by Joanna Angel
My brown hair usually lived tied up into a messy ponytail, but this look demanded a free-flowing frame. I took the hair band out of my hair and let it fall down around my neck and shoulders. It was wavy and damp from the rain outside, but it actually kind of looked like I had intentionally styled it this way. I usually part my hair in the middle but this new skimpy outfit called for a new hair part. I used my fingers and pushed more hair over to one side, so some hair covered the corner of my eye, a seductive look.
I put the 1950s version of “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt on my phone. It was April, but that didn’t matter. This outfit celebrated sexy retro and it seemed appropriate. I sat on the cold porcelain toilet, and slid on the nude nylons. Their sheer magical material covered all the imperfections in my legs; it was like I slipped into a second skin. I had never put on a pair of thigh-highs, only thick tights that covered up my entire crotch area, and I only wore them when it was cold. I stood up and they fell down. Shit. I pulled them back up again, then I stood up and they fell down again, like in a ‘50s sitcom comedic scene. A live studio audience would crack up laughing any second now.
I put the garter around my stomach and moved the back part to the front to fasten it. It seemed more practical than trying to fasten it in the back. I do remember when I first got a bra I would put them on that same way, moving the back to the front, then putting it back into place. Then came the biggest challenge of this entire ensemble, which was figuring out how to attach the garter to the stockings with these black little clasp things. I was so nervous I would rip the stockings by attaching the garter clip to them. I had to push this black plastic button dangling off the bottom of the garter against the metal clasp, then that had to be slid together with such a thin small piece of stocking in between it. I tried slipping it through multiple times but I either had too much stocking bunched up to make it work or not quite enough. This was truly impractical. How did Billy manage to do this with his big, manly hands? Was there some kind of gadget on Amazon Prime that would do this for me? Should I do the front one first or the back one first? Did it matter at all?
I tried multiple times and finally got my entire left stocking all strapped together. It took at least fifteen minutes, and almost all my brain power. Passing my existential philosophy exam was easier for me than putting on a translucent sock. But I did it, and now my ass looked even nicer. It poked out even more. The garter pulling on the stocking to make it tighter gave my ass some extra oomph. Maybe I should start twerking again. Was it about that time? No, no, not yet—I had to get the right side on before I treated myself to a celebratory twerk.
Sadly, my thoughts of ass dances were suddenly interrupted.
“Is anyone here?” I heard a voice yelling. Shit. I quickly slipped my Converse sneakers back on, lacing up only the absolute necessary laces. I walked out of the bathroom in a bra, panties, and a garter only attached to one stocking on my left leg, the stocking on my right leg bunched down to my ankles. Since they were nude stockings it vaguely looked like it was my skin and not a stocking, like I had a minor case of elephantiasis. Coincidentally it happened to be the same leg I didn’t shave. The left side of my body was in pretty bad shape right now, as if I needed some kind of Phantom of the Opera mask but, for my legs.
“Hi! So sorry about that,” I said, attempting to act completely casual.
“Yeah! Nice! This is why I love this place!” He had a very flamboyant voice, and he was incredibly well dressed in a nice, striped sweater and tight blue jeans with stylish and intentional rips in the knees. His outfit was completely drenched from the rain but he didn’t seem at all upset about it. He smiled and then gave me a high five. He must have thought I was having sex in the bathroom! Unfortunately I was just trying to figure out how to put on a stocking, but I wasn’t going to tell my customer that. Let him dream.
He was holding a set of multi-colored cock-rings.
“I just need these and I’ll be out of your hair and you can get back to your fun,” he said. I smiled and rang him up, and he went back into the pouring rain outside without any umbrella, but with rings of various sizes and colors to help maintain his erection longer. I had a real respect and admiration for the customers who came in here and knew exactly what they wanted. And for anyone who ignores a flood warning for the sake of a better erection!
I didn’t see the point in going back to the bathroom. I was already out in the open in lingerie. I just had to get this stocking up and over my one hairy leg. I fussed with the metal clasp and the black silicone ball thing, trying to find just the right amount of slack to put in the middle. I adjusted the straps on the garter. I don’t know why this one was so much more difficult; I thought the second leg would be so much easier! I fastened it together but it didn’t feel secure at all. I was going to have to undo this and start over eventually, but I would see how long it lasted.
And then, I heard the door open. The store was suddenly filled with the sound of heavy rain; a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky. And there, in the metal door frame, stood Billy, dripping wet, but smiling like an idiot.
My heart skipped a beat. My vagina beat twice.
“Hey, you!” I said. I ran from behind the register and went to give him a hug. As soon as I did, though, my stubborn right stocking completely fell down. Billy did a double take and then laughed when he noticed the wardrobe malfunction happening on me.
“What’s going on? You’re wearing a lot less clothes tonight!”
“I always wear this in the rain.” I smiled and he laughed again. I could feel myself blushing. I hoped the red of my cheeks stood out against the black of my wonderful new bra.
