Wonderful life!

I was digging through the empty shelves of my bedroom closet, looking for my favorite jeans. I never really noticed how fast clean clothes ended up in the laundry hamper. And I threw my stuff around so much that it could have gotten lost anywhere. Even under the bed. So whenever something wasn’t where I’d left it, the first thing I did was look around.

The room was small—the smallest in this two-story townhouse on a quiet street. It also had a slanted ceiling, because it sat right under the slope of the roof. Fine, no big deal. I still had enough space to exist, and in a couple of years maybe I’d get a chance to change the situation somehow. For now, we live with what we’ve got.

It was late August, and the roof over my head sometimes got so hot you could have dried laundry in my room. I kept the window open, but it didn’t do much good: the street smelled of hot asphalt. The town basically died at this time of year. The students weren’t back yet, half the cafés were closed, and maybe three cars drove down our street in a day. One of which was Mom’s.

I had a narrow bed that was a tight fit even for one. So any talk of having girls over would have been kind of weird, but I still got comments like that now and then. You know: when are you finally going to get a girlfriend? Nobody ever stopped to think that I’d be ashamed to bring her into a room this pathetic.

The desk was covered in little bits of trash, which I didn’t really consider trash, because you never know when a used toothpick might come in handy. And Coke bottle caps could end up as currency, depending on how the world turns out. Okay, that was me drifting off toward my nerdier tendencies. Pay no attention, please.

I glanced at the mirror on the inside of the closet door and saw only myself in it. Then I looked closer at the glass and spotted one of my favorite porn stickers: Remy LaCroix spreading her ass to show off a gorgeous asshole, wrecked by some thick white cock. I’d stuck it there a couple of years ago, back when Mom still thought I had no idea where babies came from, and afterward she just pretended she hadn’t seen a thing. Meanwhile, every time I opened the closet I got hard from the memories of all the porn I’d watched. Ah, wonderful times, spent on marathon jerk-off sessions on Pornhub.

Okay, I think I got a little carried away.

After looking around a bit, even under the bed, I realized my favorite jeans weren’t in the room. I went to the window and looked at the house next door. I had a great view into one of its rooms, but the light in there was never on. Mom said nobody lived there, and I’d never seen anyone there either. A shame. I’d always dreamed of turning off my light and watching some hot chick get changed in there. As long as it wasn’t some gross old man living there.

I was wearing my around-the-house shorts and a T-shirt I hadn’t changed in a couple of days. I’d gotten them dirty just yesterday, too, wiping my greasy hands on them while I ate. Nasty habits, but for now there’s nothing I can do about them.

The T-shirt was too big for me, by the way. Like all my T-shirts. I always bought a size up, because in my actual size I looked like a hanger somebody forgot to hang clothes on. Narrow shoulders, skinny arms, and the belt on those very same favorite jeans I buckled on a hole I’d gouged out myself with scissors. On the plus side, my hair had grown almost to my chin, though that was less about style and more about laziness. I’d have to walk to the barber, and then explain what kind of haircut I wanted on top of that.

I frowned, grunted, and left the room with the solemn intention of finding out where my favorite jeans had gone.

On my way out I slammed the door, but not hard enough to get anyone’s attention. It was more of a small protest for my own benefit. The first thing I saw was the door to Sasha’s room. That’s my sister, who’s about ten years older than me. She’s such a bitch that no guy has ever managed to put up with her, which is why she still lives with us. The thought that she was a loser cheered me up.

Her room was even messier than mine. You could see the stuff on her floor even through the narrow gap in the doorway. The bed was unmade, and a pink thong hung from the doorknob. No doubt so she could laugh at me if I paid it any attention.

Mom didn’t hold Sasha to strict rules the way she did me. And yet Sasha had a better room than I did, and she got more of Mom’s love, too. Mom had only ever wanted girls, and after splitting up with my father she started hating everything male altogether. Maybe my mother’s a lesbian now. Who knows.

The staircase was the border. Upstairs was where Sasha and I lived, and things could get dirty up there now and then—in the sense of clothes all over the floor. Downstairs was Mom’s territory, and it was in perfect order. The shoes in the entryway stood with their toes to the wall. On the fridge hung a cleaning schedule with three names on it; there hadn’t been a check mark next to Sasha’s since June, and the ones next to mine Mom put there herself, in red pen, after inspection. The place smelled of furniture polish and coffee. Paintings of boats hung on the walls, and not a single photograph. There used to be some.

