First time.......

Musings from WannabeGinger

For all of us, there are many “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few more of my own.

Chapter 2

How did I have the money at age 13 to buy myself some panties? Simple: the first time I needed money for that purpose, I decided I would get myself a job. It didn’t take long for me to find myself getting out of bed at 6am to go delivering newspapers. The pay was crap but I didn’t waste a single penny. The first time I set up a savings scheme, it was my “pantie fund”

The first morning I delivered the newspapers, I spent most of my time just thinking of what I should buy with my wages…. And how would I feel going to buy girls’ underwear? That was easy — I would feel great! I would be promising myself hours of comfort with nobody knowing I was wearing such girly things.

The first questions I had trouble with were more speculative. What would people think? What might they say? I rehearsed my answers to their improbable questions. “They’re for my Sister who’s not well at home….” “I just have a list of things to buy……” “Can you help me make sure I have the right size?...... yes, she’s two years older then me.”

I didn’t have a Sister — so this was the first time I had to invent someone to help in my dreams. What if I did have a Sister? Would she understand my feelings? I really had nobody to talk to…. Imagine talking to other boys at school about liking the feel of lacey panties?!

The first time I did venture into Marks & Spencers, it was dead easy. A busy Saturday in town. Everything was on display. I only had to get past the Matronly woman who was on patrol… but she was behind the cash des serving customers. I was safe away from there and looking intently at the available underwear. So intently, I didn’t sense the approach of a young Assistant who asked quietly “Can you find what you’re looking for?”

The first time I used the lies I had rehearsed, they worked. It proved to be very easy… which built my confidence to go back another time. The ill Sister, the list, the size advice. The girl Assistant smiled a wonderful smile - what she was thinking I have no idea! She took me to the sales desk and served me, my purchase going into an anonymous bag.

I left the store with my hear soaring. I had underwear of my own… for the first time! Four pairs in a single pack. That took a month’s wages! But they were worth it! For the first time, I whispered to myself “Because I’m worth it!”

The first time I went out wearing my own underwear, that very same day, I went back to town and hung out with a few guys from school. I knew what they didn’t know… that I was somehow a little different. I had to admit it to myself — for the first time it dawned — I wasn’t 100% like them.

On the way home, I pondered, silently, for the first time: what would a bra feel like?

I also thought that I perhaps wasn’t quite the same as my two Brothers. No way would I talk with them either; they were several years older then me and had girlfriends of their own of course.

Washing my panties proved to be a very much more difficult thing to do. No chance to put them “in the family wash” of course. No chance to get at the washing powder in the utility room where the washing machine lived. For the first time, I had to think laterally — and the answer was there in my room; the liquid soap used as a face wash. I looked in the mirror as I washed my panties…… How could I get rid of those damned acne spots!? I had begun to hate my face.

I dried the panties secretly behind the heating radiator in the bedroom. Easy. By just 13 years of age, I was left to my own to clear and tidy my own space. My bed wasn’t due for a change of sheets. This was my home within the home. I felt safe — safe enough to wear my panties every night as well son those days when there was no sports lesson at school.

I knew that was risky. What if I got injured in the school yard or damaged my clothing, …and had to strip off? The risk was a strange catalyst to continuing thoughts that I might need to buy some other underwear.

Being 13, I was late in developing sexually. Most of my class mates were putting on inches in height almost every week. But I knew my time would come. For that time-being, I was shorter than most of my peer group, and a little over-weight. And I had a spotty face. I didn’t love myself at all. I knew that girls wouldn’t love a spotty git like me. I wasn’t happy.

Unless I was wearing my underwear.

There were girls at school that I admired. I secretly dreamt of being with them. When they were girls together. I wouldn’t have minded being the “Ugly Duckling” — nowadays, the “Ugly Betty” — if I could just spend time with them instead of the guys around me. I didn’t have close friends among them. These thoughts brought my first awakenings of sexuality. I felt more than warm when I thought about the girls and being with them.

I had been growing my hair, despite being told I needed a haircut almost every week by both my Mum and my Dad…. and even my Brothers. “Leave me alone” I would say. Truth was, I had for the first time wondered what my hair would look like if it was made to look girly.

The “pantie fund” was now the “undie fund”. I had thought more and more about the feeling a bra might give. So, I resolved to buy one, perhaps two. Lacey ones, to match the panties. That meant another visit to Marks & Spencers. For the first time, it meant going in and handling bras with all their mysteries of size and cup shapes. Soon I had the money.

My newspaper deliveries were accompanied by distant thoughts…… Bras were so much more feminine…. That was a first too — “feminine”…. What was that all about?! When could I wear one?! Of course, I had no idea. Only under thick sweaters or fleece coats. Only when everyone was out of the house — Mum, Dad, Brothers.

The first time an opportunity presented itself. I had not got the time to get to the store and buy myself one. Home alone. Panties on. Standing in the bathroom. I looked into my Mum’s make-up drawer, to see all the cosmetics that she used so well. For the very first time, the word “feminine” came back. Before I knew it, the lipstick was in my hand.

I didn’t apply it well, but I did enjoy the experience. So much so, I found myself with the most huge hard-on that I had ever imagined possible. It was impossible to contain within my lacey panties. For the first time, the panties and now the lipstick had an effect on my body. In a haze, with no premonition, I turned to walk into my Mum and Dad’s bedroom.

For the first time, I searched out where she kept her bras and found them, in small drawer in her dressing table.

Chapter 3 will take me through puberty, with all its set-backs and broken dreams, to a more comfortable time.