Clothes Gone - Part 2

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The following Friday evening, I came home and said nothing. At dinner, Amy asked, “Did you get a check from Rodney?”

When I answered, “No,” Amy smiled but did not say a word. Her smile spoke volumes. Saturday morning as I stepped from the shower, Amy handed me a pair of her plain white nylon high-cut panties. After I put them on, she handed me another pair of white nylon brief panties with a row of lace around each leg and at the waistband of the soft garment. I stepped into the panties as if I had put on a pair of my own cotton briefs. My wife did not say a word but just smiled. After I donned the second pair, she told me that I would need to wear both pairs for modesty.

The feeling the panties gave me is hard to communicate. I've always been all man, as any of my friends can attest, but I have to admit that the panties felt “interesting.” OK, maybe that's beating around the bush a little bit. I'll be honest, it felt good, somewhat erotic.

Thankfully, wearing two pairs at once hid my “excitement.” I would have been mortified if my wife had noticed what they were doing to me. I tried to act nonchalant about the situation, although in hindsight, that must have seemed absurd. There I was, standing in my wife's panties, trying to act as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

In the afternoon, Amy and I were running errands. At the mall, Amy and I went into the department store. She had not mentioned what she had to buy. As I accompanied her to the lingerie department, she told me, “ Charlie, I have loaned you two pairs of my panties. Since you have to wear them for the next fourteen days, we need to purchase at least six pairs so you can have fresh panties each day and not have to wear damp underwear.”

I wanted to protest, but I didn't want to argue with my wife in the store. I had agreed to wear panties until I received two weekly checks from the auto loan. I had to answer Amy’s questions while she showed me various styles of panties, from regular briefs to bikinis to hi-cuts. She decided on three pairs of briefs and three high-cut panties, all in white and heavily laced. The briefs had a white bow on each leg and a matching bow at the front waistline. Amy’s panties I was wearing were size 7 and slightly large. Therefore, she bought size 6 in both styles. Once at home, I changed into one of the high-cut panties and a pair of the new briefs which fit. It took me a while to adjust to the tickle on my legs from the lacy hems on both pairs of panties.

During the next week, I was aware of the panties beneath my pants, particularly when I had to go to the bathroom. I was never completely free from knowing that I was doing something “wrong.” Men do not wear panties. Not real men, anyway. Friday afternoon, I was able to get a check for the week's payment from Rodney.

Amy said, “I'm glad you received a check. Under the agreement, you must receive two checks in a row before you can change from panties to your shorts.” Her face bore a Cheshire Cat smile. To me, she seemed less distressed about this situation than I thought she should be. After all, wasn't the money the important thing here? Wasn't that what this was all about?

The following Friday, I was unable to reach Rodney. By three in the afternoon, one of his employees informed me he had left earlier for the drag races in another state; he would not be returning until Tuesday. Amy was preparing supper when I entered the house. After giving her a kiss, I went to read the paper before dinner. After dinner, Amy asked, “Did you receive a check today?”

After I told her no, Amy said, “We will go shopping in the morning. Do not wear an undershirt, dear.” After that comment, Amy disappeared into the kitchen cleaned up the dishes, and put away the food. She did not wish to break her end of our bet by badgering me and saying I-told-you-so. The look on her face, as she returned to the kitchen, told me she was ready to continue with our wager. I would be adding another item to my wardrobe as well as continuing to wear panties for several more weeks.

In the morning after my shower, I put on the two pairs of white lacy briefs and the rest of my clothes, except for an undershirt. I was quite aware that I would be purchasing a brasserie today, but I did not realize the humiliation I was about to experience. If I truly comprehended the situation, I might just have refused to hold up my end of the agreement. I'm not sure what Amy would have done then, but whatever it might be would be better than what happened.

Once at the lingerie department, I had to look at many bras in various styles and colors. Amy would hold up a bra in front of me while pointing out the details. Finally, she chose three different styles, making certain each was more feminine than the other. Again, I tried to act as if everything was perfectly normal, even though my brain was screaming that I shouldn't be doing this.

I thought that our purchase would be completed when Amy handed the bras to the clerk to ring up on the cash register. Amy told the clerk, “ I am not sure of the size bra we need, but I would like to have these three styles in white.”

“Come back to the dressing room and I will have our department head measure you for the correct size,” the clerk told Amy.

“I forgot to tell you the bras are for my husband. He has agreed to wear bras for a period of time as he lost a bet to me,” Amy smiled, looking at my face turn bright red with embarrassment. The clerk's mouth dropped while looking me over.