I let out a breath and went downstairs. Helena, my mother, was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, looking perfectly at ease. She had on baggy gray pajamas with white piping. The kind of clothes that did nothing at all for her waist and could even be misleading. Except for the small opening at the neck of the pajama top. You could make out my mother’s C-cups just fine.

Mom had a tired look, brown eyes, faint lines on her face and especially noticeable creases running from her nose to the corners of her mouth, plus long black hair and single-pearl earrings. Still, I knew my mother had a good figure, because I’d seen her leave the house in evening dresses from time to time. I don’t know whether those were dates or something for work. She never said.

Mom was a notary. She spent her days certifying other people’s signatures and making sure every piece of paper lay in its proper place. If you ask me, somewhere along the way she stopped seeing the line between paperwork and people. But that’s just me waxing poetic.

She was looking at me like I was a complete idiot. But she always did, because she found it strange even to think that she had a son. Wonderful news for me.

I noticed quite a few shopping bags in the entryway, printed with various brand logos. I knew nothing about any of that, but obviously Mom or Sasha had been out shopping recently.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Helena said, giving me that same look, and smiled a little.

I felt a bit awkward and laughed, which made me feel like an even bigger idiot. I walked over to the table and sat down.

“Morning,” I said, and decided to get straight to the point. “Do you know where my favorite jeans are? You know, the ones with the holes, as you called them.”

“With the holes?” Mom thought for a moment. “Oh, I threw those out. The trash is the only place for them. Want some coffee?”

She set her own mug down in front of me.

“I barely touched it,” she explained. “Coffee’s been turning my stomach lately, so it’s better if you finish it.”

I noticed the mark her matte lipstick had left on the mug. I found it disgusting, but I didn’t make a fuss, because I had a shitload of problems with her as it was. I picked up the mug and drank from the other side, where there was no trace of her. She noticed and said nothing, but her face and her smirk told me everything.

The coffee was good, even though Mom had drunk from that mug. The thought wouldn’t leave my head, though I tried to tune it out somehow. Not very successfully.

“Mom, those were perfectly good jeans. Why throw them out?” I protested.

She was unmoved and only raised her eyebrows a little.

“Perfectly good jeans don’t wear through in all sorts of places. You looked far too scruffy in them, like some kind of bum. And you embarrassed me. Everyone was surely whispering that I can’t provide my own son with decent clothes. When really, I’m not the problem here.”

I glanced sideways at the bags in the entryway. I already had a guess as to what might be in them, and I wanted to be as wrong as it was possible to be.

“I have to wear something. And all you ever do is throw out everything I love.”

“That’s not true. And you know it perfectly well. So don’t you dare lie to your mother,” she huffed. “I bought you decent things.”

She nodded toward the shopping bags, and I realized with dismay that I hadn’t been wrong about them after all.

“I’m not wearing that,” I said sharply.

“Then don’t. You can go around in what you’ve got on. It can be washed every evening, but when it falls apart, I’ll throw it out.” She gave a tired smile, as if she herself were sick of this years-long war over my sloppiness. Thankfully, though, she had never taken drastic measures. Until today.

“Buy me at least one pair of normal pants,” I begged.

“I bought you four whole pairs. They’re all in the bag.”

“That’s all women’s clothes.”

“They’re pants. They have two legs. Just like men’s. What exactly is your problem with them?”

The whole thing felt like a scene out of some sitcom, but unfortunately this was my life. And I dealt with it practically every day.

“You can’t just say women’s clothes are exactly the same as men’s,” I said helplessly. “You could say that about anything, but it wouldn’t make it normal.”

Mom got up from the table and went over to the shopping bags.

“I don’t mind you buying yourself whatever you like. But with your own money. You’re an adult, after all, and you can do what you want,” she said, and then repeated, “But in that case, don’t ask me for money.”

I did some quick math in my head. A decent pair of jeans would run me about forty dollars. Mom gave me twenty-five every Saturday and then asked where it had gone. If I ate nowhere but home and walked everywhere, I could buy jeans in two weeks. But college was about to start, and there was no way I’d manage not to spend money there.

