Taken in White

I'm not quite sure at what point it first happened. It was probably something to do with stuff from the TV, or the fact that I grew up with two older sisters whose friends were round all the time, or the huge number of mail-order catalogues that they used to order from; whatever the source, by the time I reached my teens I had a huge fetish for nylons -- whether it was seeing them on a pair of legs, or the occasional moment when nobody else was about and I got to try them on for myself. Stockings were good, but pantyhose or tights were just the sexiest things to wear, or to have someone wear for me. The warm, smooth, sensually smooth feel was like a shot of pure sexual arousal, fired directly into my brain. I had a couple of girlfriends who wore, and one of them was savvy enough to realize that I was turned on by them, which led to some pretty hot sessions. But that was as far as it went until, at the age of nineteen, I got my own place to live.

I was single, with nobody to pry into my life. And of course, there was the god-given gift of the internet, and the joys of online ordering. And then, the wonders of self checkouts; no awkwardness, no embarrassment, no paranoia. The internet also brought another marvellous, eye-opening realization to my life; the discovery that far from being an isolated individual, I wasn't alone. There were stories, and message boards, and chat rooms, and pictures and videos. A whole delicious world was opening up before me, and I dived headlong into it.

Of course, I bought myself a small stockpile of sheer, slinky nylon treasures to wear; different colours, different deniers, different styles. And because I was single and living alone, I had the leisure of shaving my legs, the better to enjoy the sensation of wearing. So after a day at work, I would arrive back home, shower, eat dinner, and then get undressed, slip into my pair of pantyhose du jour, topped off with a long, loose t-shirt, and then go online and read, chat, look at pictures, watch videos... and lose myself in daydreams until it was time for bed. And that was when things began to change.

Previously, although I loved wearing, my fantasies had all been about women who wore. But as I increased my searching online, I began to become increasingly attracted to images and videos and stories about other men who wore. Whether it was male dancers, crossdressers, transgendered folks or nylon fetishists, the mental image of a tight ass, lean legs, or a crotch bulge tightly cocooned in sheer nylon began to frequent my dreams more and more. Finding videos or images of gay erotica that involved nylon fetishism increasingly pressed the "hawt" button in my brain, and I wondered if I was simply accepting the fact that I was gay or bisexual, but a few experiments of checking non-nylon themed gay content quickly answered that question; it did nothing for me, or simply resulted in my wondering what one of the guys I saw might look like in pantyhose or stockings. Little by little, I began to accept the idea that I was simply a hopeless fetishist, and that I didn't really care who was wearing, as long as they were. And that brought a second realization.

Up until that point, I had always fantasized about being the top, the dominant partner. But as I began to become more aroused by nylon-clad male bodies, it started to dawn on me that I had little to no qualms about the notion of being the bottom, or even being submissive, while I was wearing. The thought of giving the same feelings of arousal and pleasure to another person that I had experienced really cranked my dial to the maximum.

However, there was a snag. I was almost terminally shy. And although I had no problems chatting online, and sharing my fantasies with others under the cloak of anonymity, the prospect of a real, face to face, body to body encounter was daunting, to say the least. But my desire to have the experience of another man having his way with me couldn't be denied. So I began hitting the chatrooms, especially the live ones, in search of someone who would be up for an encounter.

Things were uneventful to begin with. Plenty of chatting, plenty of shared fantasies, but no real takers. It seemed that just about everybody I chatted with was content to leave their kinks and fantasies online, and the few who seemed a bit more eager left me with the impression that a few red flags were flying. I began to suspect that this was going to be just one more fantasy that would remain exactly that.

That was until I began chatting to a man called David. He was older than me, being almost fifty and divorced. He lived not too far from me (about an hour or so by car, as it turned out), and had finally come out as gay. And like me, he was shy, discreet, and very reticent about the idea of taking his fantasies into the real world. But as time passed, we became more and more comfortable with our chats, sharing our fantasies, turn-ons, and we even shared a few pictures of ourselves, although always with our faces blurred or blacked out. He was stocky, with a slight belly; what gets referred to as a "dad bod" these days. He was a little hairy, with a thick dark head of hair that was showing signs of silver. He was clean shaven, and his body bore no tattoos or marks. And from some of his pics, it was apparent that he was pretty well-endowed. He shared my love of tights and pantyhose, though he was strictly an admirer, and his pics, when not showing him as fully-clothed, were of him wearing underwear, mostly briefs and boxer shorts.

