Thursday, January 05, 2006

The Journey Home...

As I've already pointed out several times, isolation is one of the unfortunate results of having a fetish of any kind and is one of the driving forces that require us to live dual or secret lives. In my early years, long before there was anything like the Internet, I was convinced that I was the only male in the world who was so hopelessly attracted to the look and feeling of silky, nylon panties.

There was nothing I could do to change that it seemed, no matter how hard I tried. I periodically threw away all my lovingly saved pictures (torn from catalogs), and throw away my carefully collected a stash of pretty panties (a story for another day) and would promise myself (and yes, god too) that I'd stop looking and touching and thinking about panties.

These purge cycles usually came after overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame would build up and drive me to try to will myself to become "normal" like all the rest of my friends. But it was always to no avail... after a few days or weeks or sometimes months, I'd find it impossible to resist peeking up a careless girl's skirt or would come across a lingerie ad in a newspaper or magazine, and the whole cycle of compulsions would begin again.

Where did a young boy, or later man, turn to try to understand this powerful compulsion? Sadly the answer was - almost nowhere. I have always loved to read so the local public library was one of the places I spent a good deal of time after school and on weekends. Naturally in those days (early to mid 50's) all the "sex" books were kept safely guarded by the gray haired librarians, but a clever boy like me eventually discovered there were psychology books that contained amazing information about a all things sexual.

There I discovered the name for one of my compulsions; masturbation. My mother had caught me playing with myself several times when I was in bed and would scold me and make me go to sleep with my arms outside of the blankets. I was already sure this was an activity that was deeply wrong so when I read that these psychologists seemed to consider masturbation a fairly normal thing I was a bit relieved, but now a lot more confused. Where could a boy ask someone about this stuff?

Fast forward to nineteen ninty something, when this much older, graying guy discovered there were things called chat rooms on the Internet where people could openly (but privately) talk about every conceivable kind of sexual interest - including the love of my life, panties!

Those days on-line were like a feeding frenzy for me. I could strike up open conversations with others who by clever screen names openly advertized their membership in the underground brotherhood of panty lovers! There were lots of surprises as I discovered not only how many men loved panties, but how many different ways they loved them! My eyes and world were opened wide and my compulsive stashing now included hoarding tens of thousands of panty photos on my computer hard drive.

I also gained a better understanding about this mania for panties that controlled so much of me and my life, and that eventually resulted in me accepting myself for who I am, and what I am.

The process of getting to that place was not quick, nor was it easy, for despite the enormous pleasure I derived browsing through the almost endless supply of photos and chatting with hundreds of others who shared my fetish, I found myself still searching for more - for a place where I could feel at home and talk about my life as I might with a brother or close friend who would understood and care about me the way my brothers and friends did in my other, public life.

Next time I'll describe the homecoming I finally experienced... but this is enough for now.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Grieving Over Thongs

One of the things I've enjoyed most about having this obsession with women's panties has been how much pleasure I get from browsing around public places looking for the delightful hints that are offered by women's outwear - hints about what's being worn beneath - ie - VPL.

I understand how hard most women work at avoiding a display of VPL (visible panty line), but in my experience, short of wearing no panties at all, there is probably no way for her to keep a professional peeker like me from finding enough hints to decide what kind of panties the lady is wearing. Inevitably there will be a slight indentation where the leg elastic binds just a bit, or perhaps her trousers gap just a bit revealing a flash of the elastic waistband, or it might be when she bends over I will see the faint telltale line of her panty gusset. It's also possible to pick up a hint of the woman's panties' color through the fabric of a carelessly chosen pair of shorts or trousers. By wearing only pantyhose, or (gasp!) a thong style panty, a woman can derail even the most professional of peekers. But when I do find a VPL it is both a satisfying and exciting find.

The point of this little rant is that most of us who have a panty fetish are actually sort of old fashioned romantics at heart. I suppose it's not very politically correct to even admit to having such a condition, and many women may feel it's not very polite for me to want to take advantage of those careless moments when her panties have been exposed in public, but I do believe peeking is pretty much a normal male response to finding an opportunity to get a look at something as intimate, exciting and forbidden as a woman in her panties.

It's a hobby shared by the regular Joe as well as the hard core panty lover. I enjoy the mental exercise offered by VPLs and how they allow me to use all the visible clues presented by the woman to come up with my best guess as to what she's got on. But where Joe's curiosity is satisfied by a lucky peek, mine is revved up by it causing me to fantasize about what she may have looked like getting dressed that morning, who she may have had thoughts of as she selected her lingerie, and of course, what else she may do later on.

