Next Step to Nirvana
Keywords: Next, Nirvana, Step, to,
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As I sat on the bench at the mall, I tried to calm myself. I thought I had prepared myself and planned everything. But my breathing was fast, my hands were sweaty and my nerves were wired. I was home for holiday break from college and had decided to take the next step in cross-dressing.
Up until now, most of my dressing had been secretly taking my older sister's underwear. It started when I could no longer resist my curiosity. Finally, one afternoon when I was home alone, I snatched the first pair of her panties that I could find, ran to my room, and quickly pulled them on. It was electric.
As a teenager, my hormones were already racing. This sent them off the chart. My legs felt weak and I could barely stand. I couldn't keep my hands off the panties or myself. They were tight. They were soft. They were smooth. They were pretty. The smell was subtle, but overwhelming. My mind was muddled, but also hyper-sensitive. I was certain every little noise in the house was someone coming home who would discover me. Although I wanted this feeling to last forever, I managed to take them off and return them to my sister's room.
I collapsed on my bed and tried to sort through the rush of feelings and emotions. I was simultaneously scared, guilty, horny, exhilarated, and ashamed for being exhilarated. Mostly, I was confused. It had only lasted a few minutes and my frazzled mind didn't remember all the details, but I knew two things for certain. First, I would never forget my first panties. They were burned in my memory: deep green tricot fabric with delicate, lacy white trim. And secondly, I knew it wouldn't be my last time wearing woman's lingerie.
My dressing evolved from that life-changing first time. I became adept at sneaking my sister's underwear so I wouldn't be detected. Rachel was naturally messy, so it made things easier. I thought I knew her panties better than she did. How she folded and stored the clean ones and where to find her used ones. Which ones were perfumed, and might arouse suspicion. Which were her favorites, and would be missed. Which ones weren't, and could become my regulars. Most importantly, which ones were special and had to be avoided, because someone else wearing them could be easily detected.
I proceeded slowly. Fear of discovery and humiliation was a powerful restraining factor. But complete resistance was out of the question. I never felt as alive as when I slipped the panties up my thighs, snapped them in place and smoothed them over my bottom. Cocaine couldn't have had a stronger grip on me.
Sometimes, there were weeks between panty sessions. Other days, I was obsessed. It was all I could think about and the urges were impossible to resist. In school, I couldn't focus. My mind kept imaging the panties the girls in class were wearing and how they would feel on me. On those days, I rushed home to indulge and release the pent up energy. While I tried to be cautious, sometimes I had to take chances to get a quick fix. Occasionally, I would dress while Rachel or my parents were in the house and sometimes when they were in the room next door. If possible, the risk increased the pleasure.
With time, I expanded beyond panties to discover the pleasures of other female attire. First, other lingerie. Then, the entire feminine wardrobe. But always in private. Rachel was not clothes-obsessed, but to me her bedroom was a treasure chest of discovery and desire. I went through phases. For a time, I was obsessed with baby doll nightgowns. Their touch, their frills, their peek-a-boo shortness, drove me crazy. Once, when I was wearing a particularly feminine pink and black baby doll, I was overcome with the compulsion to go public. I wanted to go to the living room, or the park, or the school cafeteria and twirl around so everyone could see how pretty I looked and how glowing I felt. How could clothes have such a hold on me?
While I had friends and sports and hobbies and interests, cross-dressing became my secret passion. Rachel's bedroom was always my primary female closet. However, I dabbled elsewhere. Visits to my female cousins were no longer boring, but adventures. Summer jobs provided new opportunities. The mirror became my best friend. I experimented with make-up, but clothing was my love. On several times, it was almost my downfall. I became so enthralled in my fantasies that once I failed to notice Rachel arrive home. She was seconds from seeing me in her favorite above-the-knee, yellow sun dress, complete with bra, camisole, slip, panties and sandals. When she came into the room, I had barely pulled up my shorts (over the floral, high cut briefs). Rachel commented on how pale I looked. I mumbled about coming down with something. She mentioned it to my mother and I got the next day off from school. I used it for an all day dress-up.