I clenched my teeth, disgusted with myself. That was the whole problem. I couldn’t earn money yet, so I had to both live in this house and follow the stupid rules my dumb mother came up with.

She grabbed the bags, carried them over to the kitchen table, and left them in front of me. I didn’t respond to her jab about money, as though that might make the whole issue simply evaporate.

“What about the rest of my clothes? Where are they? My closet’s empty, like somebody cleaned it out,” I said. “Is it all in the wash?”

“No, I threw everything out.”

She was so calm about it, but something inside me seemed to burst. Sheer horror.

“What do you mean, threw it out?”

“Why would you need old junk when I’ve bought you everything new?” She smiled faintly.

I exhaled and kept quiet. There was no point debating it. I’d end up in the wrong anyway. I looked into one of the bags, and my breath caught.

The first thing I saw was a white blouse. You know, the kind a cute secretary might wear to the office. Slightly, playfully sheer, so you could make out the bra. I have no idea what girls use that for. Then I saw the skinny jeans. They looked so tight they really should have been called tights. I was afraid even to imagine how I’d look in them and, more importantly, how I’d feel. My dick would be squeezed like a sausage in a hot dog bun, and my ass would be wrapped as tight as in leggings. Awful and disgusting.

Then I dug deeper into the bag and pulled out some smaller items. There were a couple of sealed packs of black stockings, and several pairs of women’s panties as well. Apparently Mom didn’t know which kind I preferred, so she’d bought a variety of styles. A red lace thong lingered in my hands. I spent a long time trying to figure out what this little red strip was supposed to be, and I must have looked completely ridiculous.

By then Sasha had come down from upstairs, and she burst out laughing when she saw me examining a red thong right in front of our mother. All Sasha had on was a T-shirt she’d inherited from her latest boyfriend, with whom it hadn’t worked out for shit. Well, unless you count the fact that he fucked her a couple of times and I heard all of it.

“Oh my God, I can’t. Mom, you bought him a thong? A red one?” Sasha kept loudly making fun of me, and I went red and nearly died of shame. “I don’t even buy those for myself. They cut into your ass. So uncomfortable.”

I quickly dropped the thong back in the bag.

“It’s not mine!” I shouted.

Sasha came closer.

“Uh-huh. Whose is it, then?”

“I don’t know!”

She dipped her hand into the bag and took out the red thong.

“So, what have we got here?” She stretched the thong between her hands with a sly look, like she was appraising a piece of jewelry at a pawnshop. “What an interesting size... Mom, you got him a small? He’s a small?”

Sasha was genuinely surprised.

“I measured against his old underwear,” Mom explained.

Sasha made a skeptical face and exchanged a look with Mom while I burned with shame in front of them. It was so humiliating and strange. As if they were discussing my life and didn’t even care to ask my opinion.

“Stand up,” Sasha said suddenly.

I looked at her, frowning.

“What?”

“Stand up, I said. I’ll hold them up to you.”

“Get lost. Screw you.”

“Mooom,” Sasha drawled. “Tell him.”

Mom gave a little snort and took her side.

“Stand up. Sasha has a point.”

It pissed me off like crazy, but I didn’t want to fight with my mother over something so trivial. Though maybe this was exactly the moment to act like a man for once. I just couldn’t find the strength to do it.

I stood up and was immediately at a disadvantage. Sasha was now behind me, which, as it turned out, was exactly what she wanted. She looked me over not like a brother but like a piece of meat in a strip club. You know, the same way I look at pretty girls when they walk around in tight jeans. I size up their asses, picture them without clothes.

Sasha straightened out the thong, pulled it taut, and held it just below the small of my back. I realized what an awful position I was in.

“Hey, it actually looks pretty good,” Sasha said suddenly. “His ass is better than mine, I’ve been saying it for ages. It’s kind of unfair, really, that he got the better genes.”

Sasha laughed. Mom didn’t appreciate the joke, and I was trying not to die of shame. I didn’t have the willpower to stand up to my mom and my sister. I felt so pathetic in that moment.

Then came a rustling in the bag. Sasha whipped out another pair of panties. Blue this time. I felt her touch my hip bones as she held the panties up to my ass.

“The blue ones are better. They go with his eyes,” Sasha observed. “Best to stay away from red. Red is for sluts. I know that for a fact. I’ve got three red pairs in my closet.”

