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"There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch"
A Letter from a Blind Slip-Lover and Bill's Responses (and a Rant)

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Bill Turlock's

Forced to Wear Mom's Briefs After Accident, Panty Filching

I have been hooked on panties since I was a child of about 7 or 8 and was forced to wear my mother's panties to school one day after I had wet the bed wearing my only pair of clean undershorts. I went to school feeling very embarrassed and bad for having made my mother so angry. I also must have felt angry at her for having made me wear her nylon panties, and was terrified that some of my friends would somehow find out and laugh at me. Of course they never did, but I felt as though they’d somehow be able to see that I was wearing panties.

I ended up being aroused by the feeling of my penis rubbing against the cool, smooth fabric, resulting in an erection as I sat through each class session. I also was watching Sharon, a cute short girl who sat just in front of me. As she moved about her day, I could see the pretty white panties she wore peeking out under her very short skirt, since her mother made her wear skirts more like the little girls in first or second grade.

I suppose I had noticed her before, but that day, I couldn't take my eyes off her; in class whenever she bent over to pick up something, behind her on the stairway, on the playground when she was on the jungle gym or as she stretched up to write on the blackboard.

I remember shifting around in my seat in class so that my hard cock would rub on the nylon as I moved slowly forward and back. The feeling of nylon against the sensitive bottom of my erect penis was almost overpowering.

I know that when I finally came (dry in those days) I could hardly keep from gasping out loud. All I remember is fixing my gaze on Sharon's pretty butt as she twisted around to pick up something from her bag under her desk. I was able to see how the shield at her crotch formed tightly against her pussy, outlining its shape for me!

That day combined a mixture of pleasure and guilt that has remained a part of me for the next forty-five years. I have only told one woman about my fetish, and was heartbroken some years ago when we separated as a result of our companies moving us to different parts of the country.

After that powerful beginning, I became very interested in nylon panties, both looking at pictures of them as well as the real thing. My problem was finding a way to get them. A couple of times not long after that initiation, I would stop at the local dime store on my way home from school and loiter around looking at everything but what I was there for...to walk past the counter with the bins of panties.

My initial visits were just to drift past the counter, brushing my bare hand across the smooth fabric. Later on, with blood pounding in my ears so I could barely hear the Muzak, I surveyed the store for employees and customers (especially my mother's friends who might recognize me). When I was sure everyone was occupied with other chores, I strolled past the panties, the girls counter was closest to the exit, and palmed a pair of pink, nylon girl's panties, casually slipped them into the side pockets of my jeans and walked for the door.

My ears were roaring with fear and excitement and I walked as slowly as I could manage to bring no attention to myself. Once outside, I waited for the big hand of a clerk to take hold of my shoulder. But none came. Now, I did not have a plan for these panties, but only felt this overpowering need to take them. At the corner near my house, I stopped at the Cities Service gas station, bought a coke and entered the men's bathroom on the side of the building.

Alone, and with privacy at last, I pulled the panties out of my pocket and examined them in great detail. I read the tag on the side seam, something I still do with great interest. No brand name, just a notation that they were 100% Nylon and made in the USA. The tag showed that they were girl’s size 8, just a bit smaller than the size I wore. I smelled them, and was disappointed at the same impersonal odor I was familiar with that any new garment my mother had bought for me.

I rubbed the nylon between my fingers and brought them to my face again, this time rubbing the smooth fabric across my cheeks. Now I was aware of the powerful erection I had, and unzipped my pants to let my penis out. I rubbed the panties around on my hardon, and felt the same hypnotic pull I'd felt when I was wearing my mother's panties. It felt like hundreds of little sparks were attacking my sensitive cock-skin. Smoothing the fabric out, I wrapped the material around my cock and began to softly stroke, letting the nylon lightly rub my sensitive penis. With all the excitement I had just had in the dime store, it didn't take long before I came (for the second time in my life) in panties. I could hardly stand from the powerful experience, and leaned my hand against the wall by the mirror until I gained my composure.

Embarrassed, I wrapped the new panties in paper towels and stuffed them down deep into the trashcan, and left the bathroom shaking from the experience. It too would change and influence me forever. From then on, I found I had an overpowering interest in what panties looked like on any girl or woman I was able to get a peek of. I dreamed and daydreamed of looking up dresses, and wondered about how the hair I knew came as a girl grew up, changed the way her pussy area would look under the nylon. I would daydream of being invisible so I could peek freely into bedrooms and bathrooms to see the sleek nylon being pulled down to reveal their precious slits or being pulled up snugly to cover and shield it from my view.