When I went away to college things changed. The new setting, high academic demands and the lack of privacy forced me to cut back. On my two weekends home, I binged. It was less than fully unsatisfying. Rachel was also away at school and most of her best clothes were with her. My mother's clothes would do in a pinch, but they were the wrong size and unstylish. My needs and standards were increasing.
That's what brought me to the mall. I had resolved it was time to move from panty thief to panty purchaser. I wanted something that was truly my own. Panties that were sexy to me because I had selected them, not because they were available.
However, sitting here in the mall, it was apparent that it was easier to resolve, than to act. As strong as my desires were, I didn't want my obsession discovered. But, I was determined. Over the last couple of days, I had thought about little else. I had chosen an average department store in a mall away from my home, to minimize the likelihood of meeting anyone I knew. It was also a weeknight and shortly before closing in the hope there would be few customers. The holidays helped with my "cover story". If anyone asked, I'd say the purchase was to be a special present for my girlfriend. I figured that if I looked nervous, that would be normal for many men purchasing lingerie as a gift. Finally, I had worked out back-up plans. At worst, I could simply walk out. Or, I could just buy anything, and be in and out in minutes. At least, it would pop my cherry and I would no longer be a panty-buying virgin. As I sat on the bench and went over these plans, I became calmer and more confident. I took a deep breath, said "Now or never" to myself, and headed into the store.
I stopped just outside the woman's department to check things out. As I hoped, it was relatively uncrowded. A few customers strolled around absorbed in their own shopping. The clerks were busy at the registers. The time seemed ripe. I entered at a slow walk. I didn't want to seem too eager or draw attention. A slow pace gave me a chance to furtively look around and get my bearings. I was in dangerous and foreign territory. The lingerie department was in the back. I hesitated. So far, I was just walking through the store. Crossing that threshold seemed to be something more. An inner sanctum. Forbidden. Taboo. But as much as the cautious, rational part of me was hesitant, a stronger, emotional part was drawn in. My thoughts had shifted from determination, to a strong and willing attraction. I entered.
Once inside, my perspective seemed to shift. My reluctance and fear were momentarily replaced with awe and excitement. I couldn't believe how huge the lingerie department seemed. The men's department had a few shelves for underwear. But, this seemed to go on for endless aisles and corners and cubbies. It must have covered half of the floor. As I took it in, I became dazzled. My eyes were awash with sensation. Everything was silks and frills, bows and lace. A rainbow of colors. The whole department seemed soft and pretty and girlish, and somehow inviting. My well-planned calm was in pieces. My skin was tingling, my hormones raced, my penis aroused.
I wasn't prepared for the choices. Where to start? I checked my watch. Less than 30 minutes until closing. I had to get to it. A quick look around revealed just a couple of women off at a safe distance and a single clerk at the register. Perfect isolation. I moved further into wonderland. I fought to keep a silly kid-in-a-candy-store grin off my face. The panties were spread throughout the department depending on material and brand. It dawned on me that I had no idea specifically what I wanted. The infinity of choices wasn't helping. If I was rich, I would have bought one of everything. But I had a very limited budget, so I forced myself to focus. I moved toward a display of panties against the wall, more because they were away from people than a decision they were what I wanted.
I quickly became engrossed. I touched some panties hanging on the racks and the air seemed to buzz. I hadn't thought I wanted plain white. But some of these were too gorgeous for words. Ruffles and trim. My mind imagined them slowly moving up my legs and I almost had an orgasm. I no sooner saw and touched and imagined one pair, then the next one beckoned. No wonder girls had so many pairs of panties. The miracle was that they didn't have more. So many styles – bikinis, briefs, thongs, tap pants, boy shorts. I drifted among the aisles. An ocean of colors – beige, black, white, pastels, hot red, mint green, baby blue, pale yellow, royal purple, metallic silver, rich gold, racy champagne. And pink. Everywhere pink! My favorite PINK! The design selection was even larger – dots, stripes, contrasts. Cute bunnies, lovable puppies and silly sayings. How was a girl to choose? My reverie continued as I soaked it all in.
"Can I help you?"
I jumped. Then turned, and then froze. A pair of frilly, sheer, pink panties were clutched in my right hand. I was so lost in my fantasy that I hadn't noticed the salesgirl approach. With the abrupt return to reality, all my fears came back in a wave.
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Keywords: Next, Nirvana, Step, to,