First Sheer Nylon Fun

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Athletic

This is a story based on my fetish for sheer nylon and harem/genie costumes, combined with a great deal of wishful thinking.

*

I was eighteen and it was the late sixties in the London suburbs. I was aching to see a woman dressed in a harem/genie costume with sheer legs and sleeves, but I had no idea how to achieve this and nobody I knew ever held costume parties (we don’t have that Halloween tradition in the UK). However, from the pictures and movies/TV shows in which I’d seen these costumes, I somehow knew that the sheer fabric from which they were made would be exciting to touch. The only thing I could think of to satisfy my curiosity for the time being was buying one of the very sheer scarves that were very popular at the time and perhaps some nylons.

How on earth I was going to summon up the courage to buy these very feminine items was beyond me. In those days, for a man to show a hint of liking feminine garments was unthinkable and sure to bring derision.

But I’d made up my mind and in my free afternoon from college I visited the department store in the same town. I certainly didn’t have the nerve to visit a women’s clothing shop where I would stick out like a sore thumb, so the anonymity of the large store suited me. It still wasn’t that easy, however, as most of the counters selling women’s accessories were staffed by sales assistants who would pounce on you as soon as you showed any interest in their merchandise.

I tried the counter selling handbags and scarves first and as luck would have it the one assistant was busy with another customer around the other side of the square island. As was the fashion in those days, the scarves were laid out in rows in old-fashioned display boxes that sat on the top of the counter. The sheer scarves were split into two collections: silk and nylon.

Now, at that moment I didn’t know the difference the two types of fabric, so the only way to find out which one I would prefer would be to handle them, but I had to be quick as the shop assistant would never have let me touch them (they had all been trained to show them off in a particular way). I tried the silk scarves first and although they were soft and cool, I didn’t like the slightly crinkly texture. Then I reached for one of the nylon scarves. As my fingers closed around it, I knew immediately. The soft, smooth texture sent a thrilling tingle all the way down to my groin. I was just wondering how I could further examine this wonderful fabric without drawing attention to myself, when the assistant demanded, “Can I help you sir?”

“Er, yes,” I stammered, “I’d like one of these scarves, please. The red one.”

“That scarf,” she said, pointing to the one I’d been holding, is a long one, more like a stole and these up here are square headscarfs.”

I looked at her blankly. I didn’t really care, all I wanted to do was get it home and fondle it.

“Look, I’ll show you,” she said, picking up the red one. With a deft flick she unfolded the scarf in one movement and ran the loose end over her hand, As she did it drifted on the air and shimmered attractively.

I was hooked. “That’s lovely,” I said, “I’ll take it.”

As the assistant gently folded the scarf up again and slid it into a paper bag, a female voice to my left said, “They’re like gossamer, aren’t they?”

I looked across and found my gaze met by the most beautiful green eyes just a few inches below mine and the warm smile added to the already pretty face which was framed by softly-curled black hair that came just below her ears. She must have been about thirty years old.

“Yes, er, thank you,” I replied, returning her smile.

I could feel my face turning bright red as I hurried away. I now didn’t know if I had the strength to finish my shopping trip. I needed to calm down, so I made my way up to the menswear department and wandered around there for a few minutes.

After a while I returned to the ground floor and strode directly over to the hosiery counter. There would be no opportunity to feel the nylons before buying them as they were all done up in cellophane packets. I could only guess at the texture, but I would try my best. Again, I didn’t know the first thing about them.

“I would like to buy a pair of nylons, please,” I asked the assistant.

“Certainly, sir. Well, these are very popular these days, if the lady in question still wears a suspender belt or garters. They’re run-resistant, the latest development in stocking technology.”

I looked closely at the packet she had handed me and was surprised at their lack of sheerness.

“You’re not trying to sell him some of those ghastly micromesh nylons, are you?” came a now-familiar voice from behind me. “They’re like wearing sandpaper.”

The assistant shot a look of pure hatred at my new friend, who came up beside me and flashed me the smile again.

“He’s after a pair of seamless flat-knit nylons. You do still sell them, don’t you?”

“Yes, madam,” the assistant said stiffly.

My friend touched my arm lightly. “I hope you Antep Bayan Escort don’t mind me helping you.”

