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.

WHO CARES WHAT UNDERWEAR I HAVE ON?

So, today, I’m on Amazon, looking for new underwear. I really don’t have much I like. Yes, I have a dozen pairs of Players Men’s nylon boxers. Some briefs, too. Under Armour boxer briefs in their wonderfully “elasticene” material. They do their job. They feel great to the touch.

But…while searching on Amazon, I wanted to find underwear that I’d like to wear. Underwear that when I wore a pair, I’d always be aware of my underwear. It would not only feel good, but would make me feel good knowing I had them on. It’s kinda confusing, I understand. But…gimme a second.

What did I end up buying?

 

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As much as the word bothers me, what I bought are “panties.” As soon as I switched my search from Men’s Underwear to Women’s Panties, it’s like a whole different store opened up. You can see what I mean. Go to Amazon, and search the women’s underwear selection by typing in Nylon Panties. Beautiful, slick, silky fabrics. Wonderful cuts. (I prefer a fuller cut, but that’s just me.) There’s a panty (ick, that word!) for every taste.

My cart filled up with a three-pack of assorted colored nylon panties. I got a five-pack of satin panties. And a three-pack of what is called “sateen.” (I’m pretty sure that just means nylon and spandex.)

I checked out. The price seemed to be fairly inexpensive. $50 for 11 pairs of beautiful, colorful panties. One of the differences in men’s vs. women’s underwear is the female cut. It’s nicer than masculine cuts. For me. Since they’re cut for a woman, there won’t be extra fabric for a man’s…er…dick. The panties are flat in front and will hug my dick more than Under Armour gear ever could.

Sure the panties have lace around the waist and leg openings. Not a lot, but some. I’ll admit it. I like the bit of lace trim. I can feel it around my waist. I can feel the tickle of the leg lace when I pull them on. Then, with my UA nylon cargo pants on, it rubs against the shiny sateen of my underwear.

That’s what I mean. When I’m walking or even sitting, every movement of my legs can’t help but not only feel fantastic, but keep me aware that I’m wearing women’s underwear. It’s not a “guilty pleasure”. I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. I don’t feel guilty about anything I like. I like what I like and who cares if someone has a problem with it?

This isn’t the first time I’ve worn panties. Five years ago I had a pale blue pair of nylon panties on, and I was in Barnes and Noble. I remember I crouched down, and picked up a book and was leafing through it. It didn’t even occur to me that the lace waistband, and a good portion of my nylon covered ass would be poking out the back of the shorts I had on. (I always wear loose fitting clothes. Tight fitting nylon pants are a long gone, yet well remembered, fad.) But anyway…some ten year old kid saw my panties and quickly walked up to his two brothers and excitedly whispered something. I could tell what they were talking about, because not ten seconds later, all three boys walked by me, as I was still crouching in the same position. The oldest boy said, I swear, he said “I wonder if they sell girls’ underwear here.” The three stifled their laughter and I never saw them again. My point? Okay, those three brothers (I assume) now have a funny story about the man in “girls’ underwear” at B&N. I’ll never see them again. Why should I care? I don’t.

I had switched to exclusively men’s nylon boxers and briefs. But browsing Amazon today? I think I’ll switch things up some by wearing my new panties safely and proudly whenever I feel like feeling great. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to give in to my inner/outer feminine side.

And I’m also secure in the knowledge that there are plenty of beautiful, smart women who like their man in panties. Am I wrong?