Jerry Likes Legs A Lot

Heed my warning! (I'm the author, BTW.) This is a bait and switch! Depending on your preferences-slash-proclivities (see tags), you may feel betrayed! Like I've pulled a fast one on you! WTF?! But, if you do happen to find this story even just a teensy-weensy bit fun and hot, well, who am I to judge? ; ) - CPHX

*

Jerry sucked in his breath as he stamped out his smoldering butt. "Jesus," he said. "Jesus H. Christ." He squinted up at Cam. "And she let you just... just...

grope

her like that?"

"Yep," answered Cam, a clear note of pride and satisfaction in his voice. "Right up to her knee. Well, that was all I could reach anyways, on account a'the damn desk. Wish I could'a gone further up the leg. Wouldn't mind a feel a'that meaty thigh, y'know?"

"God yes," Jerry breathed, stiffening in his pants. "Which ones was she wearing?"

"The hose, you mean? Or the heels?"

"Oh shit, I forgot she wears heels!"

"Oh yeah. Gotta been an inch at least. Maybe two. Sharp lookin'. These were sort'a beige-y colour. Lighter than her hose."

"Tell me. The hose I mean."

Cam looked out over the parking lot. "Well. First off, they were spectacular. Absolutely A-plus. They seemed thick." Jerry groaned. "But they weren't the shiny kind, like at Hooters, right? They were, I dunno... rich? Like, uh, like... coffee! With lots a'cream! That's right, that hose made her legs look... creamy."

Jerry gaped and shut his eyes. "Oh god." He imagined those creamy, pantyhose-clad calves. He imagined they felt creamy too. Goddammit, they

smelled

creamy. Rich and creamy. He snapped back and looked at Cam intently. "Go on. What else?"

"Yeah, so, her legs were crossed under the desk, and she was bouncing the top leg -"

"No!"

"Yep. And the heel of her shoe was danglin' right off'er foot."

"Fuck me..."

Cam nodded. "Yessir. Them shoes was doin' it for me. I reached under the desk and wrapped my hand gently around her naked heel. Well not exackly naked, right? Cuz a'the pantyhose." Cam winked at Jerry and something burbled up from Jerry's gut and escaped in a strangled gasp.

Cam glanced around the empty grounds, then slowly lowered himself to the scrubby grass, dropping the last six inches with a whump! as his ass settled in. His pantlegs rode up and Jerry could see a garish cobra tattoo snaking down his left calf and disappearing into his grubby sock. His skin was white and hairless.

"An' then I just took it from there, real slow," said Cam, reaching forward and massaging an invisible leg in front of him. "I moved my hand up her calf, drinkin' in that smooth, creamy feel. Then I slid it down again, and I gave that muscle a little squeeze as I went. I won't lie, I was tremblin' somethin' fierce."

Jerry sat down beside Cam and assumed the same position, both of them groping and kneading the empty air as if it were full of luxurious legs. "Oh yeah. This feels good," said Jerry.

"Yep," said Cam, smiling appreciatively, "you got it. Just like that. And then I just kep' goin' at it. Up, down, up, down, up, down, gettin' both hands in on the action. It was like I was goddamn jerkin' off!" They laughed.

"Wow," said Jerry. "That's just... amazing." They stood and dusted their pants.

"Damn straight. But we had it worked out ahead a'time, right? We had a deal. We'd been makin' eyes for a couple'a weeks, and I made it a point to gawp at her legs whenever I could, 'specially in the break room, so she knew what I's after.

"That break room got to be our thing. We started to co-ordinate on timing. I'd get there a few minutes before her and take that table over by the lockers. She'd come in later an' sit at the table kind'a kitty-corner.

"She knew right where t'sit, right in my line'a sight. She crossed them legs up nice an' high, right? And while she sipped her tea and read her book, her hand would drift down and play with her skirt. Fingerin' the hem. And slowly, but damn surely, she'd hike that skirt up, distracted like, so's not to look too intentional."

"Jesus mother!"

"Yep. And I'd get an eyeful a'that smooth-ass thigh, tight as all hell, always encased in that glorious pantyhose. One time," Cam lowered his voice and leaned in, "I even got a peek at the control top."

"Aaahhh...!"

"Exackly brother! Egg... SACKLY! An' every few minutes we'd make eye contact, and I'd look away all nervous like, but she knew, and I knew she knew, and she knew I knew she knew - you get where I'm going', right? It was all part of her plan. Like it was a game, right? And then Monday she dropped this on my table." Cam handed Jerry a crumpled paper.

