon on as well. But, when I was playing with the tops of the stockings, I noticed a circular indentation at the top of the stocking and wondered what could have made it I also noticed that my nylons (I already decided to call them mine.) kept falling down. I quickly remembered that Grandma had fastened the stockings to a clasp on her girdle. I later found out it was called a garter. I knew that I was going to have to find out where Grandma kept her girdle and try it on also.
I kept hearing the sounds of footsteps upstairs and began to worry for the first time since I had first pulled on Grandma's soft under things about being caught. Yet I couldn't seem to stop myself until I completed this adventure. I pulled up the stockings, which had fallen down a bit without the help of a garter to hold them I place. It tickled so nicely as I pulled them up my thighs. I pulled my shirt and undershirt over my head to bare my torso. Then I fumbled through the clothes until I found a brassiere and put my arms through the straps. I tried to reach behind myself to clasp it – but couldn't reach far enough. Not realizing I could turn it around, I took it off and fastened it – then stepped into it and pulled it up my body, putting my arms and pulling the straps over my shoulders. I pulled the nylons tightly to where they touched the edges of the legs of the panties I was wearing. They felt so soft and tingly. The little hair I had on my legs could not be seen through the taupe colored hose.
My attention moved from the nylons back to the bra I had put on and something that was happening inside of the panties. The bra cups hung empty and sagged, but the panties did not. My penis was like a tent pole, spoiling the effect of the way I looked in Grandma's soft things. I reached down and touched it through the silky panties.
Then, the door to the basement opened and I heard voices. I almost cried at the fear of being caught. I reached to take the panties off, but when my hand brushed the front where the panties touched my penis, my hand momentarily stopped. I grabbed myself without knowing why, and my penis suddenly exploded. I knew I wasn't peeing my panties – but something sweet smelling came shooting out of my penis inside the panties. I nearly fainted at the pleasurable sensation and collapses weak on the pile of clothing in the middle of the laundry room floor. Luckily, mom had only opened the basement door to toss some garbage into the can at the top of the landing and had not come down the stairs.
Still weak and feeling euphoric – I took off the nylons and the bra. I pulled the panties down and cringed. I had filled the front of them with a cream of some type that I knew was going to cause me to get caught. I wiped off my penis with them and quickly got dressed. I wrinkled the clothes except for the panties and stuffed them back into the pile. I turned on the water in the laundry tub and rinsed off the panties. Then I wrung the water out of them by hand. I swung them around and around in the air, like a cowboy does with a lasso trying to spin the moisture out of them. While spinning them through the air, I almost hit the single light bulb that hung above the laundry tub and felt the heat of the light. This gave me a new idea. I held the moist panties against the hot bulb. I could only hold them in place a few seconds before the heat would burn my fingers. The fabric bit by bit dried out. I wadded up the panties and added them to the pile of clothes vowing never to do this EVER again. I prayed that God would forgive me and that he would heal me of whatever disease I had that caused my penis to shoot out puss instead of pee.
Before going back upstairs, I glanced at the pile of clothes one more time. Part of me wanted to repeat my play. But the sensible part won for that moment at least as I retreated up the steps to act like a normal boy and go visit with my Grandma. I tried to forget about what happened just a few minutes before – but as I hugged Grandma, her dress slid up a bit and I saw her slip. Right then, I knew I was going to enjoy the rest of Grandma's visit more than any other trip before.
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