“Of course not. I don’t really know what to get, I just wanted something special.”

“Let’s see what we can find,” she said, winking her eye at me.

“What are the finest quality you have, please?”

“These, madam, but they’re three times the price of the micromesh.”

My friend took the packet and examined the nylons carefully, turning the packet over in her hands.

Then she turned to me and almost whispering, said, “These are bloody gorgeous, you won’t be disappointed. Can you afford them?”

I nodded.

“I think my friend will take these, please. They are the right size aren’t they she said, winking at me again.

“What? Yes. Of course.” I was being dragged along by this lovely, clever woman who seemed to be able to read my mind.

As we got further away from the counter, she said to me, “You wait ’till you run your hands over those beauties.”

“But they’re not for me,” I protested.

She stopped and turned me towards her. “Look, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know the courage it took for you to buy those things today, especially as they’re not a present for anybody.”

I was astonished. “How do you know?” I was turning a deeper red than before.

“Well,” she said, with a grin on her face, “if you do me a favour, I’ll tell you later. Deal?”

“Certainly,” I said, smiling back.

I didn’t care what the favour was, I was overwhelmed with relief. That this woman knew that the things I’d bought were for me to enjoy at home and the fact that she seemed happy to discuss it with me was more than I could have hoped for.

“Right,” she said, “I need a new vacuum cleaner, but I won’t be able to carry it to my car. You look like a strong lad.”

“I bet you say that to all the young men.”

She laughed.

By the time we reached the car park, I’d had to change the box from one arm to the other several times.

“I expect you’re a student here at the college, is that right?” she said, handing me back my battered briefcase.

“Yes.”

“Have you got any lectures this afternoon?”

“Not on Wednesdays.”

“Perfect. Do you fancy a cup of tea and a nice little chat back at my place? I can give you a lift back home afterwards.”

“That sounds great!”

“By the way, my name is Clare.”

“Peter,” I replied. “Very pleased to meet you.”

Her house was a large Victorian terraced villa. We went through to the kitchen, which was bigger than my whole flat and she motioned me to take a seat while she switched on the kettle.

“I noticed you’re wearing a wedding ring,” I said. “Is your husband at work?”

“Yes, but in France for another three weeks. He’s in the film industry. I hope you’re not getting any ideas?”

“Oh no!” I protested. “It’s just I wouldn’t want him to come home and find a strange young man in his kitchen talking to his wife.”

“Fair point.”

“You were right, of course,” I said. “The scarf and the stockings are for me. How did you know?”

“An educated guess, I suppose. I saw the way you fondled the scarf without making it too obvious until the assistant nearly caught you. I decided there and then to try and talk to you, to put your mind at ease, but you hurried off. I decided to follow you at a discrete distance to await an opportunity, but nearly gave up when you went up to the next floor. Then, when you went to hosiery counter, I moved in to make sure they didn’t sell you any crap. Some of those older female assistants don’t like selling intimate feminine garments to male customers and try to fob them off as quickly as possible.”

“Do you like these things as well?” I ventured. “Things made from transparent nylon.”

“Don’t be shy,” Clare said kindly. “You mean do I find them exciting to touch?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I do have a fetish for sheer nylon. That’s why I helped you.”

“Thank you so much. Until today, I’ve never had the opportunity to get near any sheer nylon, let alone touch some. I’ve always got excited when I’ve seen women dressed in sheer clothing in magazines, on the TV or in films, so I’ve been longing to try the feel of the fabric against my skin for ages and I finally plucked up the courage to buy some.”

“So you knew just by seeing the fabric? Can you remember how it started?”

“I think I was about six years old. I was playing in a friend’s garden with my brother. They had this very large garden shed, used as a temporary store room, which was always unlocked whenever we visited and I wandered in there on my own, looking for inspiration.

I spotted a corner of a scarf sticking out from underneath pile of stuff and immediately thought of using it to tie around my face in the style of the cowboy films of the day. I pulled it out carefully and folded the square scarf corner to corner and placed it over my lower face ready to fix it at the back of my head, but as soon as the fabric touched my skin, this wave of unexpected pleasure ran through my body. I was intoxicated by the delicious feeling of the silky fabric against my skin and the hint of perfume still left on the fibres.