Of course, he absolutely loved my pics, which, despite my blacking out of my face, were generally far racier than his. I would pose on my bed sometimes wearing just a t-shirt and one of my pairs of tights or pantyhose from my collection. Sometimes, I would be wearing nothing but sheer nylon, displaying my tight rump and shaved legs for his pleasure. And I took an odd delight in how much of a gentleman he was -- although he would make it obvious that he found my chats and pics arousing, he was never crude or coarse about it. More and more, I became happy with the thought that he might be the guy I'd been looking for.

We had been chatting for almost a full year, and by that time, we had shared just about everything about our fetishes and fantasies, and some of our chats had veered into online roleplaying territory, describing what we would like to do with each other. We had become very turned on by these sessions, and after one session in particular, I had told him that I really wished that he was right here with me, and that I would love for him to fuck me while I was wearing pantyhose for him. We logged off for the night, and I considered it to be just another night of fun erotic chat.

But the next night, after a short while of general chatter, he brought up what I had said, and asked me if I was serious about it:

David: I really enjoyed last night. It got me really turned on.

Me: Me too. I couldn't help stroking my legs while we were chatting.

David: Were you serious about what you said? About us having sex, and you wearing for me?

Me: Yes. I meant it. I just love the idea of you fucking me while I wear pantyhose for you. I think it would be incredibly sexy.

David: If I brought something for you to wear for me, would you do it?

Me: I'd be fine with that. What do you want me to wear?

David: Oh, nothing that would surprise you. Just something that I think would look really sexy on you...

Me: Fair enough. Nothing you've told me about so far has put me off, and if it gets you really turned on, I'd do it...

He asked me a couple of questions about what size clothing I usually wore, and then left it at that. We resumed chatting as before, and I began to feel strangely excited. It seemed as though he was actually serious about the idea of us actually meeting up. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was genuinely wanting this to happen.

A couple of chat sessions later, and he dropped the bombshell;

David: I have some time off work later this week. Are you still serious about us meeting up?

Me: Really? You really mean it?

David: Yes, really. And the something that I wanted you to wear for me has arrived. So, when are you free? Could I come over on Friday?

Me: Yes. Friday would be great. I finish work and get home about 6pm. So any time after that would be fine.

David: About 8pm? If things go well, we could make a night of it!

Me: That would be great. I'm looking forward to it!

David: Me too. You have no idea how much!

We exchanged details that night. The plan was set in motion. I had three days to get ready.

The next day, after work, I stopped by at a big supermarket, and by using the self-checkout I bought myself a couple of new pairs of sheer pantyhose; one black pair and one suntan, both good quality, and with a very high-gloss shine. I also stopped by the pharmacy section, and picked up some lube and condoms, and a home enema kit, something I could never have dared to do before the wondrous advent of self checkouts. The miracle of technological advancement, right?

The next day, I asked my manager at work if I could start and leave early, explaining that I was going away for the weekend, and wanted to make an early start on Friday evening. Since my place of employment had flexible working hours to some degree, my manager didn't have any problems with that arrangement. So, I spent the remaining day with butterflies in my stomach, and did more than the usual amount of tidying up. I changed the bedsheets, and basically became a professional level cleaner for an evening. Everything was ready for the next day, and I went to bed earlier than usual, but not before going online to confirm that everything was good for Friday evening. My dreams were a mixture of ecstasy and worry, but my fantasies won over, and I woke up on Friday morning, ready for my first real meet.

I finished work early on Friday as arranged, got home as quickly as possible, and set to work. I stripped off, and started with the home enema kit. Once that episode was taken care of, I showered, making sure that I was as clean as possible back there (I had looked up advice for anal sex meets online), and proceeded to shave and moisturise my legs, clip my toenails, and generally indulge in a major campaign of personal grooming. As I was back in my bedroom, I received a text message that simply said: I'm on my way!