It was a crudely drawn stick figure cartoon. One figure was sitting on the floor in front of a desk, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the leg of the other figure, which was sitting at the desk typing in front of a computer. The word "me" was written above the figure sitting at the desk, the word "you" was written above the one sitting on the floor. At the bottom of the paper it said, "Thursdays. 5:30. Shhh!"

Jerry stared at the drawing. "It's goddamn pornographic!" They guffawed and clapped each others' backs.

Cam and Jerry worked at a small operation as far as nylon factories went. The company had only a few clients, cheap knock-off hosiery brands that filled the ratty shelves of dollar stores and low-rent outlet malls.

Cam had been working the manufacturing line for a dozen years now. He was among the oldest and most experienced in the shop. He knew the ins-and-outs of every machine. Jerry was just four months on the job. He looked up to Cam as something of a mentor. And not just in terms of the job duties.

Jerry had discovered Cam was just as...

appreciative

of the product as he was. Both men were obsessed with pantyhose and pantyhose-covered legs. Now, it appeared as if Cam was living out a real-life pantyhose fantasy with the accountant, Marjory Mason. "Mrs. Mason," the men called her, even to her face. She did nothing to dissuade them.

It didn't really make sense to call her that. All the other women at the company, whether they were on the line or in the office, were known by their first names, as anyone would expect. But for some reason, without any suggestion or preference made evident by Marjory herself, the men had all taken to calling her Mrs. Mason. The women called her Marjory. No one called her Marge.

Jerry thought the name arose because Mrs. Mason presented an old-time teacher vibe, or a stiff-lipped librarian - a real disciplinarian who would brook no nonsense. She was probably in her 40s, maybe even 50. She dressed in earth tones, various shades of beige, brown, olive green, burnt orange, some black and off-white. She wore snug sweaters and turtlenecks and long-sleeve blouses that flattered, but never showed much skin or any cleavage to speak of. But she always,

always

wore a skirt. And pantyhose.

Mrs. Mason's skirts were conservative and tasteful, in Jerry's view. Most of them came down to just above her knees. One day, not long after Jerry had started, she wore a pleated, tartan job that was a little shorter and that swished when she walked, which had Jerry almost doubled over with desire. That's the day he revealed his predilection to Cam, who was not surprised.

Cam told Jerry Mrs. Mason had been there about three years. He said he'd had the same obsession with her legs early on, but it faded over time. That is, until Jerry came along and re-ignited Cam's fire.

Spurred on by Jerry's youthful energy, Cam grew bolder in his open appreciation of Mrs. Mason's legs, to the point where, apparently, he'd struck some sort of deal with her, where she was allowing Cam to feel up her legs under her desk every Thursday. And today was Thursday.

Jerry looked at his watch. "Cam," he said, "it's 5:25!"

"Don't gotta tell me, brother! I been waitin' all week fer this! I'll tell ya all about it tomorrow." Cam went back to the entrance and disappeared inside, tossing Jerry a shit-eating grin over his shoulder.

Jerry waved and went to his car, adjusting his pants along the way.

***

The next day Jerry cornered Cam on the factory floor. The knitting machines rattled and hummed. "Let's hear it man!"

"Yer already hard I bet!" joked Cam. He even glanced down at Jerry's crotch. "Well that's all right. I damn near 'sploded myself when I got my fingers wrapped around that juicy leg meat. I tell ya, the anticipation a'that first touch, I thought I was gonna shake right outta my shoes. She was wearin' heels again, black ones. But this time I decided to take 'em off to get a better handle on her feet, right?"

"Yes!"

"So, I gently peeled them shoes off and set them on the floor. Then I got to work on her toes. They're not my favorite part mind you. I'd'a preferred to be up on the thigh, right, but if I'm any kind'a judge of a woman's response, she was 'preciatian' that foot massage big time. I could see the toe seam of her pantyhose, right? That squiggly little line 'bout did me in.

"Also, this time," Cam continued over the clatter, "she got to crossin' and re-crossin' her legs. And that was somethin' else." Jerry slapped his leg in a hot damn! sort of gesture. "'Course I couldn't see nuthin' cuz a'the way she turned sideways to do the crossin', and truth be told, I didn't want to anyway. You know what I mean. Upskirt ain't our thing, right?" Cam narrowed his eyes at Jerry, seeking corroboration on this point.

Jerry nodded vigorously. He would have looked of course, but Cam was right. He was all about the legs, legs, legs. Panty flashes just weren't his bag. He would take the side- and three-quarter view all the live-long day.

