Listen, y’all. The readers of my blog, and especially those who follow me: I really love you guys and gals. I never thought when I started this, that I’d ever have as many readers as I do. It’s truly awesome, in the literal meaning of the word.

When I first started this, I had maybe 4 readers a week, sometimes less. Lately, I have been getting about 300 reads a week! That’s hard for me to fathom. I would assume that the name The Nylon Obsession is part of it, thanks to Google. I don’t really know. I do know that the frottage story seems to be the most popular, the most read.

I have shared many stories and opinions, and truths about me. I’ve said it before, but every story I write is completely true. I’ve shared a lot. People who know me personally don’t even know most of the things that I have shared with you all. I consider you readers friends. I know it sounds like hokey bullshit, but it’s true.

Now… I have talked about some of my turn-ons. If you’ve even casually skimmed through one or two posts, you know that. And, of course, the title of the blog is a dead giveaway as to my main ‘bent’.

But..,and I hate to say it…but…I’ve been holding out. I have another obsession, or whatever you want to call it, that I haven’t shared with you. And, almost as much as my obsession with nylon, silky and smooth clothes, this part of me gets bigger all the time.

The thing is, I really hope my followers, my friends,  don’t read about this and think “Okay. That’s it. I’m done with this gender-confused, cross-dressing moron. It’s too much.”

But it’s become such an integral part of me, that I’m going to close my eyes and jump in. I’m going to tell you. If I feel it’s a huge disastrous idea, perhaps I’ll delete the post. I don’t want to do that, but I really don’t want to alienate any readers.

Christ, enough build-up already!

Here goes nothing.

I am an age player. I’m an “adult baby, slash diaper lover”. An AB/DL. I wear adult-sized disposable baby diapers. I don’t always engage in the age play aspect. And… I don’t always wear toddler-ish clothes. (Like overalls, or short-alls and cute babyish t-shirts.)  I don’t gurgle or talk like a baby. Sometimes, the diaper I’ll choose will have a cute, childish pattern on the front, but most of the time it’s plain white. They’re thick, they’re snug, with two tapes on each side, and they make the cutest (sometimes TOO loud) crackle sound when I walk. And the answer is “yes and no.” Yes, I use them. I wet them. No, I don’t “mess” them. No number two for me. To be honest, I have messed them, but the clean-up is a bit too much for me. But wetting? Yes. (Without going into detail, wetting my diaper (especially when I have one on under my clothes when I’m out in public) feels great. Of course, after a minute or so, the padding soaks it all and you feel completely dry. The adult diapers available on sites like, or are amazing. They’re sometimes referred to as ‘designer’ diapers and generally cost a couple bucks each! But, you save money in the long run because they can be wet, and re-wet about four or five times before they start to leak, and therefore don’t need to be changed as much.

I’m well aware: The image of me, in a giant crib sucking on an oversized bottle, and cooing “goo goo, ga ga” is ridiculous. Even to me. But just sitting around and watching tv is a completely different experience if I have a diaper on under my Under Armour track pants.. You probably don’t know it’s a cliche among AB/DLs, but…wearing a diaper makes me feel safe. Comforted. And I forget my ‘adult’ troubles for a while. It makes me feel so happy, words don’t do it justice.

I know it’s fucked up. I know there’s a chance that most people are going to unfollow me, and write me off as a freak. But, if you do any reading about this fetish or lifestyle (and really, why would you have studied it?) you’ll know that people who have this ‘obsession’ with wearing diapers have absolutely NO CONTROL OVER THEIR DESIRES. It’s like liking vanilla ice cream. I don’t really know ‘why’ I like…need to engage in this behavior, but it’s part of me. And I can’t change it. I can change my behavior. I can throw out all my AB stuff. My diapers. But the desire will always, and has always, been a large part of who I am. I’ve had this desire since I was at least 5 years old. Truly.

