Sexy Lingerie
Around the corner (Flickr: LaggedOnUser)

I guess I’ve talked about pantyhose enough thus far and, what can I say, it’s an integral part of me being Sheery the crossdresser. It’s my favorite “partner” turning me on anytime, anywhere she wants.

Once in a while, I wear only pantyhose when I feel like it but they are an absolute requirement anytime I change en femme. When I get in my real girly mood, though, the “look” just doesn’t seem quite complete without its complementary pieces.

Namely, fine lingerie.

For some reason I have an odd relationship with lingerie. Sure, there are the favorite items, some of which, I paid quite a price to get (but look so good in). When you think about it, too, lingerie should make you feel more intimately feminine than anything else you could slip on.

Shall I say, even more so than pantyhose.

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Pantyhose Collection
The Best of The Best

It shouldn’t be news to anyone. Yes, I love to slip on one of my hundred or so pairs of pantyhose and change into my feminine side. Sometimes I’m left wondering, though, why am I left massively horny even after the ten thousandth or so time this happens?

When you think about it, a pair of pantyhose is just inanimate garment of nylon and spandex with a little color thrown in. Not exactly in porno flick or blow up doll territory. Fairly innocent to say the least.

Of course, I could go into the soft clingy feel on my legs and body or how I love checking out in the mirror the shine they leave on my legs. Yet, I sure as hell don’t feel the same way when putting on a tight pair of jeans. Shine alone isn’t exactly something I have a severe fetish over either. I’m not a moth.

Then the answer dawned on me. Let’s just say, hypothetically, that pantyhose were acceptable in society to be worn, not strictly by women, but equally by both sexes.

So we have…

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My first memories were blue
My first memories were blue (Flickr: Sumlin)

I’ll be so kind to admit it right now. I’m in my late thirties and, using my sharp math skills, have spent the better part of thirty years as a crossdresser. Even as a lot of time has passed since my first days across the border, I’ve always found myself trying to recall those first moments that would bend my gender the rest of the way.

No, I didn’t raid my mother’s drawer of bras and pantyhose. No, no one decided they would have some cruel fun, dress me all girly and proceed to laugh at me.

It actually can be traced back to first grade in grammar school and my beloved teacher, Mrs Rainwater. I can vaguely remember what she looked like. Things like her youthful face and short curly hair.

I remember one detail about her rather vividly and something that bonded me to her back then. She always wore blue knee-high socks on some days and on other days, blue pantyhose.

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My 2nd favorite heels, Danskins
My 2nd favorite heels, Danskins

In case you haven’t guessed already, I get my jollys off of slipping on pantyhose and lingerie. Aw, hell, I go all out with makeup, wigs, heels, the whole bit. Nothing too suprising.

But apparently you must too if you’re sitting there reading this. Great! Nice to meet other crossdressers, tv’s, tgirls or just that girly boy with a pair of hose waiting for him underneath his pillow.

As for myself, I can trace back my infancy years of feminine crossover to stealing my sister’s knee high socks and happily masturbating (while, amusingly, not really knowing what “masturbation” meant at the time). Then it slowly progressed in my wee teens to actually buying Leggs pantyhose myself under the guise that “it was for my mom.”

By fifteen, my inner Sheery really came through and I actually bought my first camisole and panty set from JC Penney (I know, don’t laugh) which was the most nerve wracking, yet insanely exciting, experience I had ever had. I threw in some of the “premium” Hanes pantyhose while I was at it because, hey, if you are going to appear like a teeny bopper CD, then you might as well do it right.

Then came the best part later that evening. Putting on the pantyhose (no tighty whities on this time) then slipping on that turquoise camisole and panties. The climax I had shortly after was no where near the ones I would have with intercourse in my later years. Not that the future intercourse was average but I think I came on the ceiling that night.

From then on, I’ve never looked back.

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