I felt another round of butterflies. I texted back: Great! BTW... black or suntan?

Barely a minute later, I received a reply: Surprise me!

I weighed the two packets in my hands, caught by the dilemma of which to choose. Eventually, going by the idea that the tan pair would go with anything, I went with them. They were 40-Denier, high gloss, with an elastic waistband. Putting them on felt like I was dipping my legs into liquid silk, and I began to feel my cock twitching of its own accord as I pulled them up over my ass. Once I had them on, I dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms -- there was no point in getting all dressed up if I was going to be changing clothes so soon. After that, I settled in to wait.

It seemed like ages, but in reality only about half an hour had passed before I received another text message: I've just arrived!

I jumped up, and went to my window to look down into the street. I couldn't see anybody at first, but then I realised something that sent the butterflies in my stomach crazy again.

Parked outside was a car that I hadn't seen before; a big black shiny BMW, the kind of car that takes a serious income to own and run.

Bloody hell, I thought. Have I landed myself a rich daddy?

I quickly texted back for him to come to the house, all the while watching from the window, peering through the white net curtains. After a minute or so, the car's driver door opened, and a man got out.

My first feeling was one of relief. It was definitely him. The build, the hair, the elegant and old-school sense of fashion. The pictures he had sent me had not been lying. He glanced up at the house as he opened one of the back doors of the car, and removed a sports bag. He had a broad, tanned, slightly lined face, with thick eyebrows, dark eyes, fairly full lips, and a straight, slightly long nose. His greying dark hair was brushed back, and neatly styled. I could already tell that when I met him face to face, he would smell of expensive aftershave and hair tonic. And as he looked at the house and shut the car door, he smiled. He had a great smile. I couldn't wait to see it at close range.

Oddly enough, when the doorbell rang, I actually jumped, even though I'd watched him walk up the path to the front door. Trembling with excitement, I quickly headed down the stairs, opened the door to the little hallway, and then opened the front door, quickly running my fingers through my hair as I did.

For a moment or two, we simply stood in silence, regarding each other solemnly. And then suddenly, he broke into a broad smile, showing immaculate white teeth, and a definite sparkle to his dark brown eyes. He reached out to take my hand, giving it a slight shake and a squeeze.

"Hello... I hope I didn't keep you waiting..."

I couldn't help but smile back; that broad grin was infectious.

"No... I've been waiting ever since our last chat, so another hour doesn't matter!"

He chuckled, and I stepped back to let him walk inside, showing him the way up to my flat. I suddenly became a little self-conscious. My flat, although clean and tidy, was probably not the kind of place that I imagined him spending time in. But if he thought anything about it, he was way too polite to say so.

I made us coffee, and we sat and chatted for a good hour or so, mostly small talk, and the kind of unimportant personal details that go with a meet that might or might not lead somewhere; if we really hit it off, there would be time for the personal stuff later. He was well spoken, intelligent, and attentive, never once seeming bored despite the obvious gulf between our life experiences.

"So... did you actually put anything on before I came over? You mentioned it in the text..." he asked. I noted that there was a slight blush of colour on his tanned cheeks, as if he was slightly embarrassed about being so forward. It was time for me to take the lead, and put him at ease.

"I certainly did," I smiled. "Would you like to see?"

His gaze met mine, and he gave me another smile, leaning forward in the armchair, and nodding.

"I would... very much so..."

I smiled back at him, and stood up. I slipped off my slip on sneakers, grasped the waistband of my jogging bottoms, and slowly, almost teasingly, let them slide down my legs, revealing my smooth, shaven thighs in the glossy, suntan-tinted nylon. His eyes lit up, and his smile widened. I let go of the waistband, letting the joggers drop to my ankles before stepping demurely out of them and giving a full turn, letting him see my legs, ass and cock in their nylon sheath.

"Like what you see?" I asked, as if his riveted gaze and smile weren't proof that he was loving it.

His gaze travelled back up to my face, finally tearing itself away from my legs. He paused for a moment, and then chuckled softly.

