Saturday, October 22, 2005

I am wearing my Speedo

It's certainly much too small and tight, but the sensation is excruciatingly sexy. I have it stretched as much as it can, and it's cutting into my crotch a bit, but the leg cut goes above my hips. When I walk in it, it forces me to swing my hips girlishly because of the way it moves on my body. I'm tempted to run around town wearing it under my boy clothes, just to enjoy the sensation of it. I want to go for a swim in it.

I sure wish I looked more feminine.

Friday, October 21, 2005


Yesterday evening, I found myself with a bit of spare time and some freedom. On an impulse, I decided that this would be the time to buy the damn swimsuit already.

I had just eaten dinner with my fiancee. She was off to do some homework, and I had an appointment an hour later. The moment we parted ways, I knew that I had a golden opportunity to execute my plan.

I had already scouted the wares of a sporting goods store near my home. I had images of a black and red racing swimsuit, and I was excited about it. I had a twenty minute drive, and lots of time to ponder my coming adventure. I twitched with nervousness. My stomach bubbled and churned. All the same, I was determined to fulfill my twisted little fantasy.

I strode purposefully, my legs shaking, through the mall and into the store. As I walked in, a hot, shapely young store clerk walked in front of me, crouched down, and folded some clothes, exposing the upper part of her butt crack. I wandered around the men's clothing section, pretending to be interested in a shirt. I considered leaving, but I took a closer look at the women's swimwear section, and boldly headed in that direction. I slowly walked past it and into another display of discount men's t-shirts, no more than ten feet away from what I was really interested in.

The store was virtually empty. There were a couple of teenagers looking at baseball equipment, but quite far from my position. I snuck furtive glances at the object of my desire. Slowly, I made my way towards them, pretending that I wasn't interested. Finally, I dropped my pretenses, and started pawing at the swimsuits.

At first, I felt like an idiot standing there, fondling women's swimwear. But nobody was near, and I decided that I didn't care anymore. I took my time. I had no idea which size to take. I inspected a fiery red one, but rejected it for fear of drawing too much attention. The black and red I thought I had seen did not exist. There was a red and navy, but I didn't care for it. I needed black, primarily, and there were plenty of those. Finally, I settled on a black Speedo, size 6, fearing that it would be a bit too large. I folded it in my hand, trying to cover up my shameful purpose, and made my way to the cashier's counter.

I asked the girl at the counter a question about their return policy. It was the perfect cover. She gave no indication of finding it strange. I paid for it and walked out, less nervous but sick with anticipation.

I had little time to examine my purchase, much less try it on. I stuffed the shopping bag into the bag I was taking to my appointment, for fear that my finacee would find it if I left it behind. I anticipated that I would have time to play when I returned, imagining that my fiancee would not be coming over.

When I arrived, I shook with eagerness. Still, I had to resist. I had no idea whether or not she was coming. I started developing my fantasy. An hour into it, she suddenly walked through the door. I was shocked, and thanked my stars that I hadn't exposed my secret. Moments later, I fucked her in the bedroom, and we went to sleep. I had trouble keeping it up, because I was so much more interested in my secret stash.

All day today, I dreamed about the tiny amount of time I could have with my precious swimsuit. I was feeling somewhat disappointed that it wasn't the black and red I had originally imagined. I felt ridiculous for risking my relationship with my fiancee for a piece of clothing, a sex toy. Still, I couldn't help but reminisce on all the lovely things I had worn in the past, and how often. I looked forward to trying it on.

I had dinner with my fiancee again, but it was very difficult to free myself of her. When I finally succeeded, I rushed home, aching to complete my adventure. I tried it practically the moment I walked through the door. It was incredibly tight, especially around the waist. Somehow I managed to squeeze into it. I luxuriated in it for a few moments before struggling out of it again, afraid of being caught. I would have to be careful. I hid it in a secret place, and started writing this.

