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It was only a little experiment: I was quite a young boy, but I wanted to know what it felt like to wear ladies’ knickers. Ladies’ knickers were troubling me: I didn't know why, or how it started, but I found I wanted to touch them. Badly. It was more than mere curiosity, it was something deeper, a want, a physical need, which made my tummy squirm when I thought about them. Something told me it was wrong, but whenever I glimpsed a lady's panties I felt a pang of envy. There were few opportunities of getting hold of ladies' knickers at home. But I was often sent to stay with my grandmother, and I knew that she must have lots of knickers in her bedroom. At first, the idea of my grandmother's knickers was not at all interesting. But one day she did her washing, and hung out a long line of knickers in the garden. They smelled sweetly and shone brilliantly in the warm spring sunshine. I found myself studying them while I played, and very soon they began to seem more appealing. One morning, early, while she was out shopping, and I tip-toed into her bedroom in just my pyjama top and stood beside her dressing table. I looked at myself in the big mirror. My grandmother had got my pyjamas from a charity shop and had not realised they were girls’. The little pink top hardly reached down to my waist and, although I was a boy, I thought I looked quite pretty. I grasped the handle of the top drawer and pulled. It was jammed, so I pulled harder. Suddenly, it flew open, and a riot of soft silk and satin sprang up towards me and a flurry of bra straps and garter-belts flipped out and dangled from the drawer. I suddenly realised the naughtiness of what I was doing and panicked. My heart was racing. I breathed excitedly, and the air I breathed was heavy with feminine scents. I tried to push in the drawer, but it wouldn't go back. On top of the pile was a large pair of pink knickers. They weren't really pink, but a subtle mixture of creams and pinks and other hues, a very grown-up colour that I couldn't describe. Although the knickers were very big, they were light and sheer, and their big white gusset was quite noticeable through the silky material. I was about to make another attempt to close the drawer, when the knickers slipped from the heap and landed at my feet. I blushed as I felt the cool panties around my ankles. I looked down and saw that the gathered waist was on top, and the flower pattern of Granny's carpet was showing through the open legs. It was as though they were offering themselves to me. In the quiet warmth of the bedroom, I felt safe, knowing that Granny wouldn't be back for ages yet. I squeezed the deep pile of her bedroom carpet in my toes, then nimbly pointed them and stepped into my grandmother's knickers. I remember reasoning that it wasn't so very naughty, because they were only like briefs. I drew up the knickers quite slowly, afraid that something might happen and I would have to let go. Little by little, I pulled them up, savouring the feel of them against my legs, until the cotton of the gusset swung invitingly between my ankles like a soft hammock. I suddenly thought that my smooth little bag would soon be nestling in the soft downy place where Granny's mysterious ladies’ bottom had pressed, and I froze. Blood roared in my ears. I knew I should put them back immediately and go to my room: what I was doing was far too naughty. Little boys should never play with ladies' knickers and certainly not their grandmother's. But the knickers were freshly-laundered and sweetly perfumed and there was something soothing about their womanly scent which calmed my fears and, a moment later, I had pulled them right up. They were so big that, before my bag felt the warmth of the gusset, the pretty little satin bow and pearl at the front of the waist were under my chin. I felt my knees give way and rolled on to my grandmother's bed, my body quite girdled by her knickers. For some minutes, I lay there in a dream, listening to the tick of her clock, breathing in her perfume, wondering what on earth was going to happen next. My senses were heightened and my skin felt so alive that it seemed to be driven wild by the touch of the knickers. Tiny hairs erected all over me, and my nipples stood out, quite hard. Then, seduced by the soft folds of my grandmother's knickers, my little penis began to fill out, too. I gasped in surprise because I had never seen it do such a thing before. I stared in amazement as it pushed up the baggy front, rumpling the silk, lifting the lace panels which adorned the knickers on either side. It seemed to have a life of its own, quite out of my control. I thought to myself, "This must mean I am in love, because it is just like the picture in Mummy's book about love." As, indeed, it was, because I had secretly peeped at my mother's manual of marital arts and knew that boys had erections. I watched with interest as my little penis pulled itself up until it stood quite erect in my grandmother's knickers. It seems silly now, but I was blissfully unaware at that stage of the effect of ladies’ knickers, and didn't know how dangerous an older lady's panties are for a young boy. I reached my fingers towards it gingerly, a little scared, because I had never been in love before. I squeezed it and found it was very hard inside, but the skin was soft and loose around it, like one of Granny's thick nylon stockings. I didn't hear Granny return and was shocked when she entered the bedroom and found me. I pulled up the knickers and tried to hide my face with them. But Granny wasn't at all angry and didn't remark on my excited state, which must have been very obvious. She said that, if I wanted, I could wear her knickers, but they were rather large for me. Nothing more was said about my naughtiness that day. But next morning, when I woke, I found a pair of girls' knickers and a dress at the foot of my bed: I looked for my boys' clothes, but they had gone. Granny called me for breakfast and told me to hurry, so I had to put on the girls' knickers and dress and run down. I blushed with shame as I sat and ate my breakfast cereal, but she didn't mention anything about the dress. After that, she put out a clean pair of knickers for me every day, and I soon regarded it as normal to dress as a girl while I was with her, and looked forward to my stays much more than my mother realised. Coquette Thank you for your letter Coquette. How sweet that your granny indulged your fascination with her knickers. Loving feminization can sometimes be as effective as force. Auntie Helga |