"The thing about the legs crossin'," said Cam, "is the sound. It's dead quiet in the office after hours, and she wasn't even typin', and I just heard that sound. But she couldn't do the cross under the desk - not enough space, right? So she pushed back in her chair, turned sideways to the desk, crossed 'em up, and then slid back under." Cam turned away from his work to face Jerry.

"Now get back to it kid. 'Nuff lollygaggin'. Let's have ourselves a chat next Thursday. Got an idea for ya." He winked.

Jerry made his way back to his workstation, listening intently in his mind's eye to the hypnotizing shushhhh, shushhhh, shushhhh of Mrs. Mason's pantyhose-covered legs crossing and crossing and crossing...

***

Next Thursday Jerry met Cam by the picnic tables after work. Cam was anxious to see him, almost nervous. "Alright bud, here's what I'm thinking," he motioned Jerry closer. The evening breeze ruffled Cam's combover as he hopped from foot to foot.

"Mrs. Mason and me, we never actually see each other, right? I mean, I see her legs a'course, but there's no face-to-face. I'm in position by 5:30, she comes in a'couple'a minutes after, and then the show starts. It's all over at 5:45. She just gets up an' goes. I wait a few minutes, then I leave too. We ain't never crossed paths nor talked as part a'the deal."

Jerry looked at Cam expectantly, not quite getting where this was going. "So what I'm sayin' kid, is it could be anyone crouched down in front'a that desk, coppin' a feel'a that luscious leg! Even you!" Cam jabbed a stubby finger into Jerry's chest hard enough to rock him back a step.

Jerry's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh shit! Yeah? You think so?"

"Damn straight I do. It's somethin' I wanna share, y'know? You and me bein' of the same mind an' all."

"But wouldn't she, I don't know... I don't think she'd like it too much if she found out we switched." It made Jerry a little uneasy, but he had to admit it was hot as hell. In fact, he thought, the switch idea seemed even hotter than if he'd made his own arrangement with Mrs. Mason - a thought that had indeed occurred to him more than once the past few days.

"What,

you're

going to tell her?" scoffed Cam. "Now listen, it's simple. Just as I said. It's already 5:10. Wait 'til 5:30, then creep into her office an' tuck yourself down in front'a her desk. Don't be late, 'cause if she sees you bumblin' down there the jig's up - for me too, and I sure as shit ain't havin' that.

"After she comes in, you do your thing - respectful like though! Do it like I been doin' it, slow, gentle, up and down, give'n her that nice attention she deserves. Wait a few minutes after she leaves an' then you skedaddle after. Nuthin' to it, right?"

"Right, sure, sure!" nodded Jerry, warming to Cam's seemingly foolproof plan.

"Great kid! Now I gotta scoot. You do what I tell ya, you'll do fine. We'll talk tomorrow." Cam clapped Jerry on the shoulder and scuttled off to his car. He got behind the wheel and peeled out of the lot.

Jerry hid in the bathroom until the appointed time, trying to control his excitement. He knew it made no sense to be concerned about his appearance given he would not be seen, but he primped in the mirror all the same. He adjusted his hair and his shirt and hitched up his jeans.

The minutes ticked by. At last he was ready.

It was 5:28. The office was silent, just as Cam had described. Jerry tiptoed into Mrs. Mason's office and went to her desk.

There was about three feet of snug space between the desk and the wall. Jerry wiped his palms on his jeans before hunkering down. He extended his legs under the desk and spread them wide, leaving lots of space for Mrs. Mason's legs to fit between. His eyes were about level with the top of the desk, but the computer setup and heaps of accounting files easily blocked him from sight. He waited.

He heard her heels clicking along the corridor and immediately began to feel the pulse down in his jeans. Mrs. Mason came into the office and went straight to her chair.

She crossed her legs and rolled forward into the desk, her shin stopping about two feet from Jerry's face. She was wearing the coffee-cream pantyhose again. Or at least, they looked just like how Cam had described them. Or again: how Jerry had

imagined

them based on Cam's description.

Mrs. Mason's heels were taupe coloured and very glossy, as if shellacked. She pointed the foot of her top leg, then stretched it up, and her shoe popped off her heel and dangled down from her toes. She began to bounce it slowly up and down. Jerry could hear her fingers quietly tapping on the keyboard.

Jerry started from the electric shock as his fingertips made first contact, and he thought he heard a gasp from above the desk. There was a pause in the typing. Jerry slowly wrapped his fingers around the back of her calf, feeling the generous weight of it. She did not feel exceptionally toned, which was perfectly fine by Jerry. He'd never been into the sporty ones. The typing resumed.