Unfortunately, I'm not very horny right now. I don't know why. Now that I have my swimsuit, I'm not particularly keen on it. I want another one.

I would love nothing more at this moment to repeat the exhilaration I felt browsing for women's bathing suits. I want to take more time, try a few on, find the right colour. It was fantastically exciting to do something so plainly perverted. I would rather have a slightly larger swimsuit.

Really, I just want more. I'll wear it again when I have some time to really concentrate on it. It should be fairly soon. Or maybe I'll play with some panties, or the bikini, which I have had access to all along, and come to it later. The beauty of it is that I have my own swimsuit now, and I can wear it whenever it's convenient.

Maybe I'll buy more, just for the thrill of it.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

The Trouble With Having a Secret Identity

I've been obsessing about one-piece swimsuits for the last few weeks. I get like this when I don't have access to something I want to wear. I can't get it out of my mind, and it dominates my fantasies. Somehow, I always come back to this. I have a bikini dangling in the closet, just begging to be worn, but I'm not interested. I'm sick of it, having worn it no less than a couple dozen times. I'll wear it again, but I want something different now.

Like all feminine clothing, I want to wear it because it accentuates women's shapes. I want to morph into that shape myself. I want to feel what it's like to be female, inside that stretchy, soft fabric. I sweat just thinking about it. My fantasies take off like a rocket: fast, and straight up into the heavens, without a thought about practicality.

The main problem is that I don't have any access to a one-piece swimsuit. My fiancee doesn't have one (although she does have five bikinis, all of which I've secretly worn) so I'm unable to indulge. I'm formulating a plan to buy one, but it's not at all easy for me to do it. I can't allow anyone to know what I like to wear. I know that it's not all that big a deal, but I'm incredibly shy about buying my own girlie outfits. I've done it so many times by now, that you'd think I'd have no problem doing it. Only twice has anyone ever given me any kind of indication that they suspected what I was up to -- a terribly disheartening experience -- and one of those incidents occurred when I bought one of the many one-piece swimsuits I've owned (the other was about a bikini). Oddly enough, it's ok for men to buy lingerie for their lady friends, but not swimwear. Therefore, it's harder to explain. Nonetheless, I have bought as many as three swimsuits at one time for myself, and the clerk was completely convinced that I was buying them for a woman.

There's simply no way to escape questioning glares from clerks and other customers. I can spend many minutes circling the women's swimwear section of a store until I can summon up the courage to enter it. By then, I've already aroused suspicion from store employees wondering what I'm doing. Then there's the long, painful moments while I walk around the racks, looking for whatever it is I'm fantasizing about, not touching anything. Finally, if I've managed to get even that far, I'll start picking things out of the rack, my mouth dry like a towel, my face burning with embarassment. I'll look at colours, styles, prices, and will have a very difficult time deciding which one I like best; even more difficult is making the decision to pick it up off the rack, walk to the cashier's counter, and buy it. More often than not, I'll be standing in line with a bathing suit in my hands, obvious to anyone within fifty feet of me. Even if I buy something masculine to cover it up, it always shows. Finally, since there's no turning back once I'm in line, I'll reach the counter, where the cashier will confront me. Usually, there's no trouble. But sometimes, I'll get a dirty look, or a blush and a giggle. All that remains from there is the trip to the car with the swimsuit in a hopefully opaque bag.

Today I wandered around a sporting goods store, and didn't have the balls to browse the swimsuits. I made note of the section's location when I walked in, took the most roundabout route to get there, and just pretended that I wasn't interested. I did, however, notice that all of them were shaped just perfectly, with the racer back that I so desperately want. A black and red one even caught my eye, but I just walked right past it. I don't even know the price.

I could be wearing a sleek black and red racerback one-piece girlie swimsuit right now. But I'm not, because I'm a coward, and I'm ashamed of my secret fetish.

Eventually, my desire will be so overpowering that it will conquer my fear, and I'll have my precious swimsuit.