“Do you need help over there?” He pointed to my fallen down nude thigh-high.
“Actually, I do! I tried. I’m three quarters of the way there.”
“Sit down. I’ll help you!” he said in his soothing voice. His flannel was dripping wet, creating a small pool of water at his feet.
“Lemme hang this up for you first, so it can dry!” I said. I took his shirt and hung it up in the bathroom. When I came back, Billy was in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. A classic all-American man, who could change your oil, fix your plumbing, and fasten your garter belt to your stocking, perfectly.
I grabbed a folding chair and placed it near the register. I sat down, I stretched out my leg on top of him. He caressed my leg, he slowly made his way up to my thigh, and he snapped together my stocking and garter in a matter of milliseconds.
“Thank you,” I said. I was embarrassed. This was my lingerie section, this was my store, and he knew his way around the hardware better than me.
“Is this too fancy for me?” I asked. “Do I look like a little girl playing dress-up?”
“You look like a beautiful WOMAN dressed up!”
The red on my face became deeper.
“Come here, I’ve got something to show you!” I said, and I took his hand and pulled him over to my new and improved lingerie section. Billy’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“I upgraded from paper to plastic,” I shrugged and said, referring to my organized plastic drawers as a vast improvement over the cardboard boxes. I know one was better for the environment but I think even the environment would forgive me for this. Those cardboard boxes had to go.
“Now you can find everything way easier! And so can everyone else.” I displayed my new section like I was Vanna White, but in lingerie, and Converse sneakers.
He smiled and looked at the variety of stockings, a delicious grin spreading over his face. He opened up various drawers and he seemed unsure of what to do with all of the new-found options. He held pairs of lace panties in one hand, stockings of every color in the other, like a child clutching his birthday toys. Suddenly, I had an idea. I opened the bottom drawer with the XL and XXXL lingerie. And thanks to my Dewy Decimal System à la plastic, I easily and conveniently found the same exact bra, panties, and garter that I had on right now. I grabbed them and handed them to him.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah! Put it on! It will be fun. I think these colors would look nice on you.” The material was a bit stretchy, I was sure it could fit on him. It might take some scissors and safety pins but it could definitely work.
He took the set from me. He massaged the material, admiring the delicate embroidered patterns. Together we picked out a new pair of stockings to go with it. Since his pair in the back had a small run in them we figured it was best to start over with a fresh pair.
“Go ahead, put them on!” I said. He unzipped his jeans and revealed to me he was already wearing his own pair of turquoise lace panties. “But those don’t match mine.” I pouted.
“I don’t know,” he nervously fumbled.
“Come on!” I said. We heard another blast of thunder. The outside world felt incredibly apocalyptic. It gave me a rush.
He took the panty set and began heading toward the bathroom. I stopped him.
“Just change right here! I’ll help you. There’s no one in here . . . and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, really.”
The store was empty, and I figured anyone who would suffer through extreme weather conditions to come into an adult store would also be tolerant of a man changing into lingerie in the middle of the store. The bathroom was a terrible fitting room, anyway.
“It’ll be fine! If anyone comes in you can hide behind the DVDs,” I said with a wink.
He still seemed unsure. I batted my eyelashes and did my newly learned incredibly amateur twerk to entice him. He laughed, a hearty belly laugh, but I noticed that he didn’t look away. I truly was learning how to become a proper female. I had never used my ass or my eyelashes for any kind of persuasive act before.
“Okay, okay, I’ll change out here.”
He unbuckled his pants and let them fall to the floor around his ankles. His long T-shirt went halfway down his thighs. He slid off his jeans and his boots. He made sure his crotch area was covered with his T-shirt. It was endearing that even while surrounded by blow-up dolls and dildos he was still nervous about showing off his own sexual package. He slipped his turquois panties off, and he rolled them up and put them in the pocket of his blue jeans. He took the purple lace panties and slid them up his hairy legs. The juxtaposition of masculinity and femininity mixed in one was arousing to me. He turned around and faced away from me and adjusted his cock so it would tuck in and fit appropriately inside his new bottoms.
“How do they fit?” I asked.
“They’re great!” he said. I lifted up his shirt and he looked incredibly vulnerable and nervous, but I rubbed his belly and it seemed to soothe his demons. I took the garter and put it around his waist, I stretched it as far as it could go, and it successfully fit on the very last fastening ring in the back. We both cheered.
“Yay, it fits!” I cheered. I never cheer. What the hell has come over me?!
“Take your socks off,” I said. I slid a chair over to him, and he sat down while I took out his new pair of nude thigh-highs. He took one sock off and revealed an unexpected very subtle pastel pink pedicure. His toe nails were short and filed down, and the skin on his feet looked incredibly smooth. I carefully tried putting the stocking over his toes while they were pointed up like an L shape, and then he changed positions and pointed his toes down and arched his feet like a ballerina. I didn’t want to rip them, I remembered how sensitive he got about that last time.
