Panty Posers

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PRIVATE PANTY SESSIONS

Ch. 01

“Wait! What? Say that again.”

Doug, my roommate of two years, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Tension hung heavy in the air. I allowed him to take all the time he needed to explain even though my mind was racing the way it does when your entire world has been turned upside down.

I could see he was struggling. It looked like there were tears in his eyes. Whatever he needed to tell me was serious. I feared the worst.

Doug had changed over the last few months. He’d been keeping his bedroom door closed and he was keeping strange hours with his part time job. When I did see him he seemed nervous and uncomfortable around me.

My first thought was he was doing drugs…or selling drugs…or both. He was a good guy and as strange as his behavior had become, I had a hard time convincing myself this was the case.

It was something else.

We were sitting on the couch in our living room. He was at one end. I was at the other. Doug looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I told him to breathe and tell me when he was ready.

Doug took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, said, “Owens pays me for private photo sessions.”

It was as if a ton of bricks slid off his shoulders. He sighed and waited for my response.

“Professor Owens? Your art teacher?”

“My life studies instructor..but…yeah…my art teacher.”

“That’s where the extra money’s coming from…your…private…modeling sessions.”

Okay. So it wasn’t drugs.

Doug had recently come into some cash. One of the reasons I assumed he was selling drugs, as far-fetched as that was. He’d bought a new laptop, some new clothes and all the bills were paid up. He even purchased a coffee maker. I was curious but didn’t want to pry. Now I knew.

He nodded.

“And that’s why you’re…why there’s…why…”

He was nodding the entire time I spoke. Then he interrupted me. He reached out and put his hand on my leg. It was a little strange. We’d never been physical like that. Maybe a high five now and then. There were no hugs though. Now here he was with his hand on my thigh.

With a tear in his eye, Doug replied, “Yes and yes and…yes.”

I have to backtrack a little.

**********

My roommate Doug was an art student. My name is Chris. I was undecided and taking several courses with no real idea of what I’d do once I’d graduated.

We met in the one class we shared the second semester of that first year. We hit it off almost immediately and decided to share a place. We’d been living together for two semesters in a small apartment on campus. It wasn’t fancy but it was clean and quiet. Unlike the dorms both which we’d both endured our Freshman year.

Never, ever again.

We had a good relationship and probably considered the other as his best friend. Doug and I were both in our early twenties and had a lot in common. In fact people often assumed we were brothers because we even looked similar.

We were the same height and weight. We both had shoulder length hair. Mine was blonde though and Doug was a brunette. We liked the same types of movies and music. We even liked the same toppings on our pizza.

We both had busy schedules and didn’t have too much free time to date and party like other students. We saw each other in passing between classes. Once a week we’d crash on the couch, order a pizza and watch bad movies on cable.

I was working as a teacher’s aid to make a little cash. Every now and then I delivered food for the pizza joint down the street. The hours and money were too unreliable though.

Doug was working as an assistant to Professor Ezekiel Owens, his life studies professor. Life studies was a fancy, college way to describe a class in which the students created sketches while studying nude models. Four hours of looking at naked people? Maybe I should have gone into art.

Doug was Owens’ assistant for two classes. He’d make copies, schedule the models, both male and female, and clean up after the sessions. Like me, he was basically an errand boy and maid. You have to do what you have to do though to get by.

Financial aid helped with the rest.

We certainly weren’t rich and struggled to make ends meet.

That’s why it struck me as an odd when I noticed Doug seemed suddenly flush with cash. When he told me he was going to cover the rent for a few months so I could put my eager earnings away, I knew something was up.

I asked him where he was getting his money and he told me he had a new gig. Then he said everything was cool, joked about not being a drug dealer and told me not to worry about it. So I didn’t.

I wasn’t really worried. I was just curious. He seemed happy and not as stressed so I was happy for him.

Who was I to question that?

Then it happened.

I had just come home early from my evening class. My professor had become ill and excused us after the first twenty minutes of what should have been a three hour lecture.

I guess Doug didn’t expect me back so early. Pendik Yabancı Escort

When I walked in he was exiting the bathroom and stepping into his bedroom. He heard me and spun around quickly. The look on his face said it all. To be honest, I don’t know how I’d react if someone caught me doing something so…weird.

