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…

Ugh!

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.

I AM JUST MYSELF.

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…

COREY.

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?

OFF TOPIC

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.

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.