My Top 5 Lingerie Stories #1

In Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity,” the main character, Rob (played by John Cusack in the movie), observes that women often “save their best pairs [of panties] for the nights when they know they are going to sleep with somebody.” Eventually, Rob says, they fall back to their regular underwear – a sign of how a relationship can get boring. Of course, that’s never been a problem for me. The regular panties, bras and slips are always exciting.

One of the funny things in “High Fidelity” is that Cusack’s character is obsessed with top five and top 10 lists. In that vein, here’s the first of my top five lingerie stories for your website:

* * * * *

For several years, I shared my apartment with a variety of women, almost all of them college students. I live near an Ivy League university and sharing a place with a man was no problem for them. Most of the time, I resisted the temptation to play with their underwear. Not that I hadn’t taken a peek a few times. I had fingered the simple white cotton underpants that Gale, an Asian woman who was the first of my roommates, wore. I had even masturbated while clenching the silky panties that another roommate, Claire, often left out by her bed. But I had tried hard to resist wearing their lingerie; most of the time, I succeeded.

I also succeeded in hiding my strong interest in their underwear, until Sarah came along. Sarah was beautiful and I often wondered what it would be like to masturbate into her silky white panties. She often walked through the apartment wearing only a nightshirt and panties. Upset that her boyfriend had dumped her, she needed comforting. We were friends, often talking late into the night; once or twice I embraced her to make her feel better.

We were close enough that she would often walk into my bedroom when I wasn’t around, leaving my mail on my bed. This proved to be my downfall. By this time, I had acquired several pairs of panties, a favorite slip and even a bra or two, collected as gifts from girlfriends and found abandoned in the laundry room or the apartment. Addicted to them as I was, I would often wear panties throughout the night, waking up aroused by the elastic around my waist and the cloth against my cock. In the morning, as I rushed to work, I would throw them back into my dresser – except one morning.

There was no doubt what had happened when I entered my bedroom that evening. Panties were strewn across the bed, just as I had left them. But so was my mail, obviously dropped in shock. There was nothing I could do; I just hoped that Sarah would ignore her find. But no luck. While she never brought the discovery up with me – nor did I with her – her attitude towards me changed as soon as she returned home that evening. She was distant and acted as if I had offended her. Worse, she knew several work colleagues of mine and, based on comments a few of them made to me, clearly discussed my panty obsession with them.

A few weeks later, Sarah graduated and moved out. It had been an embarrassing episode. As soon as she carried her last box away, I locked the door, relieved. I swept out her room and, dustpan ready, pulled over her wastepaper basket. On top, wrapped in clear plastic almost like a gift, was what was clearly several pieces of lingerie. I ripped open the package to find two silky white bras, a couple of pairs of panties and six pairs of pantyhose and other legwear. This was an unbelievable turn of events.

I hardened instantly and I rushed to my own room. As I write – seven years later – I am wearing the slight Warner’s bra and white panties she left. I have worn them hundreds of times since that day, and I have come wearing them over and over again.

I wished Sarah and I had remained friends and I certainly wish she had not found out about my obsession. I doubt Sarah left them for me purposely, but the pleasure Sarah’s lingerie has given me over the years has more than made up for those uncomfortable weeks.