Me again – so soon? Yes, but don’t read anything into the title of this post – there’s no bondage or BDSM going off here you know!
It’s about that Twitter thing that I’ve recently signed up to as my alter-ego. I’m quite enjoying it – you know, finding people with a common interest or things with which I have an interest – and I find myself a little drawn like a moth to a flame. Given my indulgent and exhibitionistic tendencies, I suppose I shouldn’t be too / so surprised.
The thing that really and suddenly strikes me from time to time, (and the motivation for this blog is just that) is that, no matter what my mood is, i.e. extremely determined against, on a wobble or (back in the day) merely indulging in crossdressing, there’s one thing that is sure to trigger thought processes, desires and urges more than anything – stockings and suspenders.
It’s something I’ve blogged about before – and it is because of my fixation with the leggie lovelies that everything else relating to crossdressing followed. I mean, after all, suspenders have to fit to something above do they not?! But I’ve not cared whether it has been a suspender belt or a cami-suspender outfit. The be all and end all of my love of lingerie has come from stockings and suspenders.
The James Bond film ‘Tomorrow Never Dies’ with Teri Hatcher sees the Bond girl seduce Bond at a moment of weakness, the camera showing 007 slip off the outfit the character was wearing, it dropping to the floor to reveal no bra, but black stockings, suspenders and heels. It’s not a view I’ll forget in a hurry but always relish it when seen.
Tonight’s trigger? This pic. I love it. I used to look down at my long slender legs, adorned with my favourite black lacy top hold up stockings and feeling the suspender belt wrapped around my waist and the suspender straps running tightly down my legs and quite simply loved it. On the occasions I’d be wearing stockings and suspenders underneath work attire (usually covered by a pair of baggy boxers just to minimise the evidence of suspender straps and stocking tops through the material, it was nice to sit under my desk or at a meeting with hands casually placed on the top of my thighs, fingers in contact with the suspenders, separated only by two layers of material.
The absence of an answer as to why I love stockings and suspenders SO much led me to ask the internet the question. Of course, answers and indeed the question, did come up.
A Mumsnet forum response or two suggested that it was ‘shorthand for feminity’, ‘the tease of the tights which blocked access being brought down to a level that exposed and allowed the access’, ‘the glimpse of flesh’, because they are ‘old fashioned’, ‘the feel of bare flesh after a hand has been run up a stockinged leg that excites’.
Quora meanwhile, goes all ‘sciency’, using terms like ‘welt’ and ‘keyhole’ which I’d never experienced or needed to understand or learn from my budget ‘home and hardware’ hold ups. This page suggests that it’s all to do with unwrapping a package in which there is a presentation box (no euphemisms here really eh?), which, when slowly opened, rewards you with glorious contents.
There are a few pics of women who are quite obviously wearing stockings and suspenders – the see-through signs are most evident. It is one of these ‘triggers’ that I previously blogged about – the exact blog post I can’t place right now, but to take some time to get to the point, I had often mused about playing the ‘guess what’s underneath’ game, i.e. stockings and suspenders or just tights and being somewhat disappointed to largely unkowingly conclude that most women, seemed to wear tights – which just don’t do it for me.
So imagine the scene when I’m standing in a supermarket to which a petrol station is attached, queueing, when the woman in the pencil skirt at the till got served and dashed away only to realise that she’d left her keys on the counter and returned. Such sudden drama makes most people wake up from their slumbers and it brought me to my senses, the eyes drawn to the person causing the drama, eyes focused on the pencil skirt and the quite obvious outline of a suspender belt.
‘Hallelujah’ I thought. Women DO wear them after all. As the Quora site confirms, just because a women DOES wear stockings and suspenders, it most certainly does not infer that she is ‘up for it’ and neither did I think such a thing. In my suddenly snapped gaze of that supermarket queue moment, I celebrated – boy did I celebrate for those few moments. I wanted to save the view to file, but the various aisles and the speed of exit the wearer was making stopped all of that. Still, the memory was enough for me to thrive. I was elated to know that women DO wear such things and assured me that shops sell due to demand of some sort. Boy was it sexy, boy did it make me want to wear some myself. Whether I did or not, I don’t know. I’d have to find the blog entry and correlate it to where I was in my love/addiction/fetish at that time.
What is quite staggering is that seeing or even imaginging stockings and suspenders puts everything else to one side. In short, it makes me want to be in them, wear them, feel them, love them, exhibit them. Luckily for me, my slim figure and long legs have, according to those who commented on line, proved a suitable fit for stockings.
Conventionally, I have worn black. It’s sexy and dark, sultry and exciting, but it’s also a norm. I can’t go into my trusty home and hardware store and buy white or red or any other colour for that matter – except skin coloured. Odd isn’t it? Odd how society dictates what will be sold in Ann Summers or Wilkinsons!
One of my memories of shopping for stockings was of longing for red stockings, not fishnet, as I’ve never really liked that type. So in I went to the now doomed BHS in my local city and (subsequently feeling rather stupid), asked whether they sold red stockings.
The woman, putting two and two together and probably getting four abruptly told me that they didn’t sell them. Ann Summers later saw me waft in, pin point matching bras, g-strings, suspender belt and stockings, the latter coming free.
Joyfully, but feigning a purchase for the wife and therefore having picked two sets in red and white, bras and panties in her size (what on earth for?) (and the panties which were, annoyingly too big for me), I asked for white and red only to be told that even Ann Summers didn’t have any red silk stockings available. I felt that my impending crossdressing session had been sabotaged, but reluctantly accepted the red fishnets, completed the purchase, bras in one box, stockings, suspender belt and g-string in another (the former for her, the latter for me – that’s why) and smugly waltzed out of the shop, back to work, unable to wait for home time to snip off the labels, shred them to remove all evidence and enjoy the lacy lovelies.
Enjoy them I did – for a few weeks before the Purge-monster reared its ugly head again. I very nearly claimed them back from the binbag in the bin but didn’t and the following day, they were covered by last night’s chip papers which put me off going for a recovery that would have happened otherwise. The following day, having mused over a possible reconnaisance mission, I found my plans thwarted by the earlier visit of the local council’s refuse lorry. So that was that – my £70 outlay, used for a matter of weeks, had gone.
Red and white were equally nice and there were moments where I worked towards co-ordinating outfit purchases in blue, tracking down blue stockings. Such exploration – such new thrills to be experienced.
Thank heavens then for the tried and trusted home and hardware store black pair available for those fall back moments, the only chance to explore being the skin coloured pair, which I did try, but they didn’t do it as much as black did/does and the mystique of red, white and any other sexy, sultry colours.
And that’s where my crossdressing stopped. Recognising the trigger for my indulgences, I told myself that if I didn’t have stockings, I couldn’t crossdress in lingerie, at least not to my satisfaction.
Yet I’m still enjoying the stimulation of seeing close ups of stockings and suspenders, and where it happens, the appearance of a women wearing them in public. Fantastic!
Excuse me – I must return to my Twitter feed…