Sunday Morning Pantyhose Part 3

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Sunday Morning Pantyhose III
By
Tracy Davis

Authors note: There have been a number of negative comments about the discussion of some bathroom issues in the stories. Let me address those, as I think they are germane to the story.

I am not into coprology or ‘poop’. You will never hear my discuss pooping in my nylons, as I never did that. The time frame of this story is the early ‘70s, when I was a tweenager starting junior high school. My mother had me late in life and was in her early 50s during this story. As many of you know, middle-aged women back then tended to be rather, well, fixated about their bathroom habits. As most feminized boys, I loved to listen in on the conversations when my mother had her friends over, and there was a lot of talk about this particular “issue”. Nothing graphic or gross, just “I haven’t been able to go for three days so I took product X and it didn’t work for me, so I went back to product Y. How did it work for you?” kind of thing.

I had had some problems as a small child about not going to the bathroom when I needed to. The doctor had told my mother to actually look in the bathroom after I had gone to make sure I really had and was not just lying about it to avoid getting an enema. One time I was particularly messy and she offered to wipe me, and I let her. I kind of liked the attention, and we kept that up through eighth grade.

Later on in the stories I will relate (spoiler alert!) about a conversation between my mother and my older sister, who lived on her own and wound up contributing to my feminization. My mother had said that she thought us sharing clothes and shoes brought us closer together than most teenage boys and their mothers, and she was right. We were closer than most teenage boys and their mothers (Not ewwww close!). My mother had been a nurse and had a lot of medical knowledge, and we had a lot of talks about the human body and some of its grosser aspects, always using the correct terminology and not gross slang.

So, enough about that. If it offends you, I apologize. Please just scroll down a few lines and go past it and keep reading.

Thanks so much for reading my story, and for taking the time to comment!

Smiles, Tracy

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This is a true story of how my Mom feminized me as a teenager. She had caught me wearing her pantyhose the summer before seventh grade. I got the surprise of my life the first Sunday of junior high, when she started encouraging me to wear them -- Tracy

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On Christmas, Mom and I got up late. We went out and opened our presents in our PJs. Mom had gotten me a package of three pairs of thick cable-knit girls tights in black, navy, and purple, along with a couple of pairs of Osco Drug panty hose, and a girl’s pink short dressing coat.

When I opened it, Mom said, “It’s a dressing coat. You can wear it on Sunday mornings when we’re having breakfast, before you get dressed when you only have hose on. It’ll give you a little more modesty than just wearing pantyhose. You can wear those tights to school when you don’t have gym. They’ll look like boy’s socks on your feet, and no one will know you have tights on. They’ll keep you warmer. I saw a lot of your hose have runs, so I got you some panty hose too.”

After breakfast, we went back to our rooms to get dressed. We were going to have a nice dinner and I felt like getting dressed up. I opened up my underwear drawer to get out some nylons. I always felt so girly now when I would open my underwear drawer and see all the pantyhose in there, along with my boy underwear. I slid on a pair of panty hose and then a nice shirt and slacks. When I came out of my room, Mom was in the kitchen in jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked at my feet and said, “Mmmm, you really got dressed up.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “It’s a holiday. I thought we were going to have a nice dinner tonight. You should get dressed up too.”

She faced me, and smiling, flipped my bangs over and out of my eyes. “You know, you’re right. I should get dressed up too.” She thought for a moment, and said, “I have an idea. Come in here with me.”
We went in her room and she opened her closet. Reaching up on the shelf, she took down a shoe box and opened it. She pulled out a pair of high heeled white sandals and handed them to me. “I’ve been watching you walk around in those high heeled shoeboots and I can tell you like them. Here, as long as we’re getting dressed up, and not leaving the house today, how would you like to wear a pair of my heels? They’ll make you look really dressed up. We’ll see how long you put up with them till they start pinching your feet.”

“Sure,” I said, not believing what was happening. I sat down on her bed and put the shoes on the floor, and slid my nyloned feet into them. I fastened the straps, and then stood up and took a few tentative steps. They were a little higher heel than the shoeboots. “Go out and walk around and get used to them while I’m getting dressed.”

I walked out into the hall and she closed the door behind me. I walked down the hall heel-to-toe and closed the door that had the full-length mirror on it. I walked up to the mirror, looking at my reflection, and I couldn’t believe it. My pantyhosed toes were peeking out the front of the sandals, and I looked SO cute and hot. My dick was so hard, and you could clearly make out my erection through my pants. I unsnapped them and reached down inside my hose and straightened it out, so it was vertical and not that noticeable. I kept turning around in front of the mirror and looking at myself, trying different poses, marveling at how sexy the heels looked from the side. It was so erotic. About that time, Mom came out of her room. She was dressed to the nines and looked really nice. She had a really pretty blouse on, navy blue dress slacks, and blue pumps. Her ankles were darker and I could tell she had hose on. We stood there together in front of the mirror and she put her arm around my waist. “There,” she said, “Don’t we look nice?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I said, “Good thing we wear the same size shoes so I can borrow yours,” I giggled.
When we made dinner, we were walking around the kitchen and I always volunteered to get things out of the cupboard for her, taking as many steps as I could, in love with how it felt to walk in high heels, and the sound of them clicking on the tile!