She laughed, and I got a little turned on by Sasha calling herself a slut so openly. Well, she hadn’t called herself one, only hinted at it, but for some reason I remembered her moans while she was entertaining her latest guy in her room. I even pictured him fucking her roughly on all fours. Thoughts like that made my dick stiffen a little, but it was so small that nobody was likely to notice.

“Are you done?” I asked hopefully.

“Yep,” Sasha agreed, and put the panties back in the bag.

I breathed out, but apparently too soon. Sasha was rustling in the bag again.

“Ooh, and what’s this for?” She pulled out a sealed pack of stockings and waved it under my nose. “Mom, what does he need stockings for?”

Mom was unflappable and answered casually, as though we were discussing curtains for the bedroom and not women’s clothes for me.

“For the jeans. You don’t wear socks under skinny jeans; they bunch up and get in the way.” She said it in the same tone you’d use to explain how to hold a fork.

Sasha looked skeptical at first, but then she nodded.

“Makes sense,” she agreed, and turned to me. “Do you even know how to put them on? You know you have to gather them up on your hand first, not yank them on like a condom? Although how would you know anything about condoms.”

She laughed.

True, she knew perfectly well what a chronic jerk-off I was, but I still didn’t like it when she said it to my face.

I sat back down, because I didn’t want to keep standing with my back to my sister, in case she suddenly decided to try the stockings on me too. My attempts to quickly think of something that would save the situation led me only to the idea that I could take the clothes back.

“Let me return all this to the store,” I offered Mom. “And then I’ll buy jeans with the money. Just one pair. I don’t need more than that.”

“I threw the receipts away right then and there,” Mom explained. “Besides, it was a clearance sale, so there are no returns.”

She smiled with such satisfaction, as if she’d just crushed me in a long game of chess.

“I’m nineteen years old! I start college in a week. And you want me to show up there in this?” I couldn’t believe any of this was actually happening.

Nineteen, yes. Every normal person starts college at eighteen, but I spent a year at home after high school: I flunked two exams and retook them with such enthusiasm that it lasted exactly twelve months of League of Legends. Mom called that year my vacation. I think the bags in the entryway were the bill for it.

“No. I want you to show up there clean and tidy.” She looked at my T-shirt, and I immediately covered the ketchup stain, left there who knows when, with my hand. “And sit up straight. You’re slouching. He always carried himself like that too, like he’d done something wrong.”

Sasha suddenly stopped smiling and became terribly interested in her fingernails. There weren’t all that many forbidden topics in our house, but this one topped the short list. My sister and I never knew what to say to our mother when she wandered into forbidden territory. It was as if our heads simply had no script for situations like that. We avoided the subject of our father as much as humanly possible.

Mom finished my coffee, the one she’d given me herself, then put the mug in the dishwasher.

“I’m going to the opera with Aria tonight,” Mom began. “I’ll be back late. Niko, take the bags up to your room. I have no intention of tripping over them.”

When she’s in that kind of mood, it’s best not to argue. And nothing bad would happen if the bags just sat in my room for a while. There was so much free space in there now, after all. Thanks to Mom, of course, but that’s a detail.

I scooped the bags off the table. There turned out to be five of them, and they were heavier than I’d expected. How much money had she spent on all this? And she couldn’t spare a cent for one lousy pair of men’s jeans.

“Don’t put the blue ones away too far!” Sasha yelled at my back when I was already halfway up the stairs. “So you don’t have to look for them long!”

I slammed my bedroom door. Properly, this time. Dust actually came out of every crack.

I dumped the bags in the corner behind the door, so they’d be completely out of my line of sight from the bed. Then I sat down at the computer and honestly tried to spend the rest of the day as if nothing had happened. I played my beloved League of Legends as Soraka and Janna, trying to be useful to everybody. It even went pretty well. Between games I kept drifting over to Reddit to look at pictures of girls in cosplay, and sometimes the feed took me to strange places and I’d come across photos of other guys’ dicks. Weird. Why do they even post those? Oh well, to each their own.

Between matches, Gosha texted me. He always wrote as if he were dictating on the run and afraid I might end up with too many details.

come over tmrw. moms leaving. theres pizza and one idea but you wont like it

What idea? I asked.

told you you wont like it. why you so sour

I looked at the bags behind the door. I typed on my phone: My mother threw out all my clothes and bought me women’s panties. I looked at the nonsense I’d written. Read it a couple more times and deleted it. Gosha would joke about it for the rest of my life, and then at my funeral too.