As I said, I’ve been wearing more and more of late. It’s gone from a couple times a weak to an almost daily thing. Even if it’s only for an hour a day. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had a lot more personal problems. Family problems. Work problems. Identity problems! Gender identity problems. And…taping on an adult-sized plastic, thick and comfy disposable diaper makes me feel great. It’s like it lifts the weight off me. A emit a huge sigh. A sigh that says “There! Now that’s better!” Believe it or not, even though wearing a diaper does ‘excite’ me, turn me on; I don’t masturbate while wearing all the time. Sometimes, the enjoyment and comfort of being diapered isn’t sexual in the slightest. Sometimes.

What saddens me, though, is this: I’ve never had another guy ‘change’ me. I’ve never had the one thing I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. (Now, I don’t like the word ‘daddy.’ I feel silly even writing it.) But…I guess that what it amounts to. I want a guy to treat me like his little brother. Or even treat me like a son. Be my daddy. My “little” age is not a newborn, but a toddler. Like, three years old. To have a guy hug me, cuddle me, play with my hair and tell me I’m a “good boy” is what I want. What I need. And I want/need it badly. I think about it every day.

Isnt there some guy out there that would love to be a daddy (I’m so embarrassed!) or my big brother? And…just take care of me? He’d protect me. He’d hold my hand and tell me not to be scared. “Daddy’s here, little guy. No need to worry. About anything.” I’d say “I know, daddy” and smile, looking at the ground shyly. He’d laugh at my behavior and pull me into a hug. He’d say “You are such a cute, good little boy.” And…my heart would soar. I’d know that I was the luckiest guy in the world.

No matter how silly and ludicrous this all may sound to you, to me? Not having someone? It hurts. A lot.

But, I guess it’ll always be just a fantasy.


[I don’t get a ton of letters, or people making comments on my posts. But this time, I would love to hear what you all think. Is it too much? And, what do you think? Do you have any ideas as to how I could find another guy to love me and protect me? Do YOU want to be that guy? (sorry girls) Just some words of support would mean the world to me.

Coming out and admitting my gender issues seems like a cake walk compared to admitting this. I hope I haven’t made a huge error.]



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Well…I Don’t Give a Fuck About Labels!

I haven’t posted in a bit, so I thought I’d let you know what’s up with me.

After a shitload of pondering and frustrating myself, and google searches, I’m worn out.

Maybe I’m Trans. But, maybe I’m Genderfluid, or… just a transvestite…or…


Too much for my brain!

I’ve decided this: I don’t need a label. That’s just something to tell a stranger if they ask.


Some days, I feel like wearing a skirt, I feel like wearing jeans. A baseball hat. (But, the one constant is panties. Everyday. And some makeup. Gloss and a bit of color for my lips. I mean, I’m not a Neanderthal)

I guess what I’m saying is wear whatever the fuck you want. Fuck labels.

Maybe somewhere there’s a label that fits how I feel. Wait…! I know that label! I know what it is! It’s…


Today, for example, I’m wearing my Adidas by Alexander Wang green satin track pants. (God, I love these!),

Stan Smith shoes, and a white untucked oxford shirt. Now…as I said I always do, I have panties on. (They’re the prettiest navy blue, and 100% NYLON!) A matching bra, and pantyhose. But, I guess if you were to look at me, maybe you’d see a guy. Maybe you’d talk to me and think Boy, this guy is kinda girly. That’s fine. I am girly. If you know anything about me, you’d know how much I was bullied for being a fem boy, starting when I transferred schools in 5th grade. Ugh. Boys. Am I right?

Though now, I don’t wear what I feel I have to. I wear what I want to.

What the hell am I? I don’t fucking care.
Now, am I right?


I found a couple old old vintage pics taken by my then-girl friend of me wearing parachute pants. They’re Polaroids from ’85. Cropped a little. But, I vividly remember trying on a new gray pair. Can I believe I once could fit into a size 31L? Well sure I can. Jeez, I have kept the original tag in a photo album all these years. The second small pic is another Polaroid she took of me in my ubiquitous black pair. Great crotch shot, huh? Eeeew. I guess she knew what it was she liked about my parachute pants.


91E4EBE7-7284-41BA-9D3D-A09413396FF5The reason I put the title in quotes is because this is what I see if I google “guys wearing pantyhose.”

