On Wearing Lingerie

It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m perched on a stool at one of the high desks in my client’s office. Ordinarily I’d be wearing a shirt with smart grey trousers, but it’s close to Xmas and the Head of Department is on holiday, so everyone’s a bit demob-happy. As a result, I’m sitting here in a comfy sweater and blue Levi jeans; still professional, but in a more relaxed way.

What my colleagues don’t know is that underneath the jeans, my cock and balls are covered not by soft, cotton boxers – cut to fit my particular type of genitalia – but by the lacy pink knickers I took from Liv’s underwear drawer this morning. I can feel the material pulling tight and digging into my crotch as it struggles to keep everything pinned down. Every time I shift in my seat, the sheer lace rubs over the head of my cock, making it twitch and jump. It’s not a comfortable feeling, but it’s not an altogether unpleasant one either…

Every now and then, I like to raid Liv’s lingerie collection and pick out something to wear at work, or on a night out. This occasional habit featured in one of my 2017 February Photo Fest posts, but that aside I haven’t talked or written much about it. In part, that’s because it isn’t always a kink thing – sometimes I just fancy a change! Some of her knickers fit me surprisingly well, especially the ones that fully cover my arse, and I like the way they feel against my skin.

For the most part though, there’s a definite sexual angle to it – I’m just not sure what that angle is! And I’m fine with that. While I’m conscious that the existence of this blog may suggest otherwise, I don’t feel the need to put each of my sexuality’s various building blocks under a microscope. Occasionally there’s value to understanding what drives a particular kink, but it’s typically rooted in an assumption that I’ll discover new and exciting ways of bringing that kink to life as a result. When I first discovered that I like putting things in my butt, for example, the process of unpacking (heh) the reasons behind it proved invaluable, and gave me some great ideas for what to do/try next.

With most things though? Not so much. A lot of the time it comes down to the fact that I don’t apply value judgments to my kinks. The things that get me hard or get me off are neither ‘good’ nor ‘bad’; they’re not embarrassing or shameful, and while they may have links to different aspects of my psyche, I think there’s a tendency to conflate understanding those links with breaking them – or with re-engineering our sexual preferences in some way. I like my preferences just fine as they are, thank you very much, so I have no real desire to pathologize them. I’d rather focus on having fun!

So with that in mind, I thought I’d write a bit about how wearing lingerie makes me feel. Perhaps the best catch-all word to describe it is ‘aware’. Aware of my cock, and the new/different sensation of something rubbing across it. Aware that I’m doing something slightly transgressive, which is a recurring theme in my kinks and fantasies – aware also that at any moment, my trousers may ride a little low, allowing a flash of pink lace to escape above the waistband, visible to anyone who happens to be looking my way. And aware of the various possibilities for exploiting this particular choice of underwear, should I choose to do so.

Those possibilities range from the basic/achievable – like letting Liv discover them when she casually runs her hand down over my arse at some point after I get home from work, and watching her eyes widen as she realises what I’m wearing – to the seriously pornographic. With the latter, there’s invariably overlap with other things I might want to do. Maybe I’m modelling them for someone doing a photo project on men in women’s underwear, and things get out of hand. Or I’m at a house party where one of the female guests – a friend of a friend, maybe – spots them as I’m leaning over to grab a drink. Later in the night, she corners me outside the bathroom with a couple of her mates, and tells me they want to see what’s under my jeans. I’m dragged into a spare bedroom, where they get me to strip for them while they provide a running commentary.

Y’know. That kind of thing.

Actually though, it probably is more about the nuts and bolts of it. Most of the time, anyway. Knickers – even thongs (sometimes especially thongs) – just feel good. And I think they look good too. Or rather, I think they look good on me.

To some extent, that’s simply the function of a wider truth: subverting gender norms is hot! Masculine bodies dressed confidently and proudly in ‘feminine’ clothing (and vice versa) are fucking sexy because they actively challenge rigid and outdated social convention. It’s pretty hard to do that without making an impression, and I’ve always admired that kind of don’t-give-a-fuck confidence – even before I’d got to a point where I felt able to emulate it. Beyond that even, it gives off the kind of signals I find inherently attractive:

“I don’t play by the rules when it comes to sexuality.”

“I’ve given active thought to what I want and who I am.”

“I’m willing to wear my kinks or preferences on my sleeve, and I don’t really care who see them.”

But yes, in addition to that I make no apology for liking the way a pair of delicate, silk knickers clings to my arse when I catch sight of it in the mirror. Or for wanting someone to see (and appreciate!) the contrast between sheer lace and thick, bulging cock as I stand in front of them and wait patiently for their touch.

It’s sort of a virtuous circle. I feel good, therefore I look good; and I look good, therefore…

I suspect that’s why I’m open to wearing knickers in different ways for different people. If they want to fetishise it – or fetishise me – I’m 100% down for that, and will throw myself enthusiastically into wherever they want to go with the whole situation. If they’re not actually interested in the aesthetic side of things, and instead want to make it all about the power dynamic, that’s fine too. And if they just want the basic, horny, visual image of my body in a barely-there set of panties and stockings, laid out for their viewing pleasure, well, sign me up for all of it.

Most of all though, I like wearing them for me. I don’t get off on it, exactly, but I automatically feel more sexual in knickers than I do in regular ol’ boxers, and that’s almost never a bad thing. Whether or not anyone else finds out I’m doing it.