I’m fine, I wrote. We’ll see.

Four hours later, I got hungry.

Downstairs in the entryway, Mom stood in front of the mirror, fastening an earring. She wore a long dark dress with an open back. In her pajamas she looked like a tired woman with a rather strange family. In the dress she looked as though she had no children at all and was the one starting college tomorrow. It hugged her waist as tightly as it hugged her ass, which made it hard not to look at her. When she turned to face me, I tried just as hard not to look at her neckline, where her squeezed-together tits kept peeking out. God almighty, what did I do to deserve this trial... I must be a terrible son if I’m staring at my own mother’s ass.

“Dinner’s in the fridge. Put your dishes in the dishwasher when you’re done and turn it on,” she said, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “When it’s finished, take the dishes out and put them away on the shelves.”

“Are you going to spend the whole evening listening to Aria go on about her amazing son again?” I asked, because last time I’d gotten sick to death of hearing Mom repeat everything Aria had said.

“Markus got a scholarship. She has something to be proud of,” Mom answered dryly.

“And what do you tell her about me?”

She fastened the second earring, fixed her hair, and only then answered.

“That you’re healthy and, on the whole, doing fine.”

I wanted to protest, to say something biting, maybe even start a fight, but it wouldn’t have changed anything; it would only have made living in this house worse.

“Nice dress,” was all I said.

“I know.” She picked up her purse and walked out of the house without looking back.

Well, so much for conversation. It’s like that every time I don’t obey her. Out comes that stupid strictness, that dryness. Sometimes I even want to give in, just to find out what would happen if I became the model son she has in mind.

Only then I wouldn’t be me anymore.

I was climbing the stairs with my plate, meaning to walk past Sasha’s door the way I had a thousand times before. But the door stood open wider than usual, and there was no pink thong hanging from the knob.

Sasha stood with her back to me in front of her cracked mirror. She had on black stockings and, as far as I could tell, nothing else. She was slowly fastening her bra, as if she had all the time in the world. She kept reaching behind her back and couldn’t get the hook into the eye. It looked as though she was asking for help, but I understood that offering would look about as dumb as anything possibly could.

I stopped. For a second. It was just awkward to carry a plate that fast. Honest! Who am I kidding? I stopped to look at my half-naked sister. My mouth actually watered a little from the arousal.

Her ass was big. Much bigger than she let Mom and me see day to day, because she only wore tight things for the guys who fucked her. To everyone else she looked more or less like a shapeless ghost in white T-shirts eight sizes too large.

Of course she’d been lying through her teeth when she said my ass could even begin to compare with hers. She bent over the little table for her lipstick, and I forgot I’d been planning to eat.

Her cheeks slowly parted, letting me see a little more. I noticed a slight darkening between them, but I couldn’t make out anything closer. It was enough to bring my erection to maximum hardness. How little it took.

The hook on her bra finally caught. Sasha straightened up sharply, rolled her shoulders as if warming up for a workout, and then began to put on her lipstick. Very slowly. I couldn’t stop thinking about sliding the slick head of my cock over her lips instead of the lipstick.

Then she picked a dress up off the chair, and I slipped silently away to my room. My meat patty had long since gone cold. I ate it, but the only appetite I had came from what I’d seen in Sasha’s room. The food itself gave me no pleasure at all.

Half an hour later, heels clicked across the wooden floor and stopped outside my door. She didn’t open it, as if I had some kind of personal space in this house.

“I won’t be back before two!” she shouted through the door. “Don’t open the door for anyone. Especially if it’s my ex.”

“Which one?” I asked snidely.

“Any of them. And try on the blue panties. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not trying on anything!” I snapped.

“Uh-huh. I wasn’t going to smoke either, and look at me now. Anyway. If anyone asks, tell them there are no grown-ups home.”

“Uh-huh.”

Soon the front door banged shut, and the house went so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming downstairs. Damn, how I loved being home alone. It’s such a blissful feeling, not having to think that at any moment someone might walk into my room or overhear something they shouldn’t.

I couldn’t get my sister’s ass out of my head, so I went straight to the computer, simply overjoyed that I could watch porn not through headphones but with the sound filling the whole house. Fantastically awesome.

