Be advised: This story involves cross dressing and sex between adult men.
Words with Mark By Tina Z.
I raised my fist to the door, but hesitated. My heart pounded. Was I really going through with this?
It started only a few days ago. I sat in front of my computer -- alone again -- feeling sexy and pretty in a pink half slip and white satin panties, rubbing myself and watching Youtube clips of guys kissing. And like always, wishing I had the guts to do something -- anything -- with another guy in real life.
Like many times before, I Googled for gay massage therapists in Santa Fe and hit Mark's page. He said all the right things without saying them at all: discrete, totally enjoyable, full-body massage.
How I wanted him to be able to see me through that computer, sitting in my sexy little slip and panties and dreaming of his hands touching me.
Damn it. This time I was going to do it. I needed to do it.
I took a breath and clicked his "contact me" button. A form popped open. Three empty fields: "Your name," "Your contact info" and "When would you like to come in?"
My heart beat faster as I typed "Santa Fe Panties" as my name. (Just looking at the word "panties" still turns me on.) I typed my secret e-mail address as my contact information. Only one field to go.
My fingers trembled as I typed: "As you can see by my "name," I have a fondness for women's things. Can I slip into something more comfortable for a massage? If you're OK with that, how about Friday at noon?"
I sat and stared at my message. God, was I actually going to do this? Finally do this? My arrow hovered over the "send" button. I swallowed hard.
Click.
Mark's e-mail arrived only an hour later. "Sure," it read, "wear whatever makes your comfortable. I'll see you here at 12 bells Friday." He signed off with his address and a note about his rate - $100 for an hour massage.
So here I was at his apartment door, trying to catch my breath. Finally, I knocked. A part of me hoped he wouldn't answer, that I could go home and forget this whole thing.
The other part of me wanted this more than anything.
The door opened and there he stood, wearing gray cotton shorts and a plain white T-shirt. He had an Adam Sandler sort of look about him and his blond-tipped hair was shorter than in his website photos.
"Hi. I'm Mark," he said, smiling, holding out his hand. "I don't think I got your name."
"Tom," I said in nearly a whisper.
"Well, come in," he said. "Would you like a glass of water?"
I shook my head no. I wasn't trying to be silent, but my head was trying to take this all in. After years of fantasies about meeting someone, dressing for him and pleasing him, it's finally happening. My gut was a mix of anxiety, excitement and fear.
I followed Mark across his living room to a small room to the left. Inside, the dim light of candles danced on the walls, soft music filled the air and a massage table draped with pristine white sheets waited in the middle.
"Why don't you get comfortable and I'll be in in a few minutes," Mark said.
After he shut the door, I stood motionless for a minute. It was as though I couldn't get my hands to move. Actually, I suddenly felt like bolting. This isn't what I want.
Yes. Yes it is, I pleaded with myself. C'mon, Tom. Unbutton that shirt. It's now or never.
I closed my eyes and undid the buttons of my shirt. As I did, my fingers brushed against the silk I wore beneath. As I took off my shirt, I grinned for the first time.
I kicked off my shoes, unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my slacks and let them fall. A quick one-two with my socks, and there I was.
Then it hit me.
I was standing in a guy's apartment wearing a white silk full slip with little spaghetti straps and beautiful lace along the cups and at the hem. On my legs -- thigh-high stockings in midnight black. Under my luxurious slip, pink bikini panties with cute ruffles along the hip and a sexy little bow right in the center.
Oh my God.
I nearly panicked again, but at that instant, the door opened a crack.
"Ready for me?" Mark asked.
This time, it was a whisper. "Yeah," I answered, the word getting stuck in my throat.
He stepped in, found me standing there in the dim light, and stopped in his tracks.
"Whoa," he said.
Shit. He hates this. I'm a fool. Why am I doing this?
My courage was gone. It was time for flight. I bent over and grabbed my pants.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," I managed to say. "I'll get out of here."
"Hold on, hold on," Mark said, holding up a hand. "I didn't mean anything by that, really. You just caught me off guard. I was expecting you might be in a little something. I mean ... you're more dressed up than I thought."
Now it was his turn to lose the words.
"Listen," he said. "I'm totally fine with what you have on, OK? How about you stay?"
I looked at him. He was being genuine. I dropped my slacks back to the ground. Well, I thought, maybe I can at least get a relaxing massage out of this -- if nothing else.
"OK," I said. "I'm just really nervous. I've never done anything like this before."
"That's all right, man. Really, there's nothing here that can hurt you. I want you to feel totally at ease," Mark said.. With each word, I felt more relaxed.
