I was brought up in a household where sex was never discussed. Indeed,things sexual were considered taboo, sinful, and a necessary evil for the conceiving of children, but it was definitely
NOT to be enjoyed. I can recall one incident in my early teen years when,for some reason, one day it seemed that I had to urinate more often than what was considered normal. Noticing this, my father asked me whether I had "been in trouble with a woman". By "in trouble" he meant "had I been having sex". Sex equals trouble, and trouble equals sex. That was drummed into me as a child.
It sure seems that way today. And looking back on life it seems that, for me, it has always been
I discovered the world of panties at a very early age. Although my mother tells me that I can't possibly remember it because I was only two, I distinctly remember trying to fashion panties out of the silky crib sheet using the pins out of my diapers. As I was about to close the last leg with a pin she entered the room and undid everything. I'm not sure, but I believe that was the last time the bottom sheet was a silky one.
In those days my blond hair cascaded down over my shoulders in long ringlets. From early pictures which I still have, I can see that I was a rather pretty child. My mother told me that my first haircut came as the result of dad meeting a friend while taking me out for a walk. He was absolutely aghast when asked, "How old is she?" The very next day I was taken to the barbershop where my golden locks were shorn, and my appearance radically changed. Somewhere in the dark recesses of our attic there still exists a little blue box with one of those golden ringlets carefully and lovingly tied with a blue ribbon. I inherited it when my mother died many years ago now.
By the time I was seven, going on eight, well before puberty, I often stood in front of a mirror with my penis tucked back between my legs, trying to look like my young sister. I liked that view, and it usually led me to her panty drawer where I completed the "picture". I often wore her panties under my boy clothes. They were so much "neater" that my own stuff. And, they made me feel different; very different!
I have a brother, two years younger that me, and a sister two years younger still. When we were very young it seemed that I was always required to "set the example" for the others. On top of that, my mother always led me to believe that I could do anything to which I set my mind. As a result, I have grown up a very successful person, with many talents and skills. For this I will be forever grateful to my parents.
However, it seemed to me, and to my brother, that our sister got rather preferential treatment in a
great many ways. This we did not understand, and it upset us a lot. One of the ways we used to
relieve that frustration and to secretly get back at our sister, when the two of us boys were alone
in the house, was to strip naked, put on a pair of her panties, and dance around playing "silly
bugger". It was our attempt to pretend that we were our sister, and that she was really silly and
stupid. When we did this we laughed a lot, sometimes rolling on the floor, it was so funny.
Anyway, it relieved that tension. I'm not sure why it was that I picked panties as the means of expressing this frustration, but I did.
One night, when I was about eleven years old, my brother and I found ourselves alone for the evening. For the life of me I can't recall where Mom, Dad, and our sister had gone, but we were alone. While getting ourselves ready for bed I again went to my sister's bedroom and put on a pair of her panties. Dancing around I joked with my brother who quickly joined in on the fun. I put on another pair, so did he. I put on still another pair, and he did the same. Somehow, in the act of putting on those panties my little penis ended up being placed upwards inside the silky material. And, as we played "silly bugger" I suddenly experienced a strange, different, but
exciting feeling in my groin. I made a mental note that after my brother was asleep I
would go back to my sister's room and try that again. After much laughter we removed the
panties, put on our pajamas and went to bed.
I lay there, in the dark, patiently waiting to hear that deep, steady breathing in the next bed that
would signal that my brother was asleep. After what seemed like an agonizing eternity I heard
it. Quietly creeping out of bed I tip-toed to my sister's room. Taking three pairs of her pink
nylon panties out of her bureau drawer I put them on. I made sure that my little, but very hard,
penis was upright inside. Then I started to rub the front of the panties. Up and down went that
little right hand. What a feeling! I had never experienced anything like it before! It
was fantastic. Faster and faster went that hand until, all of a sudden, my little body spasmed and
jerked fiercely. No words could ever begin to describe the feeling of that first climax. But to this
day, over fifty years later, the memory is still so vivid.
Twice more that night I crept into my sister's room to experience again that wonderful feeling,
and each time I was not disappointed.
That was the start of it all.
Still, I enjoyed girls. I enjoyed dating, dancing, movies, kissing; all the sorts of things young teenagers were doing at that time. Petting was for the older crowd, and intercourse was a definite no-no. Life was pretty "normal" for me in those early days, except for my love of panties, a love which I was most careful to keep well hidden. But whenever I got the chance, I would wear my sister's panties instead of my boys' underpants. I loved the feel of them as they caressed my cock. I "knew" that what I was doing was wrong, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to stop doing it. There were times that I even stole a pair of panties from my mother's panty drawer to wear to school. They were quite roomy compared to those of my sister, and they let my penis stand out straight. I liked that. It was such a turn on to look at myself in the full length mirror in my sister's bedroom with tented pink panties.
My mother used to make ballet costumes for my sister and one of my cousins. One of the outfits she made consisted of a pair of white nylon panties with rows and rows of fluffy ruffles all around. A bra-type top was made to match. It was much like a child's two-piece bathing suit and it was such a beautiful creation I knew that I just had to try it on. The thoughts of it bothered me for days until one Saturday, while a gang of us were playing downstairs, the doors of opportunity opened. I left the group and headed for my sister's bedroom where the little outfit was stored. I knew exactly where it would be, and it was but seconds until I held the fluffy, silky outfit in my trembling hands. I clutched it to my chest in an effort to calm myself, but it was such an exciting moment. In my own room, with the door closed, I stripped quickly and slid the panties into place. Oh, what ecstacy! Putting on the top was a little more difficult, as it was quite tight. But I managed it. Everything in place, I stood there admiring myself in the mirror. I shall never forget that moment. I was in seventh heaven as I ran my hands over my ruffle-clad body. How could life get any better? And then it all came crashing down as the door opened and my father entered the room. I'm sure that you can imagine the scene. Needless to say, my father was agast. Mumbling something about taking me to a psychiatrist he told me to get that stupid outfit off, and quickly left the room. I was mortified. I felt so ashamed. But the incident was never mentioned again.
By the time I was thirteen my sexual apparatus had matured considerably, and I had developed
pubic hair. As well, I had started to ejaculate a white goo when I climaxed. From the boy talk at
school I knew that this was called "chiz", and that it was this stuff that made babies. My
masturbating habits often involved wrapping panties around my cock and rubbing myself to
completion. I tried very careful not to get anything in the panties I was using, but somehow there
was always a signature amount which I could not hide. So, upon finishing a pantied session I
would put them in the wash basket, hoping that Mom wouldn't notice when she did the laundry. I
never did find out, because nothing was ever said. Mind you, nothing was ever said about sex at
all in our house. It was as if such a thing didn't exist. I knew I was being very bad, and that
wearing panties was very wrong, but I just couldn't seem to help it. It was a compulsion, an
overwhelming need, and I just could not ignore it.
Oh well, I thought, by the time I'm off to college I'll be over this, so I might as well enjoy it while
I can. And enjoy it I did, daily, and sometimes several times a day.