I spent about an hour looking for an actress who resembled Sasha. And what do you know, I got lucky. She had an anal video a full hour long. I put it on and stared for several minutes. My dick was already insanely hard in my shorts. Alexis Texas was working that ass on screen exactly the way it should be worked. God, what a magnificent woman.

I stroked myself slowly through the fabric of my shorts, in no hurry at all, because I still had so much time. At some point my lust reached the stage where I remembered that there were bags of women’s clothes in my room.

They sat in the far corner so that I’d never have to look at them, but it felt as if they were staring at me so hard I could feel it on the back of my head.

Fine!

They couldn’t sit in my room untouched forever. And if Mom noticed, she’d treat me to another heart-to-heart. I’d just put the clothes in the closet and that would be that. The shelves were empty anyway. And the clothes must be so uncomfortable in those bags.

Alexis moaned loudly in the background while I tried to make up my mind about something sensible. But it was getting to the point where I started thinking that her ass didn’t really do that much for me anymore, even though my dick was still rock hard. Largely thanks to her, or to Sasha.

I shook the first bag out onto the bed. A white blouse, a black blouse, those same impossibly skinny jeans. The clothes smelled like a store, like something clean and newly made. None of it felt like mine at all. I folded the things onto a shelf and tried not to look at any of them for longer than I had to.

The moans kept pressing on me from the background, and I was insanely turned on.

I did the same with the second bag. The third held the underwear.

The blue lace panties lay on top. Of course they were on top. Sasha had seen to that. The bitch knew I’d look.

Nothing terrible would happen if I just took a look. I picked up the blue lace panties, stretched them out, and looked through them at the ceiling light. The lace pattern was pretty and mesmerizing, and the fabric felt so delicate it was like holding flower petals in my hands.

I breathed out and glanced down. A conspicuous wet spot of precum had appeared on the bulge in my shorts. I hated it when that happened. It looked like I’d wet myself, when really I just felt so good that my body was getting ready to come.

A pack of stockings lay in the same bag. For some reason I took it out and read the size. Then, for some reason, I tore the plastic to touch the fabric. It turned out to be so thin I could see my own fingers through it.

But first I went over to the window, as if afraid somebody might be watching. The house across the way was still dark, as always. Nobody there. What was I so afraid of? There had never been anybody there. That was why I didn’t even have curtains. Although really that was because I’d torn down the curtain rod back in high school and Mom said I’d have to fix it all myself. I never did.

Still, I turned off the overhead light and left only the monitor on, where a huge ass kept impaling itself on an equally huge cock. The sight made my prostate twitch and my dick strain.

It was calmer without the light.

I went back to the bed and pulled my shorts down together with my underwear. By then I’d reached the level of arousal where small experiments no longer seemed all that scary. It’s the same as with drinking. You have a little, and suddenly dancing on the bar doesn’t seem like such an idiotic thing to do.

I looked at my own dick but didn’t touch it yet. It was no outstanding shaft or anything of the sort. Perfectly ordinary thickness and only six inches long. The head was hard to uncover, and the shaft curved to the right from too much jerking off with my right hand. I’d tried to fix that, but none of the methods from the internet helped, so I gave up, having started to see something beautiful in my little dick.

A slimy, colorless thread of precum hung from the tip. I think if I’d jerked off even a little right then, I’d have come immediately, but I really liked that state of being about ninety percent of the way to orgasm.

I was so thrilled by the thought that the fabric of clothes my mom had bought me would touch me. It actually made my dick twitch and my balls draw up against the shaft. My God, so much lust in my head. And those moans from Alexis in the background on top of it. Damn, she was getting fucked in the ass so good.

I picked up a stocking and tried to pull it on like a sock, but I saw right away that it would rip before it even got to my knee. Sasha’s advice sounded in my head at once: gather it on your hand, don’t yank it on like a condom. I frowned and resented her a little. Then I gathered the stocking on my hand, accordion-style, all the way down to the toe, and hated myself fiercely for obeying my stupid older sister, who wasn’t even there. How pathetic am I.

The nylon crept up my leg, catching on the tiny hairs I did have on my legs after all. It was a little unpleasant, ticklish, and embarrassing, as if the fabric were politely hinting that it had been designed for a slightly different kind of leg. Sorry, stockings, today the only legs on your schedule are mine. I thought that and laughed.