Growing up as I did in the late 40's and 50's was a delightful time for a young panty lover. Women wore glorious clothes, and most often over wonderful delicious layers of lingerie. By the time I was dating in high school (quite a few years before the launch of the "sexual revolution" of the 60's) she allowed me to slowly discover all the detail of each of those marvelous, sexy garments she was wearing... but only over the extended time it took me to earn her trust.

In the 60's Carole King sang a song titled "Anticipation" which pretty well describs the joyful process I went through with my girlfriend - working through layer after layer of her most intimate garments before ever finding the few square inches of exotic bare skin that were covered and shielded by all that wonderful lingerie.

Today where is the mystery? Where is the anticipation? How can any man feel he's got anything to look forward to when the Lingerie Industry has mandated the "Less Is More" theory for their lingerie and clothing designs. Whoever designed the thong (as an undergarment or swim suit) ought to be drawn and quartered! Women's clothing styled to "Give it all away" to every and anyone who casts a casual glance her way has taken the delight out of watching them. What's to look forward to anymore? Most men today probably see a woman in her clothes and wonder what she looks like naked... a panty fetishist such as me sees a naked woman and wonders what she'd look like in her panties (full briefs, please!)... and her bra... and her full lacy slip....
Now that's kinky, no?

Thongs are Awful, Unforgiveable Stuff!

I believe the sense of mystery, anticipation and awe men (and boys) experienced decades ago fostered a more polite and romantic culture. We can all agree that the progress generated by the women's movement have helped move women rights closer to where things ought to be today... but I'm really talking about here is not seeing women as objects, but growing up with a respect and appreciation that just doesn't square with teenaged girls hanging most of their naked bodies out for public review when the go to the beach.

I suppose these are the hopeless rants of an old geezer who has lost his modern sensibilities - perhaps he's too caught up in memories of the past to appreciate today's definition of "sexy", but it does seem to me that both young men and women today are missing out on something quite lovely. Discovering everything about each other doesn't have to happen on the first date. I do think they just might enjoy the agonizing anticipation of earning things the old fashioned way... one delightful, slippery layer at a time.

Oh, and please write your congressperson and ask them to make thongs illegal?

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Peeking Up Skirts

I suppose there's a similarity between the skills you develop as an unrepentent panty peeker and those honed by professional athletes - both require excellent timing, anticipation, good eyes and of course the "three P's"... practice, practice, practice.

Growing up as I did in the late 40's and early 50's, girls almost always wore skirts, so there was an abundence of ways to practice my craft. The school playground was a place ripe for peeking because girls would always be someplace there, sitting on the blacktop in a circle chatting. The almost universal posture, was with legs crossed at the ankles and hands folded between the knees, holding their skirts demurely down. I quickly learned to covertly shift my attention to whatever group a burst of laughter was coming from, because whatever it was that was causing the girls to laugh was sure to effect one of them more than the others.

That girl might be showing off, or just have been caught off guard by whatever funny had been said so she just might throw her head backward in her fit of laughter and pitch backward enough to require her to move her hands to keep her from rolling onto her back. In that brief moment, with her skirt unattended and knees being pulled upwards, a clever peeker would no doubt be able to see all the way up her slim legs to catch a peek at her silky panties. The real trick was in timing your glance so you'd see the flash of her panties, but without being caught doing so - by the girl, her friends and most importantly by your friends!

Yes, in those days there were lots of chances to peek at panties, but as sex was a forbidden topic, a boy could not risk being seen practicing his fetish craft for fear of being laughed at (by girls!!), tormented as a girl lover by his friends, or worse yet, being called into the principal's office and be accused of being a pervert. So for self preservation a clever peeker learned the art of anticipating just which particular girl might get careless - without showing any outward attention to her, then timing his glance perfectly so he'd see her panties and be looking elsewhere by the time she looked up to check if anyone had seen her little mistake.

The other way my mania for seeing girls' panties was fed was by finding pictures of girls in panties. Now this was long long before the world created porn magazines that specialize in such photos, but the good folks at Sears Roebuck, JC Penney, Montgomery Ward and Spiegle provided almost every young boy with all the material needed to learn in detail everything he could want to know about panties! Those catalogs were clearly the porn of choice in that era for boys like me.