Even websites devoted to selling pantyhose for men always have some kind of post or blog with a title like this. It’s infuriating.

I guess it’s always been the case. Guys care about what others, namely girls, think about what guys choose to wear in public.

But… don’t guys get to a point where they simply don’t care what women, or anyone else, care about their clothing? Or for that matter, how they look in general.

Yesterday, I really was in a ‘pantyhose’ mood. I haven’t been wearing hose as much as I used to, but that doesn’t mean I love them any less. Readers of this blog know my love of pantyhose. I love everything about them. And, as I’ve said, no thigh-high stockings for me. I don’t like garter belts, and pantyhose go up over my ‘parts’ and I pull them up my waist. The compression feels wonderful, and obviously has a slimming effect on my stomach. Not that I need that, am I right?

Usually, the hose I wear is made up of around 85% nylon and 15% Lycra or spandex. For a while, I was plunking down $20 for a pair of nylons ‘made for men.’ I eventually realized that Hanes or L’eggs were exactly the same. I mean, exactly the same. No, they didn’t have the same packaging with a dude on the cover, but they felt and looked exactly the same. And, ‘women’s’ hose is available around the corner at any CVS, or other drug stores.

So, yesterday I put on my panties (Yes. Every day I wear them), then my pantyhose. Then… I made a decision I don’t usually make, though yesterday wasn’t the first time by any means.

What was the decision, you ask? The next thing I grabbed to put on was a black nylon pair of Nike shorts. Yup. That’s right. SHORTS. I put on a pair of white ankle socks and my Stan Smith sneakers (Ugh. I hate calling them ‘sneakers.’ I call them ‘gym shoes.’ But, people seem to call them sneakers, so I guess I will, too.)

Then, I went out. Gasp! In public! A guy wearing tan pantyhose, shaved smooth legs, and shorts! Oh my goodness! Everyone could see my nylon-covered legs! And… They felt great. There’s something about pantyhose and feeling the breeze on my legs that just tingles, and feels awesome. AND looks great.

I must admit though, that nervousness? Guess what. It wasn’t there at all! Sure, I looked surreptitiously at passing people’s expressions. And you know what happened? Not a goddamn thing. Not one person stared or gave a smirk. I find it hard to believe absolutely NO ONE noticed.

People have their own lives. They couldn’t care less what some dude is wearing on his legs. Personally, because I keep my legs smooth, I thought my legs looked great. They certainly felt great. I do think it’s important for any male pantyhose wearer to shave their legs. Otherwise, your legs in pantyhose look like Willie Nelson robbing a bank.

I guess what I’m trying to say…my point…is that any website that sells nylons to men has this article “Can Men Wear Legging?” (Naturally, they’re never going to call them ‘pantyhose.’)

So why do they feel they have to justify their product? Why should any man, straight, gay, married or single, give a toss what others think? Why can’t that article contain ‘If you’re a dude, and you want to wear pantyhose, go ahead and wear them. With whatever clothing you want. You want to wear them with a skirt? More power to you. Don’t worry too much about others’ opinions. Life is too short. You go ahead and wear whatever you want. You’re hurting absolutely NO ONE!”

I’ll tell you, that sure would be a welcome addition to ANY clothing website.

What I Looked Like As A Boy
Black Shiny Spandex Tights Look Great On Any Guy


IMG_7103Okay. Well, I’ve shared my big news. I am trans. I think. Wait…I know. Well….pretty sure I am.

It’s rare for me to write an entry so soon after the last. But, I can’t stop thinking about this thing. It’s like every waking moment I have this fantasy. This dream. And I’m sad and frustrated because I don’t think it’ll ever happen. But, here is what I wish could and would happen to me on any night.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my night’s outfit. Fixing my makeup so I look just right. Feminine, pretty, but not tarty. I’m very surprised and pleased with my choices.

There’s a soft knock on my door. I run to answer it, checking myself out one last time in the foyer mirror before opening the door. I know who it is, and I’m instantly shy, and very very nervous. It’s hard for me to make eye contact.