After while, I felt like I had to pee. I clicked into the bathroom in my heels, and I felt so girly, I decided to sit down to go like girls do. I pulled down my slacks and pantyhose and sat on the toilet, making sure my dick was aimed down. I had left the door open and Mom walked past as I was tinkling. When I was done I stood up and pulled my hose and trousers back up and washed my hands. Mom saw me and said,

“You sat down to pee?”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I blushed. “I just felt like doing it that way. I think I’m going to start doing it that way when I’m home.”

“That’s good,” she said. “It’ll keep you from peeing all over.”

After dinner, we were sitting in the family room and I was looking at my feet in the heels, putting them together and bending my feet, rotating my ankles, totally in love with how they looked. “I hate to tell you,” Mom laughed, “You know you can’t wear those to church.”

“I know,” I sighed, disappointed, “but I was just thinking how much I’d like to wear them out in public.” I was starting to feel the urge for a push job, and I got up and said, “Mmmm, I think I need to do my push job. I’ll be in the bathroom.” I sauntered into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. My stool was large but smooth, and I bore down gently, enjoying the feel of it stretching out my anus. I took my time and let it creep out of me slowly, my dick getting so hard, until it finally plunked into the water. I called Mom to wipe me, and I could hear her heels clicking on the kitchen tile as she walked across it, same as mine. She came into the bathroom and I bent forward to give her access. After she wiped me I stood up and pulled up my hose, and she looked into the toilet at my great big stool. “Wow,” she said, “you really had a good BM. I feel like I need have one like that. All I could do this morning was a couple of little ones. It just feels like there’s a lot more in me that needs to come out.”

“I couldn’t believe how big it was either,” I said. “It came out really easy.”

“It makes it easier to have a BM when you have heels on,” she said. “It raises up your knees and straightens out your bowel. Remember that the next time you’re having trouble having a BM. A lot of times when I’m constipated I’ll put on heels when I’m trying to go. Actually I may take the paper and go sit in my bathroom and try.”

A little while later, Mom came out of the bathroom, and looked a lot happier. “Success?” I asked.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” she said. “That’s the most I’ve done in a week. I feel so much better.”

I giggled. “Maybe it was the heels.”

She giggled too. “It probably was.”

Mom went in her room and came out with her nail stuff, and sat down and did her nails. After a while, when I was sitting on the couch, she said, “How would you like a little polish on your nails?”

“Sure,” I said, not able to believe what I was hearing. She sat down on the couch and I sat next to her, crossing my legs so I could snuggle closer to her. We talked while she pushed back my cuticles, filed my nails, and then put a coat of pink polish on them. “Be careful not to touch anything for a while,” she said when she got done. The TV was on so I just watched TV for a while, not able to stop looking at my polished fingers and my hosed feet in high heel sandals.

After supper, I reluctantly took off the high heels and carried them back to her in her room. She took them and said, “I can’t believe you had those on all day. Most women can’t even wear heels that long. Don’t your feet hurt?”

“A little,” I said. “I really didn’t walk around in them all that much.”

Mom laughed. “Are you kidding? Every time I said I needed something you were running to get it. I thought you’d have them off after the first half an hour.”

I blushed. “I really like wearing them,” I said, lowering my voice. “I like how they feel. It’s almost like I’m turning into a girl.” My eyes welling up with tears, and I wasn’t sure why.

“It’s OK,” she said. “When we’re alone together, you can be a girl. It’s pretty obvious how much you like it. Now let’s find some remover and take off your nail polish.”

A few weeks later, Mom came home from work on a Friday night and said, “I really don’t feel like cooking. Let’s go out to for dinner. You should probably wear something nice.”

Great, I can wear nylons! I thought. As I was going to get dressed, Mom said, “You know, it’s dark outside, and it will be dark in the restaurant. How would you like to wear my heels outside? Nobody will notice.”

“Sure,” I said, my heart pounding.

I got dressed, and when I came out of my room, Mom had the high heeled sandals out on her bed already. “Here you go,” she said. “Remember how to walk in them?”

I put them on and we got ready to leave. When we walked out in the garage, I could feel the cold air on my toes, and knew they were on display!

When we got to the restaurant, I walked next to Mom, trying not to be self-conscious. We stood in line to wait to eat, but no one even noticed my heels and hose. I couldn’t believe I was standing there in public in ladie’s high heeled sandals and panty hose! It was a dream come true. My dick was getting so hard, and I forced myself to think about something else so people wouldn’t notice my erection. After we sat down at our table, I noticed a boy that was about my age sitting at the next table. As we were getting up to leave, I noticed he was staring at my feet. I wondered what he was thinking?

When we got home, we took off our heels, and I handed them to Mom. She said, “You know, why don’t you just keep them in your closet. If I want them, I know where to find them.”

Wow, I thought. My SECOND official pair of high heels!



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