When I was seventeen, I saw my first nude woman. My aunt was a hot wife. One day in the bathroom, the door was unlocked, intentionally or not, and she fainted in surprise, showing me her bare body. I stared for seconds, hypnotized, and ran away.
When I was twenty-one, it was the summer and she was wearing nothing else than a light dress. I remember, I was aroused by the perky nipples pointing under the crepe de soie. She was always ready. Anywhere, anytime. It was a hot and sexy summer.
At 25, I asked a woman in the middle of the night to go to the restroom and offer me her panties. I needed to know. She didn’t expect this from a stranger. She smirked, slapped me, and put my hand under her miniskirt. No cotton, but dripping lips.
When I turned thirty-five years old, I met my first wife. For our first date, we were utterly kinky. She was a pin-up. She wanted to be tied tight. To encourage me, she wore a lace bra, corset, garment, bas nylon, but no panties. Never, ever.
At the age of forty, in the midst of a mid-life crisis, I saw a prostitute, out of curiosity. It turned out she was a transvestite, but no panties to pack her delicious, tiny cock. I licked her the same way I had tasted those dripping lips, a long time ago.
But now the days are short, I go back to the same bar all night and do the same thing I did when I was twenty-one. All that time, still, I have no idea what panties look like on a woman. I am in the autumn of the year, and it is never too late for a surprise.
I always enjoyed this song from Sinatra, which inspired this short fantasy. It was a very good year. It will be a very good year. I wish you the best, my dearest.
Love always,
Sissi
Keep it up.
A story all about panties but nothing but one pair at the end. Thank you, Sissitrix!