My First Time in Pantyhose

I was about eight years old when I had my first experience wearing pantyhose, but I had been fascinated with women’s hosiery for even longer. I was probably only about four or five when I started sneaking into my older sister’s room exploring the exotic contents of her dresser drawers. I remember being especially attracted to her socks, handling them, putting them up to my face and smelling them, and putting them on. I took a special liking to her kneesocks, which were big enough on me to come up to my thighs like tights, which I often fantasized about wearing. Even at this age I found the experience arousing.

By the time I was about eight, my sister was working as a nurse but was still single and living at home. She wore a white uniform with white pantyhose every day, and I took a special interest in the pantyhose. I remember one day in particular when she came home from work in her uniform. I was sitting on the floor in the living room watching TV while my mother sat on the sofa. My sister came in to the living room to talk with my mom and sat down on a chair very close to where I was sitting. Her legs were pretty much right in my face. I remember staring at her legs, knowing that my interest wasn’t quite right and therefore trying not to be too obvious. I was fascinated by the beautiful white nylon, clinging to her attractive legs. I remember being fascinated by the weave in the hose, studying the nylon strands and wanting like anything to touch her legs and feel what I knew had to be oh so smooth and soft. It got to where I couldn’t resist, so I ‘accidentally’ brushed my hand against her calf. The hose felt soft and smooth and springy, and I found that my one little brush just wasn’t enough, so I did it again. It was probably on about the third ‘accidental’ brush that she pulled away and yelled at me to cut it out. My mother laughed and told her that I seem to be fascinated by her pantyhose. No kidding! I did what she asked, however, embarrassed, and stopped. But my fascination with pantyhose would only become stronger.

By now I really wanted to see what it felt like to wear pantyhose. My interest was fueled seeing my sister in pantyhose every day and thinking about how lucky she was to get to wear them. To make matters worse for me, she used to wash her pantyhose by hand and hang them to dry in the bathroom. It was not unusual for me to see her pantyhose hanging on the towel bar, just tempting me to touch them, which I usually did. The pantyhose were always my sister’s, since my mother, a self-proclaimed pantyhose hater, only wore hose on the rarest of occasions – and then only stockings. It is interesting that to this day, stockings do absolutely nothing for me, but pantyhose drive my wild. Then, as now, I just love the sight of pantyhose hanging in the bathroom. Thinking about how they will stretch out into twice or three times their crinkled up size, clinging to and caressing the legs of the lucky girl who gets to slip them on almost makes me weak. It was this thought that came to mind one night many years ago. On that night I woke up for some reason after everyone else had gone to sleep, and my mind started to drift to the thought of my sister’s pantyhose hanging in the bathroom. I knew they were there, soft and white, all wrinkled and shrunken after having been washed. I kept thinking about them until my curiosity finally got the better of me. I got up and quietly walked to the bathroom, went in, closed the door and turned on the light. There, on the towel bar on the back of the door, was a pair of washed white pantyhose. I felt them to see if they were dry, which they were, and pulled them off and fondled them, enjoying the soft feel of the elastic nylon. I put them up to my face, my heart racing as I thought about how much I wanted to feel them stretched onto my legs, jealous of my lucky sister. As afraid as I was of the possibility that someone might come in and find me, I finally couldn’t resist. I locked the door, pulled off my pajama bottoms and held out the pantyhose in front of me. I had no idea how to put them on. My only past experience that came close to what I was about to do was putting on a pair of long johns. With no better ideas, I held out the pantyhose and stepped into one leg as if I was putting on a pair of pants. The pantyhose were big enough on me so that with some struggling, I was able to get that leg all the way on. I repeated the process with the other leg and finally pulled the panty up to my waist. And there I was. The struggle to get them on was over and I now found myself standing in the bathroom in the middle of the night wearing my sister’s pantyhose! I was excited beyond belief. Even though they were too big for me, sagging badly and not looking anything like they did on her, this first experience was just incredible for me. They felt as good or better than I had imagined they would. They were clingy, soft, sheer and smooth, and they were on me! I wished I could wear them forever, but my heart was beating madly for fear of being caught, so at the same time, I couldn’t wait to take them off. I stood there for a while, filled with excitement and fear in the forbidden yet irresistible pantyhose. I probably only had them on for a couple of minutes before I peeled them off and returned them to the towel bar. Putting my pajamas back on, I returned to my bed and relieved myself, excitedly rerunning the experience through my mind and anticipating my next adventure with my sister’s pantyhose, many more of which would come.

Thinking back, I wonder what her reaction was when my sister found her pantyhose the next morning. I can’t believe I didn’t ruin them after the way I put them on and tore them off that night, but I guess it’s also possible that she never had a clue that anyone but her had touched them. If she did, and if she ever suspected me as the culprit, she never said a thing. There were a few experiences to follow that lead me to think she may have had an idea that I liked pantyhose, but those stories are for later.