Wednesday, July 23, 1997

Diary: The Bikini Shopping Experience

I'll bet you thought I could never bring myself to do it.  Didn't you.  You doubted my desire to effeminate myself, didn't you.  You thought I was just talking big, as I had for so many years, about so many things regarding my budding girlish tendencies.  You thought I would have second thoughts about the whole project and chicken out.

To tell you the honest truth, so did I.

On Friday, I could hardly bring myself to stroll through the department stores to look at what kinds of bikinis I might buy.  I was already sweating profusely.  My shirt wrinkled with the hot sweat.  I just couldn't even look.  Despondently, I figured that perhaps it's not really worth the trouble.  I thought that maybe it's not that important to me to get a bikini.  I thought that I had boasted in a moment of weakness about being able to accomplish something beyond my abilities.  I thought that perhaps I should keep my fantasies in the bedroom, in private, and not bother about fulfilling the impossible.

Today, while at work, I thought about bikinis again.  It never really left my mind.  I only postponed my actions, in a moment of doubt.  I needed to be impulsive again, just like I had been when I bought my lingerie on the spur of a moment, according to some half-baked plan.  I only thought about it peripherally today, not like I had last week, when I couldn't think of anything else.  It was a brief flash of a reminder of my boast.


I came home with the intention of resting all night.  I couldn't forget that I had originally planned my purchase for tonight.  I ate without even thinking about it.  I wasn't horny at all.  Too tired.  I retired to the computer to play a bit of NHL96, when I looked at the time on my watch, entertaining very briefly the notion that I should finish my game soon and go shopping.  The notion grew, and I became more and more nervous.  I became thirsty, and I had gas.  I was farting continually.  I felt feverish.  At about twenty past eight, I ended my game, and went to the washroom to collect my thoughts.  I imagined that I would still have time to go to the [mall] before it closes at nine o'clock.  If that is indeed the time that it closes on Monday evenings.  I put on my red flannel shirt and went downstairs to ask Dad for the car keys.  Impulsively.  I just did it, without thinking about it too much.  I didn't even think of an answer in case anyone asked where I planned to go.  Mom was meditating in her room, and I had no access to any car keys until shortly after eight thirty.  Then I confidently strode into her room and took Dad's keys, and took off.  I changed into my grey denim shirt to look a bit less conspicuous.  I was on my way, before I even knew it.

I was putting on my shoes when the doorbell rang, and there was a young girl canvassing for charity.  I had to tell her that I had no time (which was totally true).  I had been fumbling with the laces, not tying my boots quite right in my nervous state.  I collected myself and tied them up properly.  I hopped into the car and rushed at 120km/h to the [mall].

I parked very close to the usual entrance at Sears, where I had briefly spied some bikinis while walking through there with A__ [my girlfriend] on Friday.  I headed for that section, hoping to sneak into it rather than heading straight for it from the aisle.  I didn't want to look too conspicuous.  There were a few other shoppers around.  

The only bikinis there faced the aisle.  There was no way to even examine anything without anyone noticing.  Fortunately, there was a gentleman looking at swimsuits already.  I didn't feel so out of place.  I didn't even look at him much, and went to work.  

I went around the display, inspecting the wares.  The one that caught my eye was reddish or pinkish, with large flowers.  It was a mix and match affair: grab a panty and match it with a bra.  I flipped through the rack, past the size tens and size fourteens and size eights until I found a little size six.  Then I picked up the first bra available, when I noticed that it cost $19,99 per item.  Perfect.  Cheap.  Pretty.  I thought it was maybe a little large, but I had little choice.  All the other panties were in a similar style, or worse.  I brought it to the register, which was right there.  I stood there for a moment looking for it, trying to not look self-conscious, with a bikini in my hands.  The casiher came to the counter, and didn't say anything more than necessary.  No funny looks, no questions, nothing.  She just rang through the sale, bagged it, and gave me my change.  I headed for the door with a Sears bag containing a bikini.  I could hardly believe it.  I had shelled out $50 for a bikini.  I now own a bikini.  I don't think it's quite sunk in yet.  I had no idea what to do with the bag and the hangers that she had included with my bikini.  I hadn't planned for that yet.

When I finally drove away, at about five minutes to nine, I told myself that, Yes, I now own a bikini.  I just bought skimpy women's swimwear.  I drove to the parking lot beside the local video store, ripped the tags off the bikini, and stuffed it in my pants.  I tossed the bag out the door and went home.

As is traditional when I acquire new clothing, I almost immediately dressed up in it.  I'm wearing it now, as a matter of fact.  I am wearing a bikini under my clothes.  A tight little feminine bikini.  

It fits nice and tightly, although the front is a little high.  It covers my whole penis.  However, it does expose all of my thighs.  The elastic clings to the top of my hips.  It's wonderfully snug.  The bra has straps and pads.  It's by far the most interesting bikini bra I've ever owned.  The straps are ideal.  I love them.  The cups are pretty and accentuate breasts.  The material is that type of soft lycra, I think.  It's very nice.  I'm still a little shocked about the whole experience, so I'm not all that horny.  I feel a bit ill.  I will, however, use it tonight.  There is no way around it.

A moment of irony: I put away my laundry today, and found a strange pair of jeans that looked vaguely familiar.  I brought them downstairs, and mom told me that they were hers: she had taken an old pair of my jeans because they fit her.  So the day that I buy my bikini, I discover that Mom is wearing my clothes, just as I had worn hers.

So I, new bikini owner, will go pleasure myself.

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