I just want to bury my face in a slip, burrow into a nightgown, slither around in a petticoat.
There’s nothing quite like the feel of a slip, sliding over the smooth surface of the panties on my butt. I just want to rub my hands on it all day, up and down, side to side, bunching it up a bit in my fingers, caressing the surfaces.
Sometimes, when I’m dressed in stockings, my legs rub together, and again that delicious slithering sensation of nylon on nylon makes me feel good all over. It’s a deep, satisfying feeling, from somewhere in my gut.
Or, to die for, the romance of two slips on at once. It’s better when they are on naked and free legs, because I can feel them slipping and sliding all around me. Often I’ll just ease into a chair or onto a bed to feel them stroke me as I do so. I just want to hug myself and squeeze them into my body. Or brush past, or lean on something to feel the unexpected glide on my skin.
But I also love the idea of wearing them over stockings.
And what about walking around in a long flowing nylon nightgown; that brush of the fabric on the back of my legs takes my breath away. Plus, if it has “crossover” or unusual straps on my shoulders and back, it’s another new, sweet awareness. And the feeling of naked shoulders is an interesting experience.
Funny enough, sleeping in the nightgown is a nothing; the weight of the sheet or covers negates the feeling on my legs. But waking up in the middle of the night is a wonderful surprise, especially if it flows out behind and settles softly on my legs again. Wow. No wonder I get out of bed and have to pleasure myself suddenly.
Now to panties. They are where this whole affair began, 52 years ago, and the feel of a panty hem can still give me goose-bumps. I love pink and soft colours, but frankly anything is fine. And the cut and fit of them seems to be endlessly inventive; I want to wear them all, and feel the smooth stretch of them on my skin, or sliding unseen (but not unfelt!) under my male pants.
My first love remains a slip, however. Sure garter belts and stockings come close, with their wicked look; once you’ve got one on you know you’ve got to come sometime soon, though you postpone it as long as you can. But slips are something else…
Probably because they were ingrained in my juvenile mind aged 5. I’d never felt anything so cool, so tactile, so happy, such contentment. I still feel the same way today.
Slips can be simple, or complicated, they can be full- or half-slips, but they are always wonderful, sliding on, sliding off and softly stirring against my legs as I walk. I just want to hug a bunch of colourful slips to my chest and face, close my eyes and dream…
But full flowing petticoats are another dimension altogether. They’re cheeky, have a mind of their own and are a constant source of stimulation for my legs. In fact, the backs of my legs are a major erogenous zone for me. I have a black chiffon petti and a white organza one, both at Robin’s, and they are both joys to wear. I love wearing them out, and am so sad that the pouf skirt has never come back…
sometimes a nylon slip underneath is a nice addition, but a petti really doesn’t need anything else…I feel so feminine and at the same time, so vulnerable, since the upskirt idea is always present; I want to bend over and show my pretty panties at every opportunity. And of course I feel that anyone can get at me, so I understand how vulnerable women feel.