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Nylon Nights

Nylon Nights

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It all started in college when my football coach made some teammates and me participate in a ballet workshop to improve our coordination and balance.

Most of the guys balked, and eventually they dropped out or traded dance for other kinds of workout sessions.

For me, though, besides the fact that ballet meant spending an hour surrounded by mostly hot girls, it also meant that I got to be around girls who wore tights during that hour — so you bet I stayed.

During class, I loved to watch their legs, crotches, and bottoms move around in tights and leotards, knowing how firm the nylon held and the intimate places it roamed. Just by watching all those supple bodies move in tights, I felt like I was going “there,” too. Dance class proved to be a thrill unlike anything I had experienced before — I always jerked off like crazy afterward.

Through this, I came to realize that I longed to try wearing tights beyond what I did in the studio — but I really didn’t identify as gay or even bi, so the thought of buying my own pair of women’s stockings at the store felt taboo. However, given my enthusiasm for dance class, it was only a matter of time before the instructor asked me to be one of the “background toy soldiers” in the campus production of the Nutcracker ballet that year. That was when I finally felt “permission” to put on my first real pair of tights — and I’ve never been without a pair since.

For my Nutcracker costume back then, I wore white opaque tights with a black leotard, fake boot shafts over my ballet shoes, and a bright red soldier’s jacket and hat. And just like the lady dancers, I didn’t wear any other underwear — just my tights and leotard. What a rush: The nylon enveloped my cock and balls into a perfect bulge that wiggled enticingly when I “marched” or jumped. My dance attire looked and felt better than wearing a jock strap with those neoprene pants for football — the ladies sure seemed to think so!

During junior year I suffered a shoulder injury that took me out of football. Dance and physical therapy were integral to regaining my range of motion, so from then on I focused on my business classes, with ballet studio as my “elective” and sweet escape. Since I had no expectations of becoming a professional male dancer, it was an added treat to be cast for whatever random male ballet roles they needed me for — any reason to get a new pair of tights!

Sadly, my time at the campus ballet barre ended once I graduated and moved for work. However, even if I no longer suited up in my tights for “official purposes,” by then I’d grown more confident — and also more desirous of a true outlet for my love of nylons.

As luck would have it, one of my old dance friends had a friend named Petra who moved to my city to start up her own dance studio. Would I be able to meet Petra for coffee and maybe help show her around the neighborhood? Of course!

I wasn’t expecting anything at all when I agreed to meet up — other than maybe a chance to reminisce about my college dancing days. Instead, Petra’s arrival in my life was a grand jeté to my heart.

I was waiting at a little sidewalk café when I saw this brunette with a graceful figure walking toward me. She wore opaque black tights with knee-high suede boots and a sleeveless tunic. She wore her hair long and wavy with dangly earrings — a true West Coast bohemian who was somehow trying to make it work here in the more conservative mid-Atlantic marsh.

“Steve?” Petra smiled and extended her hand.

“Yes — wow,” I blurted out. “Welcome — you look great.”

She laughed and tousled her luxurious mane of hair. “I see Cindy was right when she told me about you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Petra sat down and crossed her lovely legs in front of me. “Cindy told me that you are the guy who keeps in touch with his barre and musical friends more than his football pals, and that you’re very cute, somehow straight, and — ,” she paused, “unattached?”

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