Who’s at the door? It’s my date. It’s a guy. A cute guy! He’s wearing maybe jeans, an oxford shirt, a nice dark blazer and nice black leather shoes. His hair is short and perfectly mussed, when in actuality he spent 30 minutes getting it to look like he didn’t touch it. He sees me looking at the floor and he quickly checks me out. A huge smile breaks out. Beautiful smile, with beautiful teeth. Just a hint of facial hair. Enough to look masculine but not too much so he looks like a Swedish Death Metal fan.

Of course, he hands me the requisite flowers. They’re tasteful and perfect. I invite him in.

“Hi, Jeffrey,” I say. Yeah, his name is Jeff in my dreams. (It’s a long story.)

“Wow,” he says, “You look fantastic.” I blush at the compliment. Even though I believe him, it’s hard for me to take compliments. He even leans in and gives me a quick, sweet kiss on the cheek. Once I get the flowers in water, I’m ready to go. Jeff has made himself comfortable on the couch. As soon as I walk into the room, he stands.

“Are you hungry, Corey?” he asks. He helps me put on my jacket. He smells wonderful. No matter how much I’d like him to kiss me passionately, it’s not going to happen. Tonight, I’m being a good girl.

Yes, Jeff knows about me. He knows who I am. He couldn’t care less about my “parts.” He loves women. And to him, and to me, that’s what I am. And to him? I’m a very pretty, nice, funny, smart and loving woman. That’s all he sees. I can tell from everything this boy does that HE feels lucky to take ME out on a date!

Honestly, and I say this with no hint of self pity: that’s never happened. I’ve never felt a person, male or female, taking me out…and HIM being the nervous one. HIM being the one subtly trying to impress me. But this night, Jeff is on his super-best behavior. He’s trying to woo me. His boyish attempts to hide his attraction and… just plain INTEREST in me is soooooo adorable.

Jeff does everything right. At dinner he looks into my eyes the entire time. He’s transfixed. He takes my hand across the table, and softly rubs his thumb up and down the back of my hand. He’s wonderful. We talk. A lot. He asks caring questions about me and growing up trans. I ask about what it was like being the star athlete in high school. He’s funny, self effacing yet utterly knows who he is.

And you know what else I dream about happening that night? Nothing. No sex. Nothing fantastical. Just a date. A date with a sexy, handsome, polite, and utterly charming guy. He takes me home after a long over-two-hour dinner and kisses me goodnight. A nice kiss. Not sleazy. He tells me he’ll call me very soon to set up the next date. I stare, watching him leave. I’ve got the stupidest, most wonderful smile.

Jeff leaves, and I enter my apartment. What a great night, I think as I slip off my heels. Then, my phone rings. I don’t immediately recognize the number but I answer anyway. It’s Jeff. He’s on speaker while he’s driving. He couldn’t wait the bullshit three days. He’s calling me five minutes after dropping me off. He asks if I’m busy tomorrow. He wants another date. (And naturally, No. No, I’m not busy.)

And that’s the end. I know, it’s pretty tame and a little boring. But in my whole life, I’ve never had a fantasy I’ve wanted more.

Ugh! Sigh.


I’m not entirely sure about sharing this. As I’m typing this on my iPad, it’s starting to hit me that I might lose a few readers. But…and I’m just thinking out loud here…it is my blog. And it is about ME. And, for some reason, I want to share this side of me.

And what is that side you ask? I started this blog to share my obsession with the fabric nylon. Of course, Parachute Pants play a huge part in that. And…again, if you don’t know what parachute pants are/were, go read the Wikipedia entry. Whoever wrote that entry sure did know what he was talking about! Yessireee. It almost could’ve been written by me! (Of course, it was written by me.)

I’ve also revealed my love of lingerie. Underdressing. Wearing nylon/silk/satin pretty lingerie makes me feel awesome. Especially pantyhose, which I wear every darn day. They feel so great. And, if you like wearing pantyhose or any nylon clothing, I highly suggest shaving your body. I’m lucky. I’ve never had much body hair. In gym class, I got teased more than once. Even as an adult, when I had to get dressed in front of some guy friends, one guy said “Dude, you have, like, no leg hair.” Fucking moron. But, that did take me back to how I felt when I was in high school and picked on. This guy was my “friend”, and he wasn’t really trying to humiliate me, but there were other guys I didn’t know too well there too, and I was embarrassed. Anyway…

I shave my legs, arms, and…of face every other day. (I hate this trend of facial hair on every single man in the country!)