Doug was wearing a short t-shirt which barely covered his flat belly. The shirt was pink and had the word PRINCESS scrolled across the front in black, flowery lettering. It was tight and I could see his nipples poking into the material.

He was also wearing pink and white striped knee socks.

It was Doug’s choice of underwear which caught my attention though. He was wearing girl’s underwear. There was no mistaking the cut and material of the skimpy little panties he was wearing.

My roommate was wearing panties!

He wasn’t a drug dealer. He was a freak.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

My jaw hit the floor and I nearly tripped on it. Seriously, you could have knocked me over with a photo of a feather.

We both stood there. Neither of us said anything. Then Doug ducked into his room and grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants. He quickly stepped into them and pulled them up. His face was red and he couldn’t look me in the eye. The sweatpants were a little tight and faded and as he passed me I thought I could make out the faintest hint of a panty line.

As he walked past me in the hall he said, “Please don’t say anything. Please Chris. I’ll explain when I get home.”

He grabbed a black sweatshirt, slipped it on and zipped it up tight. He picked up his backpack and was out the door before I could get the first word out.

I don’t know how long I stood there with my mouth open. So many thoughts were going through my mind. I couldn’t get the image of my roommate bending over adjusting his girlish socks out of my mind. He was wearing panties. My roommate was actually wearing fucking panties.

He was a transvestite, right? Or is it crossdresser? Was there a difference?

Jesus. I was living with a crossdresser and I had no idea.

I was a little angry. I was mostly shocked.

The thing is, and I know you’re going to shake your head when you read this, but the strange thing is…Doug didn’t look bad.

He didn’t look stupid or silly, is what I mean. Understandably, he looked shocked and embarrassed but he didn’t like a goof in those girls’ underpants. Quite the opposite actually because the pretty panties he was wearing looked good on him. They hugged his butt nicely and his cock and balls sat nicely.

I know. I know. I know.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH ME?!

It’s strange to hear such things but believe me it’s even stranger saying them.

Here was my roommate and best friend wearing panties, knee socks and a shirt with the word PRINCESS on it, and, I’m like thinking he actually looked good.

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS WRONG WITH ME!

I ordered a pizza, had several beers and waited. I tried to watch tv but was way too distracted. Several hours went by.

I pulled out my stash and lit a joint. Maybe getting high would distract me from the million thoughts running through my mind.

I was a little drunk and a little high and about to turn in for the night when Doug walked in the door. He hung his backpack up and joined me on the couch. Before he sat down he took of his sweatshirt and tossed it into the shadows.

The word PRINCESS was decorated with glitter and the reflected light from the TV made it twinkle.

PRINCESS.

Jesus.

I looked down and saw the waistband of his panties showing.

I think he knew I saw it but didn’t make any moves to conceal them. Why would he? The cat was way out of the bag. No amount of effort was going to be able to shove it back in.

Doug’s belly was showing and for the first time I noticed he had a small jeweled butterfly in his navel.

My roommate not only wore panties but he had a belly ring. I wanted to shout and scream at him but I didn’t. I knew he was embarrassed and told him we didn’t have to talk about anything if didn’t want to. He said he was fine and was actually kind of relieved.

We sat there in awkward silence. Then Doug broke the silence.

**********

So here we are back at the present. The two of us sitting on the couch. Doug was wearing his PRINCESS shirt and grey sweatpants. He’d kicked off his sneakers. They were somewhere under the coffee table.

I was in a t-shirt and some baggy pajama bottoms. I’d had several beers and smoked a little pot. I was feeling no pain but sober enough to realize how crazy shit had gotten in our small apartment.

Doug, said, “I guess you’re a little freaked out.”

“What I am is a little high, a little drunk…and a LOT confused.”

I took a huge gulp of beer.

“And…yeah…I’m freaked out too.”

“That’s fair.”

“Those were girl’s panties though. Right? You’re wearing-“

“Yes,” he said, looking as though he thought I was Pendik Yeni Escort going to punch him.

“And the knee socks…and belly ring…”

“Yes.”

“So…is this something you do? Crossdressing I mean.”

“I don’t crossdress. I just wear panties..”

