Mike's tights story - II

by Mike

I kept to the rules that I agreed with my mother (see previous blog entry) and only slipped up accidentally on very few occasions.

Like the time I went into the kitchen wearing tights and shorts to make a cup of tea and discovered my mother sitting there with her best friend gossiping. There was nothing I could do. I hadn’t heard her come in. Putting the kettle on and waiting for it to boil with my back to them was done in complete silence. Neither of the women spoke a word. I could feel their eyes burning a hole in the back of my legs. They were both looking at my tights – must have been stw, 15-20 denier which was my preference at that time.

I felt it was up to me to break the ice that had formed.  I asked if they wanted another cup of tea. They both said, ‘No,’ in unison but my mother added ‘You’ll have excuse my son, he’s taken to wearing tights’.  I picked up my mug, grinned as best I could and left the kitchen. Back in the safety of my room I could not help comparing my reaction now to the first time I got caught wearing by my mother. I was a year older (17) and – frankly, I didn’t give a damn. I laughed to myself about Lisa now knowing I wear tights – I just couldn’t care less, even if she was only the second person that ever saw me wearing.

I was at home for a few months waiting to go to university in September. Not something I really wanted to do at the time, but it was agreed that, even though university was a bus ride away, I could get my own bed-sitting room – providing I would pay the rent with a part time job. I couldn’t wait and had dreams of sitting on top of a bus in shorts and tights. (That actually never happened but, hey, I could dream!).

I found a room within walking distance from home, (OK for me, as it meant not missing my Mum’s cooking) and a part time job clearing tables from the one of the four cafeterias at London Zoo. The uniform was a white chefs jacket and white trousers with clog type shoes. My heels and ankles were on view to all to see. I was very nervous on the first day. I thought I could wear my jeans. My tights were clearly visible to all. It was bad enough being at work for the first day without given myself the extra pressure of wearing my favourite tights. Nobody said a word. Not that day or even the whole week. It was at my first meeting after the trial period that I was called into the office. The job was being made permanent – with time off to study – and did I want to work there for the season? ‘As long as you don’t mind me wearing tights’, I replied.  She lent over the desk as I lifted my white trousers to show a bit more than an ankle. She said she didn’t care what I wear as long as I did the job. Wow! Was I pleased!

In the meantime, I was firmly installed in the bedsit house. I wore tights and shorts all the time in that house – keeping myself to my room at first. That was a luxury!

The room next to me was taken by Allan, a retired ballet dancer. He was in his 30’s something – but his room was a tights heaven. He always wore ballet tights or body suits. He gave me several from his collection. I was in tights heaven at my new home and was wearing all day at work – what else could I ask for? As time went on – I became more confident about wearing and others from the house would call in and have a cup of tea – and I would visit their rooms in tights and shorts. It wasn’t really a big deal. The first time anyone saw me tights I would say ‘ Oh, I hope you don’t mind me wearing tights – only I always do, I like them.’ I cannot recall anyone making a negative comment – but I do remember the lady on the top floor avoiding me as much as possible. But she was a bit of a loner and nobody really liked her anyway.

University was different matter –all very manly – football, rugby and squash seemed to be the ‘thing’ that boys should do. I didn’t want to take part in any of that. But I did wear tights under jeans – sometimes. But felt awkward talking to anyone about it. Until one evening I was passing a room, which had a notice on the door – ‘Gay Liberation Meeting in Progress’.  I looked through the glass and saw several men wearing tights, high heels, skirts etc. I opened the door and ask if I could join in. ‘Come and sit here with me, Mike’ somebody called out. How did he know my name?

As I walked up the steps in the lecture room towards him I realised that this was a squash player who had tried to recruit me a few weeks earlier – I had no idea he was a) gay and b) a cross dresser. I thought to myself that he looked better in drag than he ever did as a guy! I can recall being thoroughly bored with what they were discussing but the squash player and I became friends. One day he visited me with a skirt and high heels to try on – as well a spare wig. I did.

But, really, as I told him, I am a tights guy only – the rest doesn’t interest me. I have worn a skirt or kilt (even a mini kilt) since then but it is not really me. I always felt most comfortable in just tights – and still do.

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