About me - II

by Geraden

Of course I was extremely careful: no one knew, and I was convinced I was the only man in the world who was so perverted as to want to wear tights. In those days it was all about sexual release – a quick fix for raging male hormones; and believe me, mine were as rampant as any. But tights never were a fetish in the true sense of the word – they were never necessary for me to obtain the release. They did however make everything simpler and more satisfying, except for the awful guilt afterwards.

This was the 1960s, the era of miniskirts and tights, and there was plenty to see. Tights were 100% nylon, but in those days we did not know about lycra, so we did not know what we were missing. I was doing German 'A' Level with a mini-skirted tights-wearing girl, called Pru. She was tall, slim, long haired and good looking. I was of course head over heels in love with her, but she had a boyfriend, and she cared nothing for me. I did not tell her of my feelings for her, and she never knew.

I must tell you one thing about her boyfriend, though. His favourite greeting was, "The top of the tights to you!" Sometimes, if I was very lucky, the greeting would come true and I would catch a glimpse of Pru's tight tops. But she was a nice girl and not a tease, so it did not happen often. How hard it was to concentrate in those wonderful classes where we were the only two students! Nevertheless somehow we both managed to get grade A. How? It must have been because she inspired me, and I did all I could to help her! Funnily enough I am still in contact with her occasionally and she said she was touched when I told her (the last time we spoke) how I had adored her in those days. As I said, she never knew. And I thought girls could always tell these things.

The psychologists would probably say that tights were the symbol of the girl I wanted but could not have, and that I transferred my love to them. If you believe that you will believe anything! 

You can read here about the first time I bought a pair of tights. Sometimes, I was bold enough to buy tights from the Co-op in the town centre when it was busy, but I felt acutely embarrassed doing so. But I overcame this embarrassment because I loved the thought of tight, smooth, stretchy fabric next to my skin. But apart from the arousal that they gave me, tights gave me something else as well, which was in contrast with the anxiety and guilt that I felt: they hugged me and gave me a kind of comfort and feeling of well being. I was fascinated not only by tights, but also by leotards, unitards and the like. But there was no way I could have gone into a dancewear or exercise wear shop and buy myself a leotard, even if I could have afforded one.

Stockings were a different matter. They were what my mother wore, and I never really warmed to them. I liked the extra coverage that tights gave, and besides, they were so practical, with no silly suspenders and fussy clasps. Hold-ups were starting to come in then, but in those days, they didn’t. Hold up, that is. At least not on my hairy legs, for it was only many years later that I first shaved my legs.

I did occasionally go out with tights worn secretly under my jeans, but I was convinced that everyone around me had X-Ray eyes whenever I did so. In those days the tights that I had access to were usually too short for me, even if I wore Y fronts on top to hold them up, so all in all not particularly comfortable.

"Marriage", said GB Shaw, "combines the maximum of temptation with the maximum of opportunity". I more or less gave up wearing tights when I got married. My wife wore tights every day for work in those days, though she always said how much she hated them.

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