Of Stockings, Blondes, And Rules

I once dated a man, Mark, who told me this story about his parents…

His dad, as a young man, had ‘snaked away’ a girlfriend from a buddy. (This buddy would eventually father a son who would become one of Mark’s best friends.) One of the dad’s rules in dating was that this woman always wear stockings — or at least never wear pantyhose. Mark’s dad eventually married this girl and she became Mark’s mom and one of the agreements for their union was this rule about stockings.

The weird part was I was told this story in front of Mark’s friend, who could have maybe had Marks’ mom as his mom. That guy was as weirded out as I was. What sort of woman dates a guy (let alone marries him) with such rules? I hope she was as much in love with stockings as this lady or it would suck, wouldn’t it?

No woman wants to be dictated to in such a way. It may be fun to please a partner with such delights of his fancy. It may be nice to role-play submissiveness from time to time. But to make fashion such an edict of a relationship is rather nuts. How would a man feel if he were to have such restrictions? Say to wear a suit and tie everyday? Humans in general balk at such rules. We love our personal freedoms. Clothing is self-expression and no one, not even a vintage lingerie lover like myself wants to feel like I ‘have to’ wear it — then it’s a uniform. (Yuck.)

I once dated a man named Peter when I was a platinum blonde. One day he told me that one of the reasons he dated me was that he loved my hair. That’s a compliment, so I smiled. But when he went on to tell me that not being blonde was a deal-breaker I turned that smile upside down.

“What if I changed colors?” I asked.

“Well, if it was still a blonde shade, it’s be OK.”

“If not?”

“Well, it would be over.”

“You’re kidding,” I gasped.


“So if we were married for 10 years, had 2 kids, the house and were very happy, but I changed to a redhead… You’d divorce me?”


I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. (I still think it’s stupid, but I’ve since heard dumber things.) Would this mean I could divorce Peter once his hair thinned? He also loved my breasts — what if I had lost one to breast cancer? Would I lose a husband too?

Perhaps it’s needless to say, but when Peter did ask me to marry him I said, “No, I may want to change my hair color at any time.”

We dated a few more times, because he thought he could change my mind (and perhaps I thought I could change his). About a month after we ended things we were both at a wedding of a mutual friend. I was then a very light auburn. *wink*

But you know what? He still tried to crawl through the circle of admirers I had and ask me out. I giggled and twirled my hair round my finger and said, “Sorry, I no longer qualify.”

“Oh, sure, that’s a strawberry blonde,” he smiled.

“No, sorry, that’s not what the box says,” I said as I sailed on past him to the bar.

He stared all night long and called me twice afterwards. But I had no interest in having my hair color controlled — what would be next?

My point, if I must have one, is that it’s fine to have preferences, desires and fetishes. But once you impose them on others, it’s no longer much fun.

I imagine every woman and cross dresser here agrees with me.

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