All persons in this story are eighteen years of age and older. This story is protected under copyright and only Literotica have my permission to publish it.
Promiscuous eighteen-year-old Chloe had a fetish for sperm. Her sixty-two-year-old neighbour, Alan, had a fetish for women's underwear. The two collided one morning when the busty, dark-haired schoolgirl caught the old pervert stealing her knickers from her washing line.
"Alan? What the fuck are you doing?" the potty-mouthed teen shouted down from her bedroom window.
The retired policeman froze. He was about to jump back over the fence before he was caught in the act. Clutching one of Chloe's thongs and a pair of her knickers, he turned around to face the music.
"I'm so sorry," he said, accepting his reputation would be in ruins once news got around the neighbourhood. "I didn't think anybody was home."
"And that would have made it alright, Would it? Jesus! Don't move! I'm coming down!" Chloe barked.
Alan felt an icy cold shiver shoot up his spine. Those were the sort of words he shouted at suspects and criminals during his policing career. Now the shoe was on the other foot, he returned to the washing line to attach the undergarments to their pegs. Chloe then burst into the back garden in her school uniform. Her parents had already left for work. She was about to leave for school.
"Here's me thinking the washing machine is eating my underwear when it's been you this entire time, Alan! You're the knicker nicker!"
"Please accept my apology, young Chloe. I'm a dirty old man. I never meant to cause you any harm. I've been doing it for over forty years. I see an opportunity and I can't help myself. I need help."
Instead of remaining angry, Chloe became curious. She no longer saw the tough, ex-cop who kept a vigilant, experienced watchful eye on their neighbourhood. She saw a sad, old man keeping a watchful eye for any underwear on her washing line. A sorry pervert who'd just been caught and shamed into confessing a kinky fetish.
"My parents have gone to work, so I can skip first class. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate to calm the situation down? I can see you're sorry and upset."
The maturity the teenager showed Alan was more than he expected, and more than he deserved. So, the old man accepted the invite, hoping he might escape being scolded by his former profession, and branded the knicker nicker by the neighbourhood.
"That's very kind of you, Chloe. Thank you," Alan squirmed with embarrassment.
Five-foot-seven Chloe led the six-foot former policeman into her home. He took a seat while she made two hot chocolates before stuffing her netball kit into her school bag.
"You play goalkeeper," he said," noticing the big GK on her netball kit, dreading the conversation that would soon follow.
"Yeah," Chloe replied, sitting down with Alan and their hot chocolates. "I'm the tallest and most physical player on the team. I'm good at aggressively protecting what needs protecting," she played on her words. Alan gulped, losing any confidence he had from his days on the beat. "I'm good at remaining alert, collecting rebounds off the goal post. I'm good at intercepting things... like passes."
Alan gulped again. "What do you intend to do now you've intercepted me?"
"How many other neighbours have you done this to? I've counted three bras, two thongs and five pairs of knickers missing in the last three months. I've been scratching my head this whole time because my mother hasn't lost any of her underwear."
"I'm awfully sorry, young Chloe. I have them in my possession. I'll give them back to you. I promise I haven't done anything sinister with them."
"What the hell have you done with them?"
"I just keep them as souvenirs. Instead of collecting stamps, coins or sports cards, I've spent my entire adult life collecting women's underwear." Alan looked into his hot chocolate. Totally ashamed as he felt his masculinity being stripped away by a schoolgirl.
"Are you fucking serious? I know guys can be weird as fuck, but Alan, that's got to be the weirdest shit I've ever heard."
"Thirty-years as a police officer I can assure you that's not the weirdest thing out there," Alan chuckled briefly, then quickly realised the situation he was in was no laughing matter. "Sorry, Chloe. This is no time to joke."
"I want to see this collection of yours," she said, staring intently at Alan.
"I... I... I don't know about that," he stuttered.
"I'm not asking you, Alan," the teen told him. "I want to see it, and you're going to show me if you want this kinky fetish of yours kept under wraps."
"You mean... you won't tell anyone about this?"
"Drink up. I want you to show me this collection before I go to school. I want proof you're not lying to me."
Chloe followed Alan next door into his home. She felt so empowered bossing a former cop around that she didn't feel an ounce of danger going into the house.
"My collection is upstairs in the spare bedroom." Alan dropped his head in shame. "There are too many garments to bring them all down... and... they're in a particular order."
"Fine, take me to the spare bedroom then." Chloe was struggling to get her around the idea that Alan collected women's underwear. Convinced he was lying, and stealing hers to masturbate, she followed the old man up the stairs and into the spare bedroom.
"Jesus Christ, Alan!" the schoolgirl exclaimed.
"Please don't say the lords name like that, Chloe. My mother was a devote catholic."
"Don't pull the religious card on me, Alan. What the hell would she say about all this?"
Chloe stood in a bedroom empty of any furniture, except for a large chest of drawers and a wooden chair. A dado rail went around the room, splitting the walls in half. Below the rail the walls were painted in boring magnolia. Above the rail the walls were coved in framed women's underwear.
"I know it looks bad," Alan sounded apologetic.
"Bad!" Chloe gasped. "It's fucking terrible! Where's my underwear?"
"Your black lace thong is over here on this wall," the pervert neighbour pointed out, showing the teen the thong, she thought she'd lost three months ago.
"Where's the rest you stole?" she asked, standing in front of her framed thong as if it were a certificate of achievement. The frame even had a small brass plaque with her name professionally etched into it. "What the fuck, Alan?"
"The rest is neatly kept inside these drawers." Chloe yanked the drawers open to find piles of knickers and bras. Alan had collected a variety of fabrics, colours and sizes.
"What's the matter, Alan, not enough wall space for these?" Chloe mocked her neighbour.
Alan felt himself shrivel up inside. "The ones on my wall are my favourites."
"What was the very first item you stole?" The teen became interested in her eerie surroundings.
Alan pointed her to a framed pair of white knickers. The name underneath read Susan. "They belonged to my mother's friend. I stole them from her drawer when I was a young lad."
"When was that?" Chloe asked softly, looking at the old delicate lace.
"1975," Alan spoke a little too proudly. I fancied her and then something came over me. I just had to own a pair of her panties.
"You mean steal," Chloe corrected, giving him an eyebrow raised glance. "So, what about the rest? I mean, look how many you have here. Look at all these names?" Chloe began reading them aloud, heaping more guilt and shame on the former police officer. "Mary. Annie. Jennifer. Deborah. Janet. Laura. WPC Harris. This is mental, Alan."