In our house catalogs came regularly, so my mother would dutifully throw the old ones into the trash. Being a good son, on those days I would not need to be asked to take out the garbage. Of course along the way, the discarded catalog would be stashed safely someplace where I would later tear out every single page displaying girls or even grown women standing brazenly in their panties. Oh the frenzied activity that would occur in our locked bathroom for the next few days, as this peeker devoured every detail from his precious new stash of panty pictures!

None of us who suffer from this need to peek chose to be this way, nor do most of us have any real idea what caused us to develop as we have, but the one thing we all learned early on was it was nothing you dared have anyone find out about you. So it is that almost all of us grew up being slightly shy (especially around girls). Even if we had lots of friends we played sports with and hung out playing with, we never ever hinted to them how much we loved looking at and collecting pictures of girls wearing panties.

So it was that we all developed this parallel secret life and learned the importance of being secretive. We all had secret places for our stash of catalog pages, had secret places where we practiced our peeking, and most of all we eventually learned where those pretty panties were kept by the girls and women we secretly watched. But that's a topic for another day.

I know I am far from being the lone practicioner of this dark art - have I struck a chord in anyone else? Perhaps some of the women reading this might share their comments on our panty mania or what it was or is like to worry about keeping one's knees together in public.

Enough for now - I hope you all enjoy this final day of the year. May the next bring you much joy and happiness.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

With Great Fear and Trembling ...

I have had a secret love affair with women's panties for as far back as I have memories of my youth. I've decided to set aside my powerful fears of being discovered and instead launch an offensive - this blog - where not only will I write about what I've learned about this powerful fetish, but can invite others to share their own thoughts and experiences about how their lives have been shaped by their own secret love affair with those wicked, silken garments.

My panty life has been very private, so much so that I have lived two separate lives: my public life as a businessman, loving husband and father, and a parallel life where I am hopelessly consumed by an overpowering love of panties. No one in my public life would ever guess how much of my life has been dominated by the other invisible side of me.

I was six or seven when I first recall having a strong need to peek at and touch nylon panties. It wasn't until I was in my twenties before I realized that there were other men who shared my mania for women's panties, though I had no idea just how common an affliction it was in men. I was well into my thirties before I discovered and read voraciously about the psychological description for my panty mania... until then I thought fetishes were limited to leather and rubber and great spikey high heels. Who knew from panty fetishism?

But it wasn't until the internet blossomed that I came full up against the sheer number of other men whose lives were dominated by those same silky garments. My own suspicion is that perhaps ten percent of all men may share this fetish, and most suffer the same fears of being discovered and publically humiliated, or being marked as gay or worst of all being accused of being a sexual preditor. I know none of those things is true of me, and I suspect it's not true of the vast majority of men whose only sin is being controlled and consumed by a love for women's panties. I'd like for this Blog site to become a place where stereotypes and fears are buried and caring understanding dominates what we say here.

There is no universal description for what it is to have a panty fetish; how it is expressed depends on the myrid of experiences each man has had. Some love only to look at them, for others it is primarily a tactile experience, some choose to wear them while others have no need for that, and most have private stashes of pretty panties hiden away from wives or lovers.

These stashes of course have most often been gotten under rather shady circumstances, which those same wives and lovers would be horrified to hear about. Professionals write very little about this fetish, perhaps it's more exciting to write about the "harder" fetishes (rubber, leather, S&M etc), or is it that this fetish comes a bit too close to home for others? That's my suspicion!

There are no doubt many common experiences all panty fetishists share - secret double lives, bingeing and purging cycles as we've attempted to "give it all up", hidden stashes of panties, compulsively searching catalogs, magazines and the Internet for photos of panties, and of course, peeking up any carelessly arranged skirt for a glimpse of the thing we love most. All of it is driven by an overpowering compulsion to see, touch and own women's most private garments.

There will be time enough for detailed confessions later on, I would rather outline what I hope can happen here in this anonymous public forum, and invite you to offer your thoughts.

First this is not intended to be a fantasy site, though I expect I will want to explore how much of a role fantasy plays in my secret life. If confession is truly good for the soul, then this should be a very healthy place indeed! I will bare my own soul here as well as offering insights that have helped me come to terms with my fetish. Hopefully this will become a safe place, where everyone is free to honestly explore this usually very private topic. Sharing life experiences and asking questions is encouraged, but name calling and flaming is not.

Enough for now - I'll try to post at least once a day, and invite you to comment or post your own confession - to quote the great Bluto: "It don't cost nothin'!"