“I read somewhere they would go on more easily like this,” he said. He was indeed correct—the stockings rolled onto his feet and up his legs smoothly with just the slight change of direction. I could see the bottom of his balls sticking out from underneath his purple panties from where I was sitting. I never would have expected the combination of lace and testicles to turn me on, but it did. I slid the stockings up his thighs, as I sat with my knees on the dusty concrete floor, listening to the thunder and rain outside. I wasn’t so sure about the structural integrity of this building; the roof could have blown off at any moment, and we would be flooded. Billy and I would be underwater, swimming down the street in our matching lingerie. The thought of that actually didn’t frighten me.
He stood up, with his long T-shirt still on and the black garter straps dangling down his thighs. His big thigh muscles seemed to have temporarily held up the stockings, since they weren’t falling down like mine did. However, this was no excuse to avoid the task of attaching the thigh-highs to the garter. Like Isaac Newton says, whatever goes up, must come down, unless it’s fastened by a garter.
“Maybe I’ll have an easier time getting these on you,” I said.
He laughed. “I can do it if you want!”
“No, I got it!” I said. I wanted to wear the pants and the panties in whatever kind of fleeting relationship this was. I made the nylons my bitch, shoving them against the tiny clasp that so gracefully fell on his hairy leg, and I didn’t let that little plastic ball escape from me. I felt like there had to be a more efficient way for these to have been made. Could they have been replaced with some kind of button? I guess that wouldn’t work. It would tear the stocking. A buckle? No that wouldn’t work either. An invisible zipper? Maybe? I was surprised that in the entire season marathon of Shark Tank that I watched on Sunday, not one housewife/entrepreneur had any solution to make this any easier.
I concentrated and successfully got the front of the right leg done. I was down on my knees, and looking up at him he seemed to be 100 feet tall. Like he was the giant and I was Jack, and the magic beans led to an adult store inside of a strip mall in the sky.
He reached down to help me and our hands met in the middle of his thigh. I missed out on that pre-pubescent romance everyone else had in middle school, where couples “accidentally” held hands inside their big buckets of popcorn on awkward dates at the movie theater. This was what it must have felt like. He gripped onto mine, strongly, our eyes locked, and I felt a rush throughout my entire body.
I moved to the back garter, and his furry, but firm, toned ass was right in my face. The garter tightly rested against it as I latched onto the stocking and locked it into place. This was going smoothly. Thank goodness. Moments later all six garters were done, three on each side. I stood up and hugged him, our bottoms matching in purple lace panties, black garter, and nude stockings. We held each other and listened to the loud rain, and the jazz instrumental track of what I believed was a Nickelback song, and then suddenly, the lights went out (and so did the song, but that was actually more of a relief than a stress).
It was now pitch black in the store, and cracking the door to peek outside I could see nothing but a charcoal sky. The street lights were off as was the glow in the nondescript marquis outside that never changed, reading “VIDEO, DVD, XXX.” I had goosebumps all over me; the temperature must have dropped at least eight degrees in the past thirty seconds. Billy held me closer. He and I didn’t know much about each other. I didn’t even know his last name, but something about our chemistry just meshed. I literally, and figuratively, felt warm in his big, burly arms.
I boldly placed my hand on top of his panties. I went up and down his thighs and felt the garter I so brilliantly put together. It was on there so snugly. I felt the top of his thigh-highs, I slid my fingers up and down and felt where the stocking ended and his thigh began.
I slid his T-shirt above his head. I played with his chest hair, and my fingers ran through his beard.
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to kiss you, but I’d like to.” He put a finger on my lips to shush me. We remained in complete silence in the dark with only the hard noise of the rain. Our lips were close. I could feel his breath, minty from an Altoid. The boys in college never freshened their breath for me. They also never wore matching panties with me
.
He put his hands on my shoulders, keeping me in place while he moved behind me. He kissed my neck, rather aggressively, moving my hair to one side. He slid his hands underneath the lace cups of the bra and played with my nipples and awoke so many different senses inside me that I didn’t know my nipples were connected to. How did I manage to feel that in my toes? In my fingers? And everywhere else? He continued to kiss my neck, he put a few of his fingers in my mouth, and then he went back to my breasts, but now with moistened fingers, and my nipples grew incredibly more sensitive. They were warm and cold from the saliva and the severe drop in temperature in the store. I’m not sure why he didn’t want to kiss my lips but he wanted to caress my body and kiss my neck. Is this what real men did? I wasn’t so sure, but I liked it.
I could feel myself getting wet and I found myself wondering whether my panties could hold the moisture. He continued to touch my breasts and I started to squirm. I found my pelvis dry humping the air, like it was just trying to grab onto something. It was bizarre—my body wasn’t sure what to do—it had never been touched like this before.