All right, I’m a bit of a sissy boy, and I may even be trans. I’m not sure. And I’ve stopped trying to label myself. What gender am I? Well, I know what’s between my legs. But I also know how I feel. It’s the same way I’ve felt as long as I can remember. Saying I was really a girl my whole life really makes things make sense. A lot. I mean, it totally makes my life make sense and fills in a lot of puzzle pieces. 

Now, instead of wasting time researching words, like cis-gender, transgender, gender fluid, etc. etc. etc., I really don’t care about words. I am concentrating instead on how I feel. Like, I’ll wear men’s shorts, with pantyhose, and feel totally amazing when I’m out. You know the kind of person who says mean things to me? NO ONE. That’s right. In all my dressing forays in public, not one person has said a word to me about my dress. No one cares. Well…yesterday I was in line at WALGREENS. My outfit was pantyhose, a short black skirt, a sleeveless t-shirt, a camisole underneath. I wore Stan Smith shoes with peds. Yup, the socks with the ball in back. And, I wore a pink baseball hat. I had makeup on. Not one person in line cared, except for a cop. He was staring. Actually, for all I know, he could’ve been attracted to me. But ultimately, he didn’t say anything.

As time goes on, I’ll get more and more adventurous in blurring the gender line. And, I do hope that I get some comments. Compliments. From cute boys. Heck, I’d even be willing to have boys try to ask me out. Those comments would be great! But I’m not too optimistic. Maybe. But as I said, I’ll get more and more confident to go out with as many “girl” items of clothing I can. 

And do you know who’ll comment? Not a damned one. Oh well.


Yeah, yeah…we all know. I’m a child of the 80s. But there are certain fashionimg_6506 trends that I wish were still around. For instance…

A cute teenage (or older) guy with a button-down oxford, open at the collar (only one or two buttons please) with a tasteful gold necklace? Yup. It’s sexy.

The people who say “Only fags and mafia guys wear them.” are wrong. Naturally, that’s an oversimplification about those who wear any kind of jewelry. Cute guys wear necklaces, too. And not just “hemp.” Please.

Though, generally speaking, there are a few rules.

1. No more than two buttons undone. Ever. Personally, I’m a one button guy. (Though for the above picture, I wanted to show how two buttons undone looks with my necklace.)

2. No chest hair. Sorry guys. Chest hair is gross. Unless it’s closely trimmed. And if you’re going to trim it, might as well shave it. I have always been lucky in that I’ve never had chest hair. It just never grew. Good for me.

3. The chain just has to be tasteful. No Justin Bieber bicycle chains. Try to stay away from rope chains, as well. Yellow gold looks the best. And buy a REAL GOLD chain. Not plated, hollow, or filled. A nice flat chain looks the best. And no bigger than 2.5 mm. (White gold is okay, but to me it just looks like silver.) The necklace I wear is a flat wheat chain that is 2mm wide and 22 inches long.

4. Finally: always…ALWAYS keep your chain under your shirt. It’s that smallest hint of gold around your next that is so sexy. Showing less is more. A little visible sparkle always makes me look twice at the wearer. And keep your gold necklace new-looking and sparkly. Always remove and clean it at the end of the day. And never wear it in the pool. Chlorine is terrible for gold.

And always remember the sexiest trait a guy can have is confidence. If you think your necklace looks good, chances are others will, too.

Maybe part of the attraction is that perhaps it DOES look a little feminine. It shows that you care about your appearance. Buying yourself a nice gold necklace is like giving yourself an elegant gift. I guess, if you think you look “macho” in your chain, nestled in your chest hair, as long as you’re confident, perhaps it will come across.

But the sight of a soft, pretty-ish guy, cute smile, nice clothes, with that sparkle around his neck when the light hits the necklace… now THAT’S hot.