“I guess then he can go with you into the dressing area. Please take off your shirt and

undershirt. I will ask Mrs. Simmons to help you,” the clerk said.

In the dressing room, I could hear our clerk talking to someone, as well as giggling from several women outside the door. Soon there was a knock and an older woman introduced herself to Amy.

“I am Mrs. Simmons. I understand that you need to determine the proper bra size for your husband. Let me take his measurements.” Once she had completed measuring my chest and shoulders, she said, “He needs size 38. What cup size do you wish him to have?”

Amy, thinking out loud, said, “He will be wearing the bra under his shirts to work so we do not want

him being overly busty although in the future he may be wearing falsies. Do you think a B cup would be appropriate?”

Mrs. Simmons told the clerk, “Bring these three styles in a size 38-B, white, for the gentleman.” The clerk returned carrying three different bras; each one was lacy, with ribbons but styled differently in cut and material. Mrs. Simmons had me model all three bras to her satisfaction and to the amusement of Amy and the young clerk. Amy chose one bra for me to wear immediately while holding the others for me to take to the cashier’s counter.

I tried to tell my wife that buying three bras would be more than ample as Rodney would be back next week and would be paying me for last week as well as the coming week. Amy smiled, saying, “Let’s hope so for your sake, my dear. However, you must admit that the bra looks lovely on you.”

I could not say anything as I did not want other people in the store to know I was wearing a brasserie much less women’s panties under my clothing. My cheeks were a bright red as we left the department store. For the next week, I wore both panties and a bra to work along with my regular clothes. A few times, while sitting at my desk, I would reflexively adjust my bra strap, then realize what I was doing and look around in panic, hoping that no one had seen what I did.

Friday night after meeting with Rodney, I came home with a check for fifty dollars, as that was all he could pay. That fifty dollars postponed my exchanging another article of clothing.

However, the following week when I did not receive a check, Amy informed me that since he had not paid, she would be adding pantyhose to my wardrobe starting in the morning. Finishing my shower, I put on the high-cut panties, and a pair of brief-cut panties, a lacy white pushup brassiere, and a pair of my wife’s pantyhose. Amy watched and instructed me as I struggled with pulling them in place. If wearing panties was weird, adding pantyhose to the mix made things even stranger. I was a man, damn it. What was I doing going along with this?

I was quite surprised that we did not go shopping on Saturday. Amy gave me an additional pair of her pantyhose and told me to wear a pair for two days, then hand washes them in the sink. I assumed that the following Friday, Rodney would make his weekly payment and I would NOT be wearing pantyhose anymore. I would then start working on losing my brassiere.

That night, I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that I was growing breasts. Never in my life up to that point had I ever had a dream like that. In the dream, I was “showing” underneath my shirt as I walked about in public. At first, the other people on the street didn't notice my new attributes. Then, a young girl stopped directly in front of me on the sidewalk and stared at my chest. She turned to her mother and said, “Mommy, that man has boobies.”

I was mortified. Other people heard the girl's words and turned to look at the strange man with the lady's chest. I wanted the sidewalk to swallow me whole. I looked for someplace I could run but the crowd on the sidewalk was closing in on me, surrounding me, making escape impossible. Men pointed at me and made rude comments. Women laughed at my predicament.

I was terrified that the crowd would attack me. I tried to cover my new breasts with my arms, but of course, it was too late, everyone had seen what I was desperately trying to hide.

The laughter and jeers of the crowd grew louder and I was sure it was just a matter of time before I was stoned to death or something equivalent happened to me. Just then, my alarm clock sounded. I awoke to find myself sweating profusely. It took a moment before my mind registered the fact that it had been a dream, I was lying, perfectly safe, in my own bed, breast-free. Then I noticed something. I had an erection.

During the week, I was aware of wearing ladies’ intimate garments under my male clothing. I was afraid that my assistant Peggy would realize that I was wearing a bra under my shirt. I tried my best to hide the outline of the bra by wearing Oxford cloth shirts or dark sports shirts. During the middle of the week, Amy dropped by the office unexpectedly.

As she gave me a kiss, I felt her hands feeling my back. When she felt the bra straps and the back clasp of the bra through my shirt, she removed her hands. She was making sure that I was wearing feminine underwear. I had considered buying and wearing new male underwear during the day and changing at the office, but I was a man of my word.

While Amy knew that, she still needed to see that I complied with our wager. There was more to it than just making sure I abided by our agreement, though. There was something else going on, but my brain rejected that notion on a conscious level. My hair was getting shaggy on the sides and the back. I told Amy that I was in need of a haircut, but that the barber always opened the top of my shirt to tuck the cape and would shave the back of my neck. I told her that wearing the bra to the barber shop would be a dead giveaway and I would be humiliated. I asked if it would be possible not to wear a bra that day.