Above the knee, everything changed. The stocking settled on my thigh snug and cool, and the wide lace band gripped my leg in a way that nearly made me come from the sheer loveliness of the sensation. It was as if someone had taken hold of my thigh with a hand. Gently, but firmly. So thrilling and arousing.

I got the second stocking on faster, because I already knew what to expect and how to do it.

I looked down at my thighs. It was so strange. The legs looked like a woman’s, but right there beside them stuck out this hard dick, with my balls pulled tight against the shaft. My mouth watered when I looked at the head of my cock glistening with precum, but I swallowed at once.

The blue lace panties lay beside me on the bedspread. I looked at them for several seconds, and the whole time Alexis’s moans pounded on my head like a hammer, driving my lust to some off-the-charts level. I was nowhere near as principled as I had been a few hours earlier.

“I’ll just check the size,” I whispered out loud. “So I don’t have to lie at the store when I take them back. They’re probably too small for me.”

True, I couldn’t take them back, because Mom had thrown out the receipts, but that was a minor detail. I just wanted to say the right words to myself, to get in the right frame of mind.

The lace turned out to be softer than it looked. The front clearly hadn’t been made with the expectation that I’d try to stuff a dick in there. Let alone an erect one. The lace pulled tight around the head of my cock, which made my prostate twitch and orgasm seem inevitable. But I was a veteran jerk-off, so I managed to hold myself at the edge and get back to the same ninety percent as before. Okay, fine, ninety-five now.

I flinched when I felt the strip at the back settle exactly where it was meant to go. It slid neatly between my cheeks. Sasha hadn’t lied: they really do cut in and sit snug. She’d just forgotten to mention that it isn’t all that unpleasant.

By the way, I had very little body hair, which made me feel not at all manly. Not a hair on my chest, light fuzz on my ass and legs, a little between my cheeks, a bit more generous on my pubes and balls. It was barely noticeable, unless you were being picky.

I opened the closet door. To be honest, I usually spent about a second and a half a day looking in the mirror, while grabbing whatever was least wrinkled off the shelf. Now I saw my legs in it. Long, dark, smooth-looking, with a lace border at the top. The blue glow of the monitor, with its frequent yellow flashes of Alexis’s ass, lit my legs from the side, and for a second I actually forgot they were mine. I even wiggled a foot to check. Yep, mine.

I was waiting to feel utterly disgusted. I really was. But instead strange thoughts kept coming into my head, about how the stockings and panties didn’t look half bad on me. And my dick was stone hard. I hadn’t had an erection like that in a long time.

I turned sideways, then turned my back, and glanced over my shoulder. Most of the lace vanished between my cheeks, and my ass, which I had never thought of in that way, looked so good in the mirror that I’d have turned to look at an ass like that on the street myself, thinking I wouldn’t mind fucking it.

In the corner of the mirror, the Remy LaCroix sticker was eyeing me, Remy spreading her ass with her palms. She was looking at me over her shoulder. And it occurred to me to copy her pose. For a couple of years I’d opened this closet and imagined myself in the place of the guy whose cock was the only part of him visible on the sticker. Now I put my palms on my own cheeks and spread them, to feel what it was like to be in Remy’s place. Between them, blue fabric and dark skin came into view.

I let go of my cheeks. Alexis was still moaning from the computer speakers, and suddenly it bothered me. I walked over to the keyboard and muted the sound. I thought for a moment, hesitated, and then decisively minimized the browser window. For the first time in my life I had closed porn without coming a couple of times, and I did it because I had something else to look at.

In the silence I heard my own breathing. It was loud and quick, like after running up the stairs.

I laid my palm on my dick over the lace. It pressed pleasantly on the half-bared head, and I felt a slight ache mixed with pleasure. The fabric was already wet with precum, so I could rub against it without worrying about chafing myself raw. I stroked myself over the panties and watched the mirror. At first I simply stood facing it, and then I got down on my knees and turned my back to it. I went down on all fours, propped on one hand, and looked back. With the other hand I kept working the head of my cock with the wet lace. Usually I was watching somebody else, but now I was watching my own ass and thinking how wonderful it would be to fuck it.

Tires hissed outside, and headlights swept across the ceiling.

