The Dressing Room

Three years had passed since my wife abandoned me. She didn't divorce me, just tossed me aside like a broken toy left rotting in the tall grass, or in my case the guest room. We passed in the hallway now and then, or talked about finances or parenting things. It was like living with a roommate.

The loss of sex didn't hit me too hard; after all, that was to be expected. What really hurt was that I was outside of her feminine bubble.

I missed seeing her makeup and hair products on the counter in the master bathroom, but even more than that I missed her lingerie.

I don't even mean sexy lingerie, necessarily, but even everyday panties and sports bras. I missed their textures and colors, the lacy trim and the little bows. I missed touching the soft material. Men's clothing is so utilitarian and coarse.

I just wanted to touch them.

I began visiting the lingerie stores at my shopping mall regularly. My mall had two: Victoria's Secret and Frederick's. Now and then I'd throw in Macy's lingerie department or Lane Bryant, anywhere that I could see and touch the frilly things that were now off limits. I'm a middle-aged man with a wedding ring, after all: The sales people just assumed that I was browsing for gifts for my devoted wife. The pretty young employees would offer a half-bored "finding everything okay" and I'd nod my head and they'd leave me alone to fondle the fabrics.

One Saturday while I was walking around Frederick's I heard the familiar "finding everything okay" and looked up to see a middle-aged woman. She was blond and a little thick, not at all like the usual Barbie doll salesladies, with short hair that was a few seasons out of style. I assumed that she was the manager.

"Doing fine, thanks," I said.

"Let me know if you need any help with sizes."

"Thanks," I said, and she moved on.

Fredericks had the best wedding lingerie: virgin white with lots of silk, laces, and bows. Many of the panties were crotchless; some bore long, ribbony bows on the backs like bridal trains. The fabric felt so good between my fingers. It was both sad and exciting, feeling the silkiness yet realizing that it wasn't for me anymore.

"What size is your wife?" The manager was behind me now, making another pass through the store.

"I don't know," I said.

"How tall is she?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know how tall your wife is?"

"I'm really just browsing," I said.

Tables of panties in every color of the rainbow: thongs, fullbacks, silk, satin, cotton, lace, cute patterns, sexy patterns. Racks of bras waiting for breasts that I would never get to see.The blood that hadn't rushed to my crotch reddened my face.

"Is she built about like me?" She was back again.

"I'm just looking around," I said.

The manager stared at me for a moment. "Are you shopping for yourself?" she asked. I'd never been so embarrassed. Of course not: I'm shopping for my wife. Don't you see the ring on my finger?

"Yes," I said. Where that came from I still don't know. I waited for her to call security.

"You have to tell me these things. I can't very well help you if I don't know let me know what you need," she said. The sensation was intense: embarrassment, humiliation, and excitement all at once. I'd stepped through some invisible barrier without even trying. I was in a world that I didn't even know existed.

"I'm going to go find a dressing room for you," she said. "Just keep browsing, and when I wave walk straight back."

"Okay," I said. My cock could not be any harder. I kept my hand in my pocket, gripping it through the material, hoping that my erection was concealed. My heart raced.

Three or four minutes passed and she smiled and waved from the back of the store. She rushed me into the handicapped dressing room, which was bigger than the two rooms across from it and had the added advantage of not sharing walls with any other dressing rooms.

"Now, what do you like?" she asked.

"I don't know," I whispered, praying that if anyone heard me they couldn't discern my gender.

"Corsets? Camis? Teddies?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, I'll go pick out some things. Wait right here," she said, and she left the big dressing room and locked it behind her. I sat on the little bench, staring at myself in the mirror. The whole thing was absurd. Nothing about my appearance was feminine, yet here I sat in a Frederick's dressing room, waiting to be dressed in lingerie. It would have been funny if it wasn't so embarrassing, and exciting.

She returned with a handful of soft things. "Try these. If you need different sizes just set the ones you like aside and I'll get you more. If you find styles you like, I'll pick out some more like that for you."

"Thank you," I said. I removed my clothes and looked at my hairy body in the full length mirror. My cock looked murderous jutting from my abdomen, red and swollen. It had no place in the delicate dressing room.

The first thing I slipped on was a teddy that was pinned together at the cups but otherwise opened freely. The empty cups sagged and my hairy tummy peeked through the opening. I looked ridiculous, but the fabric felt great.

Next was a purple corset. I don't know if it was because of movies like 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' or the lack of cups, but it felt more gender neutral. The satin felt amazing, though I expected a corset to be tighter. I looked in the mirror. Not bad. There was a knock on the door. I felt like a little boy caught searching for Christmas presents.

"Everything okay in there? I have more things," she said.

I walked to the door and whispered, "I'm not dressed right now."

"That's okay," she said. "Let me drop these off."

I opened the door, and there I stood in nothing but a purple corset. "Oh, that looks cute," she said. "Do you like it?" I nodded. She put her hands on my shoulders and faced me toward the mirror. "It seems a little loose. Hold on," she said, and she pulled hard on the corset's strings. It felt like I was being hugged. I missed being hugged.

"That looks better," the manager said. She looked over my shoulder and we both stared into the mirror as she cinched and tightened and adjusted. It was too much. A long thick, string of precum leaked from my cock and dropped to the carpet. If she noticed she didn't say anything.

"These are where the stockings hook," she said, and she reached for the garters that dangled against my thighs. The back of her hand brushed against my cock. "Yeah, this looks really nice. Do you want to try some more things?"

"Yes," I whispered.

The next thing I tried was a camisole top with matching sheer panties. I liked the top because it looked like a tank top, sort of, except for the lace and the bow and the spaghetti straps. The matching panties felt amazing, and I loved how my cock bulged against the sheer fabric. I didn't try anything else on, just sat and waited for the manager to come back.

Knock knock knock. "Doing okay in there?" I opened the door and she walked in. I returned to the mirror and looked at myself like I'd just put the outfit on. "That is darling. You should get that," she said. "Oh, are those panties torn?" I looked down. What she thought was a tear was a quickly spreading precum stain.

"I am so sorry," I blushed.

"It's fine. That should come right out," she said, and she rubbed the front of my panties as if she was trying to remove the stain. I froze, tried not to make a sound, tried not to cum, but it was hopeless. I fired shot after shot into the sheer panties while she rubbed. She never broke character. "Go ahead and try these other things on. I'll be back to check you."

"Thank you so much," I whispered.

"You just need to tell me what you need so that I can help you get it," she smiled.

I bought every single thing she brought me in that hour and a half, and I went back again and again. Being outside of my estranged wife's bubble wasn't so bad after that.