“Okay. But the socks and the-“

“Okay. I sometimes wear some other girly things. But I don’t have a closet full of dresses, Chris. I don’t wear wigs or makeup. I just like panties.”

Mind. Blown.

“Why? How long have-?”

“I guess the first time I wore panties…I was about 8.”

“8?”

“Yeah. I was spending the summer with my aunt, uncle and four cousins who all happened to be girls. One boy in a house with four girls for an entire summer. Can you imagine?”

“So you-“

“We’d play games. Sometimes they’d dress me up. One day they dressed me up in their old clothes. Because of my size and long hair they thought I looked very cute. I guess you could say I became their new little sister.”

“And you-“

“I won’t lie and say I hated it.”

“So you experimented when you were a little kid. Then you got older and-“

“I liked wearing panties, Chris. As I got older I found ways to get my hands on cute pairs of girls’ panties. I knew what sizes fit me and what styles looked good on me. I liked all the types of fabrics and how they felt against my body.”

I sat silently and listened.

“I didn’t wear them every day. Just every now and then…when I was sad or depressed. I loved they looked on me and how they made me feel.”

“But-“

“Why?” he interrupted, “I guess the short version is…”

I waited.

“I like wearing them. They make me feel sexy.”

“They make sexy underwear for men too, you know?”

“It’s not the same,” he said with a hurt look in his eyes.

“8? Really? Holy shit.”

His tone changed.

“It’s not the uncommon actually. A lot of boys-“

“I didn’t,” I blurted out.

“Good for you. I did. I experimented. I was curious.”

“Curious about wearing girls’ underwear?”

“Yes. And once I discovered masturbation-“

“OKAY. We don’t have to go there.”

“We do. It’s important to my fascination with my pretty panties. The first time I jerked off while I was wearing, was, well, it was incredible. From that time on whenever I jerked off I put on a pair of panties.”

The image of a teenage Doug wearing panties and jerking himself off flashed in my brain. I downed several gulps of beer.

“Soon I had more pairs of girls’ underwear in my dresser than boys’ underwear.”

Doug grabbed my remaining beer and, despite it being warm, downed it in three big gulps.

He sat there waiting for my response.

I sat there trying to come up with one.

“Okay. Well…okay. It’s not like you’re a serial killer or something.”

“No. I’m not a serial killer. I’m might be a ‘something’ though.”

“Are you-“

“Gay? Am I gay?”

I fumbled with my words.

“Just because a guy wears panties doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“I just assumed. Sorry.”

“Yeah well. I’m not gay.”

“Okay.”

“I do find some men attractive and I won’t tell you I haven’t fantasized about doing things to men…having things done to me when I’m wearing my panties.”

“But you don’t have a girlfriend. You haven’t even had a date since I’ve known you.”

“Neither have you,” he said.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Sure. Me too.”

I didn’t know how to proceed.

“I’m a sissy, Chris.”

“A sissy?”

I knew what sissies were. Sissies were boys who liked to jumprope and play with dolls instead of build tree forts and play football. Sissies cried easily. They were dainty and liked to…wear panties and other pretty, little girl things.

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard Doug’s voice.

“I guess that’s the best way to say it. I’m a sissy. I’ve known since I was little. I always gravitated to more girlish activities. Most of my friends were girls. I didn’t have any interest in sports. I liked to dress up and explore my…”

He grabbed a beer, opened it and took a big drink. His eyes never left mine though.

“My sissy instincts.”

I couldn’t say a thing.

“It’s just the truth. Since we’re laying out all our cards on the table.”

“They’re mostly your cards Doug,” I said, realizing a second after the words left my mouth how much of a dick I sounded like.

We sat there in silence again. Doug turned his body away from me and stared straight ahead drinking his beer. I looked down and saw the lacy waistband of his panties peeking out from his sweatpants again.

“So…are they…comfortable?”

I sucked at small talk, especially when my back was to the wall.

“Very,” he said, turning slightly to me.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t have to, Chris. Do you wanna-“

“I said I was a little high and drunk. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to slip into a pair of your pretty panties, Doug.”

I couldn’t believe I’d said they were pretty. Pendik Masaj Salonu I could also tell I hurt his feelings.

“Sorry. This is all very strange for me.”

“It’s cool. I totally get it.”

Doug got up and walked to the kitchen. As he stood he reached back and pulled his panties out from his crack.

