Sissy Biography - IV

My next foray into sissy-dom would occur only one year later.  I was living with a new girlfriend at the time and I came home from class hearing a harsh shriek from the other room:

“What the hell is this?!”

I knew immediately was what up, as it could only be one thing: my porn stash.  This was the early millennium, and I was living in a house without internet, so, yes, I had magazines, and hard-disks (early millennium) filled with the stuff.  I kept it in a bag in a hall closet that we rarely ever used, and that’s where her voice was ringing from.  The magazines weren’t especially deviant, but some of the stuff on the disks was.  Of course, all that was secondary to what lay at the bottom of my stash.

“Whose are these?”  She shouted with a handful of panties (a light floral pair of string bikini panties, a pair of dark gray cotton hi-cut briefs, and a white-satin brief pair of panties with which we should all be familiar).  This was a question to be expected, especially since she was convinced that I was cheating on her with our other (female) roommate (I wasn’t).

I told her the truth.  That the white-satin briefs were taken from a friend’s step-sister when I was 12, and the other two came into my possession through other means (the gray was left in the floor after a party (a hell of a party), and the floral came from an old friend).  This reassured her for a moment, but then a look of angry bewilderment shot across her face.

“But, why do you have them?”

Everything was happening so fast, that I was unsure of how I wanted to answer.  I decided on giving her a half-truth, telling her that I had a panty-fetish (obviously true), and that I liked the feel of them (also true, though I neglected the part about liking the feel of them from the inside-out—when I was wearing them).  She seemed dazed by the answer.

“You have a panty-fetish, and you like the feel of them?  What does that even mean?”

What’s funny is that I was taking a psych class and we had just covered fetishes (seriously, the timing was uncanny), so I was able to explain what I meant while tiptoeing around the complete truth.   I explained that I was sexually aroused by panties and that the feel of them helped get me off.  I made sure to underscore the fact that the arousal was due to the panties themselves, rather than the girls who wore them (mostly true).

She was exasperated; understandable, given the circumstances.  We had had a normal, healthy sex life and I had given her no real indication that I had any interests outside of typical sex.

“Well, sad to tell you, but we’re getting rid of them.”

I understood.  If I were in her shoes I wouldn’t want my boyfriend holding onto some other girl’s panties, let alone three other girls’ panties.

“This is crazy.  I’ve never seen anything like this.  I don’t know what to do.  I mean, panties?!”

I did what I could to support her, as she obviously felt like she had the rug pulled out from under her, but I wasn’t prepared for her next statement.

“This is nuts.  I need to call Mom, see what she thinks.”

 

I froze.  Her mother was a hell of a battle-ax, self-centered, spiteful, and sharp tongued, yet she was my girlfriend’s closest confidant.  They talked about everything.  I did not relish the idea of her mother becoming involved in this.

Yet, I got a little hard at the thought; it was something out of a forced femme story: the sissy gets outed to the domineering mother who teaches her daughter how take control of him.   Of course, this was real life, and I doubted that I would be lucky enough to get such an outcome.  Even if I did, I’m not sure I wanted this mother to be the one in charge.

“Mom?  Got a minute?”

“What is it?” God, her mother was so loud, I could hear her through the phone.

“I was going through our closest, and I found all of his porn.”

Laughter from the other end.

“Mom!  Mom, this is serious.”

More laughter.  My ex completely turned her back to me.

“Mom, please.”

"What’s the problem?” her mother said between laughs, “I think this is the most normal thing I’ve seen him do!  Hell, I was kind of worried he was gay!”

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“He’s a man.  If he wants to jerk off, he’s going to jerk off.”

I was a little shocked, to be honest.  I never thought my girlfriend’s mother would be the voice reason in…anything.  Then came the big question.

“Wait.  What kind of porn is it?  Is it gay porn or something?”

“No, it’s…well, it’s a lot of girls in panties, a lot of girls kissing-”

Laughter.  I was completely flush, and more than a little hard.

"And there’s some bondage stuff.”

The laughter stopped.

“Bondage?”

“And…there’s something else.”

“Besides being a porno freak?”

“He has panties.”

“What?  Like he’s a panty-sniffer?”

“No, he says he “likes the feel.”” My girlfriend actually made air-quotes as her voice dripped with condescension.

“He wears panties?!”

 

At this point, I don’t know if I had any blood left in my head.  I felt lightly drunk, and I was painfully engorged.  I just hoped my girlfriend didn’t notice.

“No, he said he likes to feel them.”

“Feel them?”

I tried to interject and explain, but her mother cut me off.

“Wait, he’s there now?!” She said.

I tried to speak, again.

“Shut-up, panty-pervert!  I’m trying to talk to my daughter!”

I felt myself go completely flush.  If I wasn’t in a half-panic mode, I might have came in my pants.  Being called a panty-pervert by my girlfriend’s hellacious mother was overwhelming…the embarrassment and shame of being caught, the open contempt from the mother, the humiliating condescension I was receiving from the two of them...As it was, though, I was probably staining my pants with pre-cum.  I was living some fucked-up sissy fantasy, but I felt terrible at how I affected my girlfriend.

“So, he jacks off to porn and he jacks off to panties.”

“Some other girls’ panties,” my girlfriend corrected.

Pause.

“Ugh!  Jesus!  What the fuck is wrong with him?!  Do you hear me?!  What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

She didn’t even let me stammer.

“So, he’s a panty-thief?  How many panties has he stolen?”

“He says he didn’t steal them, but three.  He’s got three pairs.”

A silent pause hung in the air.  I felt like I was surrounded by static electricity, and hoping that my girlfriend hadn’t noticed my erection.  Finally, her mom sighed and spoke.

“Well, I guess that’s not that bad.”

“What?!  Mom!”

“Look, all guys have weird things.  If you love him, then you make sacrifices.  I give blowjobs, but I fucking hate it.  I do it because I know my man loves it.  I make a sacrifice.  I like your boy—Hear that, panty-boy?  I like you—He’s worth keeping around.  You just have to find a way to make do.  If that means letting him have his panties, then that’s what you should do.”

It was the most bizarrely heartwarming thing my girlfriend’s mother had ever said to me at that point.  She thought I was a goddamn weirdo, but she had been around the block enough to think that, if you dug deep enough, all men had weird hang-ups when it came to sex.  The important thing was that she thought I was good for her daughter, and she was able to put an oddly down-to-earth perspective on the whole affair. 

What followed was a lengthy conversation about what all this meant, and how to move forward from it.  My girlfriend didn’t like the idea of me hanging onto other girls’ panties (again, can’t blame her), so we both agreed it was best to throw them away and have a talk sometime in the future about what to do about the fetishes (she was too emotionally exhausted keep going).

Fast-Forward to Christmas Eve at her parents’ house.  We were exchanging gifts when her father (a large farm-boy type) handed me a box.

“I’m pretty sure this one’s yours.”

It was odd phrasing, but all right.  I opened the box.

Panties.  About ten pairs of different types of panties.  Her mom laughed, her dad laughed, she laughed, and I laughed nervously, trying to use the box to hide my massive erection.