I think it was my Aunt Joan (godmother) who unknowingly got me interested in and admiring stockings. In the mid-70s, my parents took it in turns with their friends to host a little party every month. I was 18, and Aunt Joan would have been in her mid-40s. The parties had Mum, Dad, two other couples, and my Aunt Joan; as far as I remember, she has always been single, even to this day. She would be 90-odd now.
I was relegated to the floor or a low footstool, and the older adults had the sofa, chairs, and dining chairs. The women were always dressed up in short skirts most times (fashion of the day) and all wore tights and stockings at times, for special occasions, etc. And if I sat in the right position, I could glimpse lots of leg and more. But Aunt Joan was always in stockings.
Aunt Joan was always the best-dressed. Always the latest fashion, and she spent more on clothes. Also, she always wore perfume, which was always nicer than the others (or that's how it seemed to me).
One week, one of my parents' female friends was wearing stockings, and I got into a position on the floor to see up her skirt. It was later in the evening, and after she had had a few drinks, her legs were repositioning quite often. I was moving to get the best view and had a great display. I turned and looked around, and my Aunt Joan was looking straight at me. She glanced at where I had been looking. I remember thinking, "Shit, I am in trouble now," and scarpered to another room. Red-faced.
Nothing got said, and the following week the party was at Aunt Joan's, so I avoided that one. But the following week from that I was back on the floor looking but more carefully. Aunt Joan came in and sat in one of the taller dining chairs, and I remember one of the men saying to swap, and she could sit on the sofa, but she said she was OK. She was in the corner, and I was by the opposite wall. She was turned 45 degrees to me, and I could see her stocking top and her mid-thigh, and from that position, I was the only one who could easily see. Again, she had seen me looking but this time moved a little, and her skirt moved back, revealing more stocking top. In the end, I could see a strap; she turned to face me and opened her legs slightly so I saw her white panties. She glanced at me and knew I was looking, and we were both blushing.
It only happened that way once. Too risky for her to do again, I started hanging out with friends soon after, and the parties petered out as families grew.
Around '77 I got my first motorbike; after a week or two, my mother asked me to take Aunt Joan a birthday card and a present round to hers about 10 miles away. I remember it was a sunny spring day. So off I went, never imagining what was in store.
I arrived, and she answered the door and invited me in. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a light blue 'Yes' tee shirt. She led me through to the kitchen and asked if I wanted a cup of tea, and I accepted, and she put the kettle on. She told me when the kettle boiled to make the tea, as she just had to do something upstairs. The kettle boiled, and I made the tea and sat waiting for her to return. When she returned, she had changed her jeans for a just-above-the-knee skirt, saying that's better for a day like this. We chatted about me in the training school, how Mum and Dad were, the weather, and all sorts of things while drinking our tea. She finished hers first and went to the sink.
In the sink was a bowl, and in the bowl were stockings she had been washing. Still chatting, she poured the soapy water away, holding the stockings in the bowl, then put clean water in to rinse them. That done, she poured out the water and, carrying the bowl, said to me, 'Come on,' and we went outside. She passed me a stocking and asked me to peg them to the line by the toe, which I did, hanging about five pairs. She said they would soon dry on this fine sunny day.
We went back into the house, and she asked if I wanted a sandwich. I said yes, and she made us some cheese sandwiches, which we ate in the garden. The chat continued, but she wanted to know more about any girlfriends and what I liked them to wear. We finished the sandwiches, then she went to the clothesline and felt the stockings, saying they're dry. She said she would take in the plates and asked me to bring in the stockings.
I unpegged them and took them in. She asked if I liked the feel of the nylon. I said, 'Yes.' She replied she did too. She told me to bring the stockings and follow her. We went into the living room. Her perfume was still lightly lingering in the room. She put the stockings on a low table and invited me to sit on the sofa.
She remained standing, and she told me, 'No sitting on the floor today.' She asked if I enjoyed looking at her stockings at the party.
I nodded yes; she said, 'I hoped so. Would you like to see them again?' I just nodded. She continued saying, 'Well, first I would like you to get undressed.' I must have looked shocked (as I was) and blushed. 'You need some encouragement,' and she took off her skirt, revealing her stocking tops, light blue suspenders, and panties, which matched her 'Yes' T-shirt.
"Now, if you like, please get undressed; leave your undies if you want," she said, and in a trance, I did. (Leaving on my undies) I sat on the sofa, and she asked me to lean back, which I did.
She asked if I liked what I saw. I stuttered out, "Oh my god, yeah." She turned and took one of the freshly washed and dried stockings, bending over more than she needed to, the panties stretching over her shapely arse. She lingered, bent over, knowing I was looking. She turned back and held the stocking by the welt. Letting it hang. She lifted the toe up to the welt.
Holding both the welt and toe in one hand. She stepped over to me and gently dragged the hanging stocking over my chest, then slowly and gradually all over my body from head to toe, including my face. The feeling over my eyes, lips, nipples, and cock was intense.
She said, "Someone likes the attention," looking at my bulging undies. 'Now would you like to take your undies off?'
"Oh yes," I replied. She stood back while I slipped out of them and asked me to lie on the sofa, which I did. She selected another stocking, again showing off her arse and taking her time. She turned back, and with a stocking in each hand, she stood next to me, closer to my head than when I was only leaning back; I could smell her perfume more intensely. She started again to drag both stockings over my body, but mainly on my face, nipples, and cock.
"Mmm," she said, "you are a stockings lover," looking at my cock.
I looked down and saw my own cock harder and bigger than I had seen before. I felt it was going to explode. I tried to hold back as I thought it was embarrassing in front of Aunt Joan. She continued with the stockings over my body, and I could not hold on anymore and exploded. Cum splattered over my belly, chest, neck, and face.
She stood back a minute to let me come down as she took the two stockings and rolled them up into a ball. With them, she started to clean me up, starting at my cock, working her way up my body, occasionally swapping the stockings for another pair to continue mopping my cum up. When she reached my face, the stockings were damp with cum, and from her closeness, I could smell her perfume and my cum.
As she leaned over, I could see her tits swinging inside her T-shirt and could see a damp dark patch in her panties between her legs. I felt like I was floating. She finished cleaning me up and told me to have a snooze, which I did. When I woke, I dressed and went into the kitchen, and Aunt Joan was back in jeans at the sink washing the stockings.
She made another cup of tea, and she asked me to take the stockings to dry. While the stockings were drying, we had our tea and chatted until it was time for me to go. We never set another date, and I left. On my way home, I realized that she never actually touched my skin to skin, and that evening in bed, I replayed the day in my head and had a raging hard-on.
It was a few months till we met again. It was also at this time that I started raiding the laundry basket, trying on my mum's things—panties, tights, stockings, bras, etc.—and never really stopped.
How did you come to dressing?