When he sat back down he handed me a cold beer. Then he opened up about everything going on.

Doug told me that several months ago Prof. Owens had approached him about doing some life studies modeling for two of his other classes. He told Doug he had several students who modeled for him but was looking for a fourth.

The sessions paid well and would add some credits to his overall grade. Professor Owens told Doug the sessions paid $75 an hour. Each class was 4 hours long. Doug told me $300 for a night’s work was money he couldn’t afford to pass up.

He told me after he got over his initial embarrassment posing in the nude for a bunch of art students wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Soon he got over his awkwardness and shyness and the evenings went by quickly. The added bonus of $600 a week in his bank account didn’t hurt either.

Over the next few weeks he and Prof. Owens struck up a friendship.

It was strange to me that Owens and Doug were friends. Aside from the obvious, being that Doug was a student and Owens was a tenured professor, there was also their age difference, almost thirty years by my math.

I had only seen Owens twice. He was an older black man in his mid to late fifties. He was tall and kinda heavy set. He wasn’t fat. He was just a big man. He reminded me of a bear. He had big arms and thick legs. He was balding but had a goatee.

Doug was like me. A slender white boy who looked like he should be skateboarding or surfing. We were both 5’6 and weighed about 135 pounds. We weren’t skinny. We weren’t fat. We didn’t work out at the gym. Who had the time? Both of us had talked about the fact that when we were kids we were always told how beautiful our long hair was and how gorgeous our long lashes were. We were teased about being too small for our age and clumsy at sports.

I guess that’s why we bonded so quickly. We had been through the same shit.

Even today our hair went to our shoulders. I liked long hair. I always have. I kept it in a ponytail most of the time. So did Doug. Neither of us had much facial hair and figured we’d both be carded until we were in our forties.

One of our neighbors called us ‘The Hippie Twins’ and ‘The Barbie Twins.’

I saw them together after class one night. Standing next to this 6’5 black man, Doug looked like a kid. Owens had his hand on Doug’s shoulder. They were laughing about something. I didn’t want to interrupt and waited for Doug to finish up. He caught up with me a few minutes later and we headed back to the apartment.

And now here we were on our couch. A heavy cloud of pot smoke and anxiety hung overhead.

“So what is it you do for…with…him exactly?”

“I model.”

“Nothing else?”

He avoided the question.

“When did you start wearing-“

I took a sip of beer and gathered my thoughts. I didn’t want it to sound like I was interrogating him. Panties or not, he was still my best friend in the world.

“Why panties? Why are you posing in panties for Owens?”

Doug went on that something happened after his Monday night class. He wasn’t modeling. He was sitting at his easel. The four hour class went as usual. The students sketched. The model posed. Owens walked around and checked the status of everyone’s work and gave notes when needed.

Doug told me he hadn’t worn panties for a few days but decided last minute to slip into a pair right before class.

“They were bright blue with yellow daisies,” he told me.

“Nice,” I said.

Nice? I’m so fucking stupid.

At some point, he figures, he must have bent over to get some charcoal, or something, from his art box. He thinks his shorts must have slipped down. He wasn’t aware the waistband of his panties had been showing.

Owens was standing next to him at his easel. He had his hand on Doug’s shoulder. He stayed like that for a few minutes. After class Owens told Doug he wanted to talk to him.

Later, alone in the large studio room, Doug said Owens commented that he liked his panties.

Ashamed, embarrassed and a little terrified, Doug said he actually ran from class.

I probably would have to.

Doug got up and got walked towards the kitchen.

“Another beer?” he asked.

I looked at the clock. It was almost 2 A.M. Neither of us had class the next morning. I smiled and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Doug came back, handed me my beer and sat back on the couch with me. I noticed he was a little closer this time. He continued his story.

The next morning Prof. Owens called Doug and asked him to meet him at their favorite coffee shop. Doug said he was nervous and had no idea what to expect.

Over coffee the two had a very long and very strange conversation. Much to his surprise, Doug told me, Owens was calm and cool about the whole thing. He didn’t seem freaked out in the slightest. In fact, Doug said, Owens seemed perfectly fine with it and actually complimented Doug on his choice of undergarments. He even said he wished he could have had a better look.

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