I stood there breathing in and out through the scarf, overwhelmed by this heavenly experience. The next thing I knew, one of the others came looking for me and I had to abandon the scarf.”

“That sounds lovely,” Clare said. “Sorry, carry on.”

“The next incident that indicated I had unusual tastes was about three or four years later. Do you remember the old Fry’s Turkish Delight TV adverts?”

“I certainly do. Whole rooms full of chiffon-clad harem dancers!”

“Well, the first time I saw one of these adverts on TV, my heart was beating so fast it was ready to burst out of my chest. I even had an erection, which I was trying to hide from my mum. I became particularly excited if the dancer’s costumes had billowing chiffon sleeves and pantaloons. Here’s the sort of thing I mean.”

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a black and white photograph from one of the internal pockets and handed it to her. It showed a harem girl running across a film set with the gossammer-sheer sleeves and legs of her outfit billowing out and fluttering against her limbs.

“Did you photograph this from the TV?”

“Yes, it’s from an episode of The Avengers, called ‘Honey For The Prince’.”

Clare studied it carefully and then focussed her attention on me again.

“What I can’t explain,” I continued, “is that even though I found the sight of the dancers dressed in this way exciting beyond description, I also knew for certain that I would be just as excited if I wore one of the outfits myself or was able to fondle the chiffon.”

“I would guess you haven’t had any success with that.”

“None whatsoever.”

“You poor man. It must make it worse seeing lovely outfits like this on TV, knowing that they’re inaccessible,” Clare said, waving the photo. “I bet you’d love to wear this one.” “More than anything.”

“I wouldn’t mind either. I’m certain the sheer fabric is nylon chiffon. Look, let me give it some thought — there must be a way we can get you inside a costume like this.”

“Thanks, but how do I manage it? I can’t just wander in to a fancy dress shop and ask for a lady’s harem costume. I’m too tall.”

“There are plenty of very tall female dancers and I’m sure one of the big theatrical costumiers in London will be able to fix you up.”

“Anyway, let’s have a look at what you’ve bought.” Clare held out her hand.

I rummaged in my briefcase, took out both bags and handed them to her.

She chose the scarf first, running it through and over her fingers. “Mmmmm, nice.” Then she began to caress her face with the scarf and drew in her breath appreciatively. “What a luscious piece of chiffon, I bet it’s made in Italy.” She nodded as she read the label, then handed it to me.

I stroked and fondled the scarf to appreciate its beautiful texture, then I held it across my face and breathed through the silky fabric. By this time I had a seriously hard erection.

All this time Clare had been smiling at me. “I don’t need to ask if you’re enjoying that. Would you like to wear that around your face for a little longer? I could make it fit you just like a harem girl’s veil.”

“Oh, yes please,” I breathed.

“Back in a sec’, then.”

When she returned, she stood behind me and spent a couple of minutes fixing the scarf in place somewhere around the crown of my head.

“Is that comfortable?”

“Very and it feels great.”

“Have a look in the mirror.”

I was astounded. Clare had arranged the fabric so that it lay in soft folds across my face from just above the tip of my nose round under my chin, stopping at my throat. It meant that every time I moved my mouth and chin to speak, it felt as if every part of my lower face was being caressed by the silky smooth chiffon.

“I don’t know what to say. It feels so lovely, I wish I could keep it on forever.”

“Well, there’s no hurry to take it off,” she said with a sly grin. “Now let’s have a look at these luxury nylons.”

Clare carefully opened the cellophane envelope and pulled them gently out. They were wrapped around a small piece of cardboard and she slowly unwound them until they were completely free of all packaging. Even from a few feet away I could see how shiny and smooth the delicate nylon was. She separated the pair and held one out to me. “Now be very gentle with these, they can so easily be ruined.”

I took hold of the stocking by the dark band at the top and sat down again. The way the fabric drifted in the air was enchanting and the feeling of it on my fingers was delicious.

Clare took her stocking and held it gently over her nose and mouth like I had done with the scarf. “These are heavenly,” she said and as she spoke the gossamer nylon drifted against and away from her mouth with every breath and syllable.

“My God!” I exclaimed. “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“How about this?” Clare said as she slowly began to breathe in and out.

“Please don’t wake me up, I think I must be dreaming,” I sighed.