[Update: I think Ross Lynch is one of the cutest boys ever. I mean…EVER. Recently, he did an interview, and I’ll try to include a picture of his beautiful face. But it’s really what he was wearing. A gold necklace. It is the exact same width, length, and type of necklace I wear. SIGH.]




I don’t really know what the attraction was. I was about 12, and had been wearing my sister’s panties and hose. But I had never tried making my face look like a girl’s. Yeah, a year later I would start dating the girl who liked putting makeup on me. But when I was 12, it wasn’t a “turn on.” Sure, it became one eventually. But not then. Anyway…

It was my mom’s makeup that I tried on. Maybe it’s the obvious choice, but lipstick was my first inclination. It had to be red, of course. I put it on, took it off, re-applied it. Back and forth until I finally liked the way it looked. A 12 year old boy with deep red lipstick. Naturally, I stared in the mirror, puckering my lips like the ladies I’d excitedly ogled in a pilfered Playboy.

The next item was rouge. Blush. I didn’t put it only on the apples of my cheek like I do today. (Oops! Did I just confess to wearing blush?) I put it all over my cheeks. I must’ve looked like I was either totally embarrassed, or perhaps I had Rosacia.

Mascara. That fascinates…fascinated me when I was 12. My friend Tommy was blessed with beautiful, long, feminine lashes. Everyone told him so. Maybe I wanted them, too. But for whatever reason I tried to use the wand to apply the dark goop to my lashes without poking my eyes. It’s really not as hard as it may seem to apply. (Actually, I just saw a tutorial that suggested using a business card behind your lashes when applying mascara, so any residual makeup gets on the card, not your eyelid. Brilliant!)

And with that, I was finished. (This was before lipgloss.) In my opinion, I looked pretty good. I had done a pretty good job. I looked pretty. That was where the excitement was. It wasn’t necessarily the steps it took, but the end result. I looked like a girl. Well…to my 12 year-old eyes. It was ultimately about how it made me feel, instead of how it made me look. I felt pretty. I kind of liked looking like a girl. It felt comfortable. It felt…right.

It didn’t start to be a daily thing until a couple years later. Even then, it was only concealer. That’s all. I still wear makeup everyday. Base. Bronzer. A little mascara, sometimes. Even though I think it’s subtle, it might look completely obvious to everyone. Hell, I don’t know how others see me. But regardless of how I look to others, I like the way it makes me feel.

Yesterday, I decided to make up my face completely. I mean, full on. But I didn’t want to look…tacky. I was just curious how good I would be at applying it. Since I’ve worn makeup, I get free samples and things from stores. Over the years I’ve amassed a large supply of various cosmetics. So, I set out yesterday to make myself look sexy, but not trashy. It might seem like a no-brainer  since I was, after all, wearing panties and hose already. So, after about 20 minutes, I was finished.

I had put it on. I was actually surprised at my skill. Of course, I took selfies. I took a lot of selfies. (You’re in luck! I’m going to add one of them below! Don’t you just FEEL lucky?!)

After I had removed all the makeup, I kept staring at those pictures. I reluctantly sent one to a straight friend who was at work, but through texting, he knew what I had been up to. He texted me right after I sent him a picture. His response? “Damn! Those lips! That’s hot.” I’m not making this up. (Ha! Get it! “Making this up”?) I texted back “I don’t know. Maybe I overdid it.” His reply came instantly. “No. I think it’s not too much or too little. It looks just right.” Wow. A married, straight friend.

Even today, over 24 hours after my “experiment”, I’m still checking out my pictures. I’ll never forget my friend Jimmy’s texted responses. It confirmed what I had hoped for after putting on all that makeup. I looked…pretty.



This is the actual, real picture of me from my makeup playing on 7/27/16.



“Underdressing” Today

I guess I’m not the normal CD guy. I actually prefer underdressing to complete feminization at home, when alone. The skirts and blouses (not to mention heels) are too much hassle. I’m not trying to pass. Of course, I wish I could pass. But I’m too realistic.

