“My bra really doesn’t fit me. Can you help me?”

I’m a fairly ordinary 22 year-old bloke – but I love to wear proper underwear. And I don’t actually mean what is labelled as ‘proper’ for men but what I enjoy. Like I said (eventually) “It’s just what I like to do. I enjoy it. It’s private."

An AP-500 story

It’s a private thing. I don’t conceal it – well of course I do. What I mean is that I try not to flaunt my special interest. I enjoy, I love nice underwear. Girl’s underwear as a boy. Women’s underwear now I’m older.

Generally I wear panties, popsox or even stockings and a vest or cami. I do wear a bra sometimes because I like the feel of it and the way it holds me tight. I wear nighties of course and pretty bedroom slippers with little heels and trim. Just at home, though.

I didn’t often have friends to come over. Usually we’d meet in town, do things and separate. But it had poured down and my house was nearby for Verity to recover. We had a cuppa and talked. More and better than ever before.

Verity saw the slippers in the spare bedroom (I don’t know what they were doing there but it offered an escape for me). Verity began to ask more questions. Who, when, why, where, which, how and all that.

Because it was private, I’d never really prepared answers. I never expected to be quizzed. Let alone interrogated.

After a while, when I’d passed the event off as ‘sort-of cousin; months ago; visiting for an interview; from Liverpool and other vague answers’; eventually Verity smiled.

“That’s all very interesting. I didn’t really know you that well. I never knew about the cousins – why would I? But I’m puzzled as to why the slippers’re still hanging around. Oh well. If they’re yours that’s your private business.”

I tried not to blush – and more or less succeeded. I tried to hide any response. I think I failed.

“Oh, they ARE yours. Oh well. That’s still a private thing for you. But I’m surprised you only having slippers.” She smirked. “Would I find more if I looked?”

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Well, well. You do have more. I’ve never met anyone with your particular interest. I’m being very forward, very pushy – but is this just dressing-up or are you, what’s the word, transgender? I’d guess you’re not gay – you don’t have that vibe.”

I could tell that her concern was real. Well, hindsight does prove that to be true. But at the time, I was panic-struck. Discovered!! All the worst stories came to mind. Betrayed!! Forced!! Blackmailed!! And Worse………

“I really don’t care. My brother’s gay as a gay-thing; my uncle’s been known to dress up at Halloween – actually every Halloween and at other times for ‘fancy dress’. Say the word, and I’ll never mention it – or say another word – and I’ll help.”

What could I say. “I’ve tried to keep it private – and I’ve now failed. I enjoy dressing up.”

“That’s alright then. Would you like to show me what you’ve got – not today, but sometime soon. And perhaps we can get you some better things. Do you have any bras yet?”

I mumbled. “My only bra really doesn’t fit. Can you help me?”

Another 500 word story to borrow (and acknowledge) - and enjoy. AP