“Right,” she said, “roll your sleeves up as far as they will go.”

By the time I had finished the second arm, Clare had already gathered up the nylon she was holding as far as its ankle.

“Hold out your left arm and make as small a fist as possible,” she ordered.

Before I knew it, she had unrolled the nylon all the way up my arm and deftly tucked the dark band into the top of my shirt sleeve. The feeling of the gossamer fabric as it brushed against my skin was indescribable. Once she had covered the other arm, I carefully opened up my fists.

“Perfect,” she said.

I put my right hand on my left arm and vice versa and slowly caressed each arm through the nylon. I couldn’t believe the silky smoothness of the fabric. “I had no idea garments as fabulous as this existed,” I said.

“Just a little bit special, aren’t they?”

“If only they could make a whole suit out of this nylon.”

“Ah, every nylon-lover’s dream. Try walking around a bit with the nylons on your arms.”

I walked to the other side of the kitchen and as I did, the loose-fitting nylons fluttered against my arms delightfully, accompanied by a cool sensation.

“Glad you bought them, then?”

“Not half!”

“Take a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.”

I took the opportunity to fondle the nylons covering my arms again, but Clare was back in no time.

“Close your eyes,” she said. “I’ve got a real treat for you.”

I then felt the gentle pressure of something soft against the veil covering my mouth.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Clare giggled. “You’ll love this.”

Then I felt this exsquisite soft cool sliding sensation across my lower face, slowly moving back and forth.

“That’s heavenly,” I sighed. “What are you using to caress my face?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Clare answered. “Have a look.”

I opened my eyes and saw she was holding a nylon, one of her own, between both hands out in front of my face.

“That’s the most exciting sensation I’ve ever felt in my life. Can you do it some more, please?”

Then as Clare started stroking the nylon across the veil again I realised just how excited I had been getting and I could feel a lovely warm tingling glow building up in my groin.

“I’m going to come,” I moaned.

“What was that?” Clare whispered in my left ear, barely suppressing a giggle.

“I’m g-g-going to come!”

“I should hope so,” Clare laughed. “In fact I absolutely insist you make a hot sticky mess in your underpants right now”

With that I let out something halfway between a moan and a shout as a volcanic wave of ecstasy swept over me and my cock jerked in a glorious mighty spasm.

I don’t know how long my orgasm lasted, but I know Clare kept up the delicious stroking across my face until I slumped down into the chair.

Clare moved around in front of me and cupped my veil-covered face in her hands.

“I think we can call that a success,” she said, “and I didn’t even have to touch you.”

“That has to be the orgasm of a lifetime,” I sighed. “Thank you, Clare, thank you.”

“OK, you can clean yourself up in the bathroom. I’ll lend you a pair of my husband’s underpants.”

After I’d finished, Clare made me another cup of tea. “So you liked what I did with the veil?” she said.

“Yes, it was really erotic, the feeling of it and the way it looked.”

“Well, I can alter it so that all you have to do is pull it on over your head and it will stay in place. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please!”

“It will take a few days. Can you come back next Wednesday afternoon to collect it?”

“Certainly.”

“By then I should have a few ideas for how you can get hold of a really nice costume for a few days.”

“That’s very kind of you. Perhaps I could even buy a costume.”

“Perhaps, but they’re quite expensive. The best ones are made for film and theatre use by top seamstresses.”

“Pity. Oh well, see you next Wednesday afternoon, then,” I said, getting up to leave. “By the way, what if you have a visitor, or your husband has returned early from his trip?”

“Ring me on this number before you start out,” Clare said, handing me a card. “See you next week.”

Needless to say, the next week went by full of anticipation. I wasn’t expecting for anything more than to collect my scarf and enjoy a cup of tea.

Next Wednesday morning was a blur. When I looked at my lecture notes at the end of the morning, I couldn’t even remember making them.

Before I knew it, I was out of the college grounds and making my way to the nearest public telephone.

“Hello, is that Clare?”

“Yes. Hello Peter. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” I lied.

Her voice sounded even kinder than before.

“I’m sure you won’t refuse a cup of tea. How long will it take you to get here?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

See you about quarter past, then. Bye!”

“Come in, Peter, I’ll put the kettle on. The yashmak is all ready for you.”

“Yashmak?”

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