DON’T CALL THEM “MANTYHOSE”, PLEASE!

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Lately, I’ve been doing something that I usually don’t do. And that, is wearing nylons underneath my pants every day. I mean, every day. Since starting this NYLON OBSESSION blog, and writing about my obsession, naturally makes me think of nylon clothing a lot more. And…that must mean a ton, seeing as how much I thought about it before I started blogging about it.

I would guess that some people accidentally come across this page. If you browse the writing, some people will think I’m a freak. Or think that I’m “obsessed.” Even though, isn’t that the who,e point of this particular blog?

Apologies. I digress.

Readers know that I have, and do, wear pantyhose. (And again, can we please refer to them as nylons for obvious reasons?) Though for the past three weeks, the carefully stowed pairs (there are about 10) of nylons have been calling me. In the morning before getting dressed, I hear them. They’re calling my name. “Ryan…come and feel us…put us on today…” So now it’s time to get dressed for the day. I take off my pink nylon basketball shorts. No underwear. Take off my t-shirt. After showering, of course, it’s time to choose the day’s clothing.

I start, as most do, with the underwear. I pull out the drawer and look. Players? ExOfficio? Under Armour? (UA is usually my first choice.) I can hear the nylons calling me. Okay. They win. So, I pick out a pastel blue pair of high-cut briefs. Yes, women’s panties. I pull the nylon/spandex panties up my legs, tickling my inner thigh with the cool, gentle fabric. I pull up, into place. My dick is already making itself visible in the tight fit of the spandex. As I’ve said: panties aren’t cut for a man’s dick. So the nylon and spandex are stretched with my semi-erect dick. I say “semi erect,” but that’s just for now. Remember, it’s about 9am.

Next stop is the drawer that contains nothing but nylons. Oh, all right. The drawer has other female lingerie but I’m not talking about that. …yet. Anyway, I pull out my favorite pair. 80% Nylon, 20% Spandex. I like hose that has a higher spandex percent usually, because they are tighter around my legs. But today, it’s the beige colored light support with reinforced toes. I gather them up carefully, after putting on my pantyhose gloves, (really? Yes! They truly do prevent snagging and runs!) and pull them up into place, gently tugging at the nylons to get the right placement. Once they’re on…words can’t describe the pure pleasure they bring me. Not just SEXUALLY, either. I feel comforted. They take me back to my pre-teen years when I first wore pantyhose.  It truly is a fantastic feeling.

Then, today, go my black jeans. They’re fitted, and have like 1% spandex so they’re coated. The denim is coated. It gives the black jeans a bit of a shine. Not to mention the feeling of the denim rubbing against the nylon and spandex of my pantyhose. My legs are tingling. Every step I take causes the friction to make my legs feel great, and slightly cool. Almost cold.

I finish with a black Oxford, untucked, with the top two buttons undone. After fixing my hair, and applying a smidgen of bronzer to my cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead, I’ll put on my 20″ David Yurman sterling-silver necklace, with the black onyx mini dogtag. It was a gift, and it’s beautiful. It still sparkles just like it did the first time I wore it. Of course, I take care and polish my small collection of jewelry. (I lost my gold chain I wore in my teens.)  Finally, socks and black leather shoes, and I’m ready to go.

See? This whole page I wrote is because I’m turned on. While writing this, I’m getting hard just thinking of wearing pantyhose today. Maybe I am a freak. But remember this: the vast majority of CDs are heterosexual men. Not that I feel I have to defend myself. But that’s the truth.

Okay! No more typing. I have to get dressed. And I can’t wait any longer.

A BULGE IS WORTH 1,000 WORDS

image   I’m sure I’m not the only one who posts on different places, regarding….sexual issues. And, always, if it’s a post asking for replies, possibly with a picture, guys always send a picture of their dick. Maybe I’m in the minority, but I don’t wanna see your Dick, thank you.

If I’m looking for hot, or dare I say EROTIC, pictures of guys, I want to see YOU. You show me a picture of a cute guy, or girl, naked, my first reaction is “eeew.” I’m no prude, of course. I just would rather see a picture of the guy in suggestive clothing. Or clothing I think looks hot on a guy. Maybe nylon? Hmmm…

If I see a guy wearing a nice tank style bathing suit, with a nice package, that does more for me than seeing a naked dick any day of the week. That’s not to say that pictures of dick or…whatever can’t be erotic. They can be. But I’ll always find a hint of dick sexier than the whole pic of dick. Put some clothes on people. Wear spandex, wear your parachute pants, wear lingerie.

I know it’s a cliché, but clichés exist because they’re primarily true. But my brain is capable of eroticizing a picture to your satisfaction and enjoyment, just fine. Thank you. But when it’s all laid out there for everyone to see, the ONLY thing left to the imagination is “I wonder what this person looks like.” Not sexy, people.

So shen answering any sexual type of post, think twice about snapping away at your dick, and think about looking through your everyday photos. Pick one of you in hot, sexy, tight-ish clothing. Trust me, you’ll get way more response.