I froze in terror. In one position... One idiotic position: hand on my panties, on all fours. My heart was pounding somewhere up in my throat. Mom’s car? It was still early. Maybe Sasha had had a fight with her latest fuck buddy and come home?

I held the pose and listened. The refrigerator hummed. The roof ticked. The car drove past and went quiet at the end of the street.

The stupidest part was that the fear didn’t make my dick go soft. Just the opposite. Precum was dripping through the lace, and the fabric of the panties was stretched to its limit by my erection. What the hell is wrong with me?

I didn’t last long. Another minute was all it took, maybe two. I slid the lace clumsily over the head of my cock on one more stroke, and my legs began to shake. My prostate and my asshole went into spasms, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from the reflection of my own ass in the mirror. My cheeks were trembling a little too.

My cock throbbed and spat out a huge amount of cum through the lace of the blue panties. First they filled up inside, and then the cum began to drip onto the floor in heavy drops. I couldn’t help moaning from the insane pleasure.

“Ah...” I cried out. “God, that’s wonderful...”

And it was. I was in heaven while the cum pumped out of me.

For about five seconds I felt better than I ever had before.

Then I saw myself in the mirror. I was wearing women’s blue lace panties and stockings. I looked pathetic. This was the guy who, just this morning, had declared that he would never put this on.

I felt sick at myself, but I held it down.

I tore the panties and stockings off as if they were on fire. I got my own cum all over me, but I didn’t care. I roughly wadded the stockings into a ball and flung the panties somewhere toward the door.

Then I stood in the shower until I came back to myself, scrubbing my thighs with a washcloth as if I were filthy. The elastic had left marks on my skin, neat pink bands around each thigh. They wouldn’t wash off.

“One time,” I muttered to the wall. “I checked, and that’s enough. Tomorrow I’ll go find a job. Any job. I’ll buy jeans, and to hell with all this crap of Mom’s.”

The tile on the wall didn’t object.

Back in my room, I shoved the rest of the new clothes into the closet with my foot. I was furious with myself, so as soon as the clothes were put away I crawled under the blanket and cried for a long time, until I finally fell asleep.

Later that night I woke to the sound of heels. The clock said ten past two. The heels climbed the stairs, stumbled on the second-to-last step, a woman’s voice swore under her breath, and they stopped outside my door.

I held my breath so I wouldn’t have to talk to Sasha or Mom. I didn’t know which of them it was. Then I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t picked up the panties, which were smeared with cum and lying by the door. The stockings lay close by too, wadded into a ball.

“Niko,” Sasha called softly, and not at all soberly. “You asleep?”

I was asleep. So convincingly that even an acting school would have bought it.

She slowly opened the door, and light from the hallway struck through the narrow gap. It stopped widening the moment it lit up the blue lace panties, which looked about as wet as it is possible to look.

The door went still. I watched through my lashes and saw only the strip of light on the floor, the blue lace in it, and the pointed toe of Sasha’s shoe.

For a couple of seconds nothing happened. Then Sasha gave a quiet little laugh.

“Blue,” she whispered. “Told you.”

Honestly, I more or less died of shame. Right there, under the blanket. I lay there dead, waiting for her to turn on the light, howl with laughter loud enough to shake the house, call Mom. Anything to destroy my reputation. Tomorrow Kristi would know, the day after that the whole street, and by the start of classes I might as well not leave my room at all, so nobody could laugh at me.

But Sasha kept quiet. She crouched down, holding on to the doorframe so she wouldn’t topple off her heels, and her knees cracked. The room filled with the smell of cigarettes and something sweet, like strawberry liqueur. With two fingers, by the very edge, she lifted the panties off the floor and held them up to the light. The lace sagged heavily.

She touched the tip of her tongue to the fabric. She wanted to make sure it was cum.

“Whoa,” she whispered, with respect. “You really went all out, little brother.”

I went on pretending to be asleep. With every bit of strength I had left.

She reached for the stockings and picked those up too.

“Mom gets up early. Better not leave this where she can see it. I’ll toss them in the wash with my stuff so she doesn’t notice.”

Sasha stood up, swayed, and caught her balance. The light in the gap began to narrow.

The door closed. Her heels clicked to the bathroom, where the lid of the laundry hamper thumped. Then the lock on her bedroom door clicked.

I let out a breath so deep it made my head spin.

I hope she doesn’t tell anyone.