"Forgive me... I just wasn't expecting that this would ever happen for me. And yes, I absolutely love what I see. You look just as sexy as your pictures..."

Encouraged by this, I moved closer until I was standing in front of him, my mind almost spinning at the fact that I was standing in front of my first meet, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and sheer suntan nylon.

"Would you like to feel them?" I asked, my mouth suddenly and unaccountably dry.

David didn't need asking twice. He reached out a hand, and for the first time ever, I felt the hand of another person brushing gently over one of my thighs. I felt almost light-headed. He did indeed smell of expensive aftershave, and his hand was warm and dry, his touch was light, a soft caress as he slowly ran his hand up and down my thigh from knee to hip. He seemed almost entranced as he dreamily fetishised my nylon-clad leg. His other hand soon joined in, and I stepped a little closer, allowing his hands to slide around my thighs before moving upward to gently cup and squeeze my ass.

"Why don't you sit down?" he asked, breaking a short but intense silence, illustrating his point my patting one of his own thighs.

"I'm not going to be too heavy for you?" I asked. To be honest, I was more than happy to sit on his lap, but I didn't want to make him uncomfortable, and ruin the moment.

He chuckled and shook his head. "I very much doubt it...I think you will be a great fit."

I turned, and slowly eased myself down onto his lap. He responded by slipping one arm around my waist, whilst the other resumed his slow caresses and squeezes. I leaned back against him, noting that I could definitely feel something stirring down there.

He leaned in close to me, and whispered into my ear.

"You feel so good. So warm and soft and sexy. This is everything I was hoping for..."

I smiled, and then bit my bottom lip as he followed up on the compliment with a light, nibbling kiss to the base of my neck, even as his hands roamed over my hips and thighs with a gradually increasing passion. I emitted a soft sigh, and let my body relax more, letting David explore and enjoy my body. One of his hands gradually worked its way up, sliding up under my t-shirt to stroke over my stomach and chest. Almost as an unspoken agreement, I turned my face towards his as he leaned in, and for the very first time, another man's mouth closed over mine, and his tongue slipped between my parted lips. We kissed slowly, as his hands ceaselessly wandered over my body.

After what seemed like an age, our lips parted, and David paused in his caresses.

"Shall we take this into the bedroom? I still have to give you your outfit," he whispered. I nodded, and slowly got up from my place on his lap. He followed, picking up the bag that he had placed by the side of the armchair.

"There is one other thing..." he murmured as he followed close behind me, as I led the way to my bedroom.

"What's that?" I asked, glancing back over my shoulder.

"I want to be the one who dresses you in it."

I smiled and nodded. I rather loved the idea of that. "No objections here," I replied with a coquettish wiggle of my hips.

As soon as we walked into the bedroom, he put his bag down on the bed, and beckoned me over. As I joined him by the bed, he reached out, taking hold of my t-shirt, and pulling it up and over my head. I raised my arms to assist, and my t-shirt was draped over the back of my computer chair. He reached into the bag, and took out a carrier bag whose design was unfamiliar, but which screamed expensive. He retrieved a couple of packages from the bag, and quickly opened one.

"Close your eyes, and put your arms up," he instructed me. I quickly complied, and felt something soft, clingy, and obviously lacy being pulled over my head and arms. It was a sleeveless, skin-tight top of some kind, and was cropped, leaving my stomach bare.

"Okay, you can put your arms down," David said, as I felt something being pulled around my waist and clipped shut behind me. It was a suspender belt, there was no doubt, and he put it on over the top of my suntan tights. I suppressed a little shiver, realizing that he was going to layer me up with more nylon sexiness.

"You can open your eyes now," David whispered, as I heard another package being opened. I opened my eyes and looked down. The top and suspender belt were part of a matching set. They were white, with sheer, stretchy panels that bore an intricate lace design. They looked and felt absolutely luxurious, and were obviously very expensive. Reflexively, I ran my hands over the soft material of the top, stroking myself. David eyed me as I did, smiling with evident pleasure at my enjoyment of the sexy white lingerie.