When underdressed, something clicks in my brain and I become what feels like a 16yo girl. It’s a fact that when wearing panties and pantyhose (never stockings. I enjoy the added compression around my waist) with a bra; it’s true that your lingerie is never going to get noticed. But my brain tells me to show my fem side to attractive guys.

Last week, while underdressed in downtown Chicago, I stopped in one of the ubiquitous nail salons. Since I had pantyhose on, I couldn’t get a pedicure, but I sat right down in the empty chair with my nail choice; a pretty, light, subtle pastel pink (always pink. Or baby blue.) The manicurist could not have been less interested. After the twenty minutes it took, when I was out on the sidewalk, every cute guy that was coming towards me made me unconsciously touch the front of my silky shirt, making my girly hands with painted nails obvious to anyone looking. I didn’t get any response other than a smile here and there. Honestly.


I have, twice now, gone out in the Loop when it’s very busy, wearing beige pantyhose. Not unusual, right?  Well, I wore them with white nylon board-shorts and Nike high tops. My entire calf and knee are sensuously encased in pantyhose. (My legs are shaved, so there’s no ugly hair that makes it look like Willy Nelson robbing a bank. And seriously, if you love pantyhose, shaving your legs does indeed increase the beautiful sensations.

But you know what reaction I got? None. None at all. If people, especially women, have noticed; they’ve either been too polite or not interested enough to say anything. It’s frustrating, yet at the same time I think “Who cares? That’s great that I’m being left alone!” The lake breeze on my nylon covered smooth legs is amazing. It’s the nicest, sexiest feeling I’ve ever had while underdressing. Even though I would’ve loved to have guys notice, and maybe even say something like “Hey, dude. Why are you wearing pantyhose?” But that’s the stuff TV fiction is made of. It doesn’t happen that way in the real world.

So take my advice: wear your pantyhose with shorts. Get a manicure with pink polish. Wear that bra with a light-colored shirt. I guarantee, no one will care. Not one. Except you.


The Best-Feeling Menswear Of All-Time

I know, I’ve made it perfectly clear about wearing nylon clothes. Well…actually any clothes that are slippery, silky, satin-y, and shiny. A lot of them now are made of polyester. That doesn’t matter one whit. 

My Nylon Obsession takes me to many places. Okay…websites. I’ve come across some pretty cool pants. But after trying out a ton of clothing that fulfills my obsession; I can honestly say that Under Armour gear is the best. 

Their T-shirts come in crew or v-neck, and they’re not cheap. Generally, a man’s undershirt will cost you about $20.00! But it’s totally worth it. Before you put it on, you’ll notice the fabric. It’s almost like liquid. If you fold them, as I do, it’s quite difficult to keep them that way. They’re so slippery they’ll slip right out of your hands. So, how do they feel when worn? Come on. I don’t even need to answer that. It is, undisputed, the sexiest, slickest fabric you can wear. If you wear just the t-shirt with a pair of jeans or whatever, it’s as close to public cross-dressing as a guy can get. 

Under Armour also makes a button-down long sleeve Oxford. It’s truly amazing. It feels awesome, especially when worn over an UA undershirt. And the fabric resists staining, so you can wear it again and again without it smelling bad or wrinkling. Then, when you do need to wash it; wash with cold water and like-colors. Then air dry it for about 20 minutes. Hang it up and let it completely dry. There. It’s all ready to go. 

They have chinos and (my personal favorite) slim-fitting tapered leg cargo pants. Now you’re entire body is covered in UA’s silky nylon-esque “gear.” You’ll feel like your cross-dressing in public. And, passing, might I add! 

I know Under Armour is extremely popular. That leads to my belief that a lot of men/boys are into wearing feminine clothing. They may not know it, but I think they’re mostly latent cross-dressers.

If you have a silk/satin/nylon obsession, as far as menswear is concerned? I defy you to prove this statement incorrect:
 There’s nothing better at feeding The Nylon Obsession.
[Under Armour isn’t paying me a dime to advertise their products. Frankly, my love for them comes from a more “feminine guy” perspective. I’m afraid UA would be slightly embarrassed by my attraction.]