She thought about the problem and informed me, “No, our agreement says you must wear the bra at all times. I understand your problem and I certainly do not wish to embarrass you. However, there is a simple solution, you can borrow one of my strapless bras for the day. This will save you embarrassment and still maintain our bet.”

Going to her special drawer, she found a plain white strapless bra which she helps me put on. The bra was padded and had an underwire support. Wearing a dark bulky shirt, I was able to cover up the bulges in the front from the padded bra cups. I was greatly relieved as no one noticed anything unusual while I was at the barbershop.

Wednesday evening, Amy had me gather all my dirty lingerie and showed me how to wash my feminine clothing. To dry my bras, I spread them over the wooden clothes rack in the laundry room as well as my hose which had been hand washed.

I was not looking forward to Friday. After entering the time sheets for the week and having the payroll checks run through the computer, I called Rodney. A woman at the shop said he would be back in an hour. I asked to have him call me. At three-thirty, he had not returned my phone call. I called his shop and was told he was with a customer.

I told the lady to give a message to Rodney, “Charlie Brown is coming over to pick up a check and I should be there in thirty minutes.” Arriving, I found out that Rodney had just left for the day but should be at the shop Saturday. I knew that I would be adding another feminine garment for the next week. I

told Amy that I was unable to obtain a check for the loan payment after she smiled and asked, “How was your day, dear?” There was that cryptic smile again.

Saturday morning, I put on the bra, panties, and pantyhose. Amy had informed me that we were going shopping. This time I would be adding a garter belt as well as changing my pantyhose for regular nylon stockings.

Amy located the same clerk that had waited on us two weeks ago. This time, she was not surprised to find me buying additional feminine lingerie. Amy had the girl measure my waist (size 32) and asked for a medium garter belt. The selection of the garter belt was not as embarrassing as my previous visit as there were only three styles to choose from.

Amy decided I should wear a six-inch satin belt with white embroidery flowers on the belt. There were two long garters attached to each side of the belt, a front snap and a rear snap.

From her purse, Amy took out a pair of nylon stockings, telling me how to roll the stocking up each leg and how to snap the tops of the nylons to the closures. She told the clerk that I was to wear this belt and that we needed a second belt. The clerk saw that I was wearing panties and pantyhose as well as a bra as I went to the dressing room to add this new piece of feminine lingerie The clerk maintained a professional demeanor, but how could anyone see a man wearing feminine clothing, and not think the worst of him?

Thinking that we had completed our purchases after paying the clerk, Amy dropped a bomb by informing me, “Charlie, you are now at a point where it will be hard for you to gain your shorts and T-shirts back. I figure you will be wearing panties and bras for a long time. I want you to buy three more bras and six pairs of panties. It is about time that we added a little color to your wardrobe. I will let you select the colors but I will determine the styles you wear.”

We spent over an hour looking at all the bras and panties. Amy insisted that I buy matching sets with two pairs of panties for each set. At the same time, she picked out matching camisoles for each set, telling me, “We better buy these now as this will be the next addition to your collection of undies if you do not receive your payment on time. If you do, I can always return them.”

I brought three bras, all underwire type so they would not show beneath my shirt during the day or when we went out to eat. I could wear a jacket to hide the bra, but in the restaurants we frequented, most people went casual. Stopping at the hosiery department, I purchased six pairs of sheer tan nylon stockings in size ten. Amy told me to ask the clerk for stockings, informing me that my correct size is ten. I was lucky that I did not have to try on the stockings in the store.

The entire weekend, I wore panties with matching bras, a garter belt, and stockings. The nylons were smooth; as I walked into the bedroom before putting on my pants, I could feel the smooth silky stocking on my legs as they rubbed together when I walked. Monday, wearing the same undies along with my shirt and trousers, I went to work, determined to find Rodney and collect his loan payments.

I was very concerned that Peggy would not notice that I was now in women’s lingerie; I tried hard to stay in my chair so she could not see an outline of the bra. I kept my feet under the desk so she would not detect that I had on nylon stockings instead of male socks.

My shoes were also loose. On Friday, I called Rodney, explaining that I needed to see him. At four that afternoon, we met and I was able to obtain one check for fifty dollars. I noticed that Rodney acted as if he was annoyed at having to give me the money he owed me. Again, I was made to feel as if I was the one who should feel embarrassed. At least I was saved from exchanging another piece of my male clothing.