THANK YOU, BUGLE BOY COUNTDOWN PARACHUTE PANTS (and thank you, Kevin H.!)

image The fad started when I was in eighth grade, and continued through the entirety of Freshman year at the all-boys prep school I went to. It stopped abruptly a year or so later. This story, though, takes place at the fad’s peak.

So. Freshman year. I had, I think, six different pairs of parachute pants. I wore them Saturdays and Sundays, no matter what. During the week? At school? I slowed it down a bit, and wore them maybe twice a week. If I felt okay, I’d push it to three. Even though I had six or seven different pairs (One pair I had was red with black zippers that showed the black nylon underneath. They were my most…elaborate pair.) I had my favorites, or most-worn pairs. They were the black/black pair, and a blue pair with lighter blue zippers. Those two pairs were the foremost in my rotation. My sister used to tease me. “Nice ‘chutes, Ry.” One time I laughed because she said “Hey, nice clothes, Ryan. I’ve got an idea! Have you ever heard of Parachute Pants?”  Yeah, she could be funny sometimes.

At that time, at that age, I knew I liked girls. My girlfriend and I (the makeup girlfriend) were still going out. But I knew that guys held a certain allure for me. I didn’t freak out, or get depressed or confused. It was like, Oh, okay. I like boys, too. No big deal, though I did keep this secret to myself, and one at-the-time girl who was a “friend.” Turns out she wasn’t keeping my secret amongst her friends. Found that out years later. Anyway…

There was a boy in my home room class, and my math class, named Kevin H. (I guess I shouldn’t tell his last name.)  Well, he wore parachute pants every damn day! He wasn’t one of the break dancer guys who’d show off their skills in the hallways during lunch periods. No, I don’t think Kevin was a break dancer. He was a little more masculine than me, he even had the thin mustache that 13 year old boys can get if they’re of a certain nationality. But there was also something soft about him. He had beautiful olive skin and a stunning smile. Unfortunately, though we were both aware of each other, we never became friends, or even conversed with each other. Kevin wore his PPs fitted, like I did. And he had that body that could carry it off, too. Certainly, I know that while I got teased by preppy kids for wearing PPs, they liked Kevin, and left him alone. I can’t figure out why, except that Kevin was more popular than I.

In home room, he was seated across the room from me, so I couldn’t really talk with him at all. Since it was the second period of the day, I’d always check him out to see which of his ‘chutes he was wearing that day. My favorite of his was a white pair, with gray zippers that were placed in slightly different places than the usual Bugle Boys. He effin’ rocked those pants! (?) since they were tight, they totally showed off his (larger than mine) package.

I’ll never forget math class that year. I was seated one row away from him, in the last seats. I would bow my head and out of my peripheral vision I could see his nylon-covered package when he was seated. It always looked like he had an erection, but that wasn’t true. I knew because it always looked that way, and when he got called to do a problem at the blackboard, he wasn’t at all stereotypically hunched over to hide his boner. No, he was just blessed with a perfect bulge. When Kevin was at the front of the class, his back turned to the room, I would gaze at his perfect ass. It was gorgeous. Perfect. (Naturally, the fact that his lower body was covered with nylon was the obsession here.)

Good god! If I didn’t know I also liked guys, Kevin H. certainly proved to me and my raging hormones that like it or not: I liked guys. And girls. But if I had to say which sex I leaned towards or preferred; I would have to admit (as if you can’t tell by my posts) that I found myself fantasizing about boys rather than girls. And even all these years later, I still picture Kevin H in my head. The way his long, thin legs looked walking in parachute pants. The way his bulge looked when seated at his school desk. And his nylon clad legs when at the chalkboard. But even though he had a bigger collection of PPs than I did (at the time), the white, with gray zippers, are the pants I’ll never forget. It’s been many years, and I haven’t yet.

If you’re out there somewhere: Thank You, Kevin. You have no idea what you did for me. And more importantly, did to me.

THE NYLON OBSESSION BEGINNINGS

First off, I’m a guy. I’m 39. I’m straight…….ish. But Of course, everyone is welcome here. Except haters.

When I was ten, I helped out at the neighborhood video store.

One day, this guy walks in wearing the first pair of heavy nylon shorts I’d ever seen. They were red. I couldn’t figure out what was so cool about this dude’s shorts. He was exactly my age, and had nice tan legs. His shorts, to me at the time, looked like they were made out of plastic. They were very stiff and the guy had to keep flattening them down after crouching to look at the lower shelfs. I was completely transfixed.

Yes, I looked like a dork staring at this guy. But he came up and actually introduced himself to me. “Hi. My name’s Christian.” We talked a bit. He was, in fact, my age. He had just moved here, etc. I kept sneaking looks at his shorts. Eventually he said goodbye and left. I brought up the subject to my coworkers. “Hey, did you see that guy?” No one seemed to have noticed. Mark said, “The guy who you were talking to?” Well, I really didn’t want everyone to think I was gay, so I laughed and related our boring conversation. After, I casually said, “Did you see his shorts?! They were, like, made out of plastic or something.” By this point, my friends were starting to get annoyed that I was still talking about this guy’s shorts. At this point I didn’t yet know what NYLON was. At this point, my obsession began. But, not too far away, would come the world’s most amazing fashion fad.

.This Is Not Me.