I also had a chance to decide that the girls wearing cotton panties were not nearly as interesting to me, no doubt due to my personal experience wearing nylon. Fortunately, most of the girls my age were moving to nylon because they wanted to feel more grown up, like their moms who wore nylon.

My father had hidden a few magazines at the top of a high cabinet in our bathroom, so I began to masturbate as I sat endlessly on the toilet. I only used my hand for this release, as I didn't have any panties to use, and didn't dare to go back to the dime store for fear of being "caught". This extra sense of danger (being caught) began to be an important part of my sexual excitement...for I would have died at being caught by either parent jacking off to these dirty magazines - though they were not even softcore porn by today’s standards.

The magazines had pictures of can-can lines in France, and other very soft erotic pictures, some of which showed women in fancy panties. I also developed a strong interest in the Sears and Penny’s Catalogs, which showed pages and pages of women and girls in nylon panties.

I spent time reading the text, learning everything I could about panties: sizes, different types of nylon fabrics, decoration and styles. I daydreamed endlessly about panties. Whenever I could manage to tear out a picture from a magazine or catalogue being thrown away, I would fold it up and carry it deep in the secret compartment of my wallet. If I had the chance, I’d examine any panties I could find, comparing them to the descriptions I had memorized from the catalogue line listings, and soon was able to identify fabrics by sight (rayon, nylon, nylon tricot) even when they were being worn and I’d get a "beaver shot" to enjoy.

I was fascinated by the crusty deposits I found in the panty crotch panels of several young women I baby-sat for while in high school. They were newly married, and I would later figure out that the semen from their full cunt drained into their panties and would dry in the hamper. Again the element of danger made this more exciting.

I used these to jack off, and imagine what sex with them would be like. By this time, I was no longer having dry orgasms, so I'd wipe the panties out with a wet washrag and dry them a bit with a towel before placing them _exactly_ where I found them in the hamper. I was terrified of them finding out I'd used their personal garments.

I also combed the storage areas (not cages like now) in our apartment building's basement where I found stored women's clothing. I would hide behind the furnaces and jack off quickly using my treasures. On a couple of occasions, I took these panties, figuring they would not be immediately missed, and using a metal tobacco can as a safe, I buried the panties in a ravine where I played. I also buried some treasured catalogue pictures and when I felt the need, I could go dig it up, find a private place behind bushes, and jack off while looking at my pictures of pretty women wearing the panties I loved.

I also once or twice ducked into a backyard from an alley, to take a pair of panties or two from the line where they hung drying. This was very scary to me since I was close to my own home and parents. But the demands of my fetish were overwhelming, and I would memorize where laundry was most safely taken, even moving clothing around so the panties did not leave a space when they were gone. My heart would pound wildly.

I was a very shy kid, and never dared to ask girls out to the movies or for a coke like most of my friends, and I suspect it was in part because I feared that they somehow would know I secretly wanted to see them in their panties. Silly, but true. I spent most of my time secretly admiring and watching them from afar.

As time went on I went off to college, where I had access to several new ways to get panties. I never gathered the courage to go buy a pair in a store, but I found that my dimestore experience was adaptable to laundry rooms, and an occasional hamper of a girl I'd study with and take them home as a loving treasure.

I took several big risks stealing panties, once from a public laundromat where I took all ten pair from one dryer, but that scared me too much to ever do anything similar again. I was trembling so visibly, that it was hard to walk. Even though they came out of the dryer, I was able to catch a trace of the woman’s musky scent from the nylon crotch shield of one particularly old worn pair. I’d savor that at night for months later.

I also discovered that I'd occasionally find panties discarded in parking areas where couples went to make out. But stranger to me were the panties I'd find on the side of streets, obviously cast out from cars. Maybe I wasn't the only guy who used panties to jack off with!

It never occurred to me that any other men had the same fascination with nylon and panties as I did. I was sure I had discovered the pleasure that rubbing my cock with the satiny texture of nylon gave. But my fairly regular discoveries of panties on the street led me to that clear conclusion; lots of men love the touch and look of nylon panties on women..

Now, as I have grown older, and somewhat wiser, I have put some sense to my fetish for panties. I no longer take the risks I did as a boy to get them, and the advantage is that I can savor the classic lingerie I love without having to put myself into potentially embarrassing situations.


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