"You wanna just talk for a bit?" he asked.
I nodded and -- finally -- smiled.
"How long have you been, you know, interested in this?" Mark asked, motioning to my body.
"As long as I can remember," I said. "Probably 13 or 14 years old."
"Long time," he said. "You must really enjoy it."
I smiled sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. A lot."
"I don't know much about Victoria's Secret stuff," he said. "What are you wearing? I mean, what's it called?"
"Oh, this old thing?" I said, running the back on my hand over my slip. In reality, the pure silk slip is the most expensive and luxurious piece of lingerie I own. "It's called a full slip, even though the hem stops right here." My hand stopped at the lacey hem at my thighs.
As I said the words, a tinge of excitement ran through me. My cock stirred in my panties. I was liking this, and Mark could tell.
"It's very sexy. Does it make you feel sexy?" he asked.
Suddenly, I was losing my words again. I only nodded.
"C'mon, now. I want you to say it makes you feel sexy," he said.
I dropped my eyes to the floor. I couldn't believe I was about to say this. "Wearing my slip makes me feel sexy."
I looked up. Mark smiled.
"Good. Now, what about your pantyhose? Tell me about them," he said.
"Well, they're not pantyhose," I said. "These are thigh-high stockings."
I delicately held my slip near my hips and lifted about an inch, revealing the tops of my stockings.
"See? The lace holds them in place." I watched as his gaze traveled down.
"Mmm, nice," he said, returning to meet my eyes. "I suppose there's a line running up the back?"
I smiled. Then I turned, and -- I couldn't believe I was doing this -- slowly bent forward, feeling my slip ride up on my pantied bottom, giving Mark a full look at the lines running up my stockings.
"Of course," I said.
I straightened and turned back toward Mark. Now it was my turn to look at him. I noticed a considerable bulge growing in his gray shorts.
My cock, too, was now straining in my pink panties. My breathing was shallow.
"Tell me about your panties," he said. I noticed his breathing was faster now, too.
"They're satiny pink," I said, this time lifting my slip higher. "They have a cute little bow in front."
By this time, they had a nice little wet spot, too.
"Pretty," Mark said. He began rubbing his cock trough his shorts. "Do you like wearing panties?"
"Oh, yes," I said, practically panting.
"Tell me you do," he said. "Tell me you like wearing panties."
I began rubbing myself, just as Mark was.
"I love wearing sexy pink panties," I whispered to him.
Mark took a step toward me. "How do they make you feel?"
"Sexy," I said. I had to stop touching myself. I'd never been this horny and I didn't want to come, yet.
"No," said Mark. "Tell me. Say it all."
I inched toward him. By now we stood only a few feet apart.
"I love wearing my little panties," I cooed. "They make me feel so sexy."
God, I might come without touching myself.
"Ooh, yeah," Mark said. Now he stopped rubbing himself. He leaned on the massage table. Could he be as turned on as I am?
"Do you touch yourself when you wear panties?"
I didn't hesitate. I described everything.
"Yeah. I love wearing panties and rubbing my cock. Mmm, I love coming in my pink panties," I said, moaning.
"What do you think about when you touch yourself?" Mark asked, taking another step toward me. We stood, panting, cocks pulsing, only a foot apart.
Then, he pulled his shorts and white briefs down and off. His magnificent hard dick glistened.
"Do you think about sucking cock?" he asked. Our faces now only inches apart.
I nearly came from hearing the words.
"Yes. Yes," I said.
He closed the gap completely. Our cocks touched, his rubbing mine through my pink panties. I pushed my hips against his. I was moments from coming.
"Tell me," he whispered into my ear. Our cocks rubbed harder as we gyrated.
"I wear ... sexy pink panties ... and I think about ..." I couldn't finish. It was too much.
I dropped to my knees. Marks's gorgeous, seven-inch dick throbbed in front of my face. This is exactly what I wanted, I thought as I felt his cock slide into my mouth.
He moaned as I sucked him as far as I could. I began bobbing. I couldn't get enough of running my tongue along his dick and feeling it slide along my lips.
The front of my panties were soaked. With one hand, I fondled Mark's balls as I sucked him. I brought the other hand down and rubbed myself.
Mark moaned. He thrust his hips harder.
My hand slid over my rock-hard cock, stroking myself through my panties.
As Mark's spurts began filling my mouth with hot come, I reached the most intense orgasm of my life, soaking my panties.
And as we both climaxed, I finished the dialogue in my mind.
I love wearing sexy little panties and sucking cock. Oh God, yes, I love wearing panties and swallowing come. I am a panty wearing cock sucker.