Jerry began to massage up and down her leg. He was hyper-focused on the sensations and sounds, willing himself to embed the feeling so deep in his memory he'd be able to recall it with absolute clarity in case he never got this opportunity again.

The feel of her pantyhose prickled against his palm. He gently removed her shoe and studied the darker shade of hose that made up the reinforced toe. Her feet were not dainty by any stretch, but that was ok too. He could see the veins of her feet bulging through the hose, giving away her age.

And then Mrs. Mason pushed her chair away, twisted sideways, re-crossed her legs, and pulled forward again, right leg on top this time. Jerry started all over on the new leg. He could feel his cock lengthening against the inside of his thigh.

As he was kneading her calf, Jerry saw a dark spot on her skin through the pantyhose, behind her ankle. He shifted his weight and craned his neck to get a better look.

He kept rolling her calf in his hand, pushing the flesh so he could get a better view. The dark spot stretched with her skin, and he could see that it was more than a spot - it was a thick band of black, about an inch-and-a-half wide, that descended from her calf and narrowed to a point at the outside of her ankle.

He kept kneading and stretching the skin, trying to see; he was seized with an inexplicable sense of dread.

Suddenly, the chair pushed away from the desk again, out of Jerry's grasping fingers. He froze. Mrs. Mason rotated in her chair, uncrossed her legs and stood. She turned and walked out of the office. He saw the back of her legs. He saw what the black band was. It was a tattoo. A tattoo of a cobra.

***

The next day it was Cam's turn to approach Jerry on the floor. "Well kid? Whadja think? She's somethin' else, ain't she?"

Jerry stared down at his work, at the hypnotizing motion of the machines. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Cam was silent for a moment. "Yeah? That's all ya got for me? Yeah?!"

Jerry knew his response would not suffice for Cam. It didn't make sense after all the buildup. He'd been as excited as a damn puppy, and he knew that if he didn't pay it off, he might give away that he knew it had been Cam sitting at the desk instead of Mrs. Mason. He had to dredge up some enthusiasm.

"I mean, yeah! Hell yeah! It was... it was amazing!"

Cam reared back with a grin that split his face. Jerry's stomach turned. "Told ya! Right? Amazin'! An' she was wearin' that coffee-cream hose, right? I know 'cuz I saw her earlier."

Jerry jerked his head in a nod.

"Hey," Cam leaned closer, conspiratorial now, rubbing his hands together. Jerry flinched. "You get off after you got home?" he whispered. "Bet you didn't even wait to get home, eh? How 'bout If I look in the john for your spunk rag? Or some crusty yellow tissues in your car?"

Jerry could feel Cam's hot breath in his ear. His heart was thrumming along with the machines. He had no idea where the inspiration for his next words came from. But suddenly, without any calculation whatsoever, he returned his friend's invasive whisper.

"Not even. After she left the room, I whipped it out and shot off right there." Jerry could hear Cam's sharp intake of breath whistling over his teeth. "Didn't even clean it up. Look under the desk next week, you'll see it all crusted up on the carpet. You might even see the bit that hit the chair. I shot that motherfucker off

hard

."

Jerry's temples were throbbing. He didn't know what had possessed him. He looked sideways at Cam, who stood stock still. His face was red, eyes open and staring. Bulging.

"Jay-zus," Cam finally said, long and low. "Ain't you a firecracker then?" Jerry had returned his attention to his machine. He was done with this conversation.

After a few more seconds of staring at Jerry's inert profile, Cam walked away. They didn't talk again for a week.

***

Cam cornered Jerry Thursday morning just as they were hitting the factory floor. "So kid," he said. "Tonight's the night." Jerry didn't say anything. "She's all yours, bud."

Jerry fidgeted. "I, uh, don't think I can - "

" - oh yes you can," said Cam, taking half a step toward Jerry. "She'll be 'spectin' you."

Jerry shrank back from Cam's intensity. He figured it was better to play along at this point and pull a no-show later. He nodded and bowed his head in what he instantly realized was a textbook submissive gesture. Cam nodded back, nose high: Good. That's settled then.

And indeed it was. Because despite Jerry's best effort to give him the slip after work, Cam was right there, staring him down from across the room as the sluggish tide of factory workers shuffled their way through the massive double doors. His arms were folded across his chest. Jerry had never seen Cam play the tough guy, but he was doing a damn fine job of it now.

Jerry retreated to the bathroom to hide. He crouched on the toilet seat, not wanting any stragglers to chat him up while he was (in theory) taking a dump.

Sweat poured down his armpits. He found he could not focus his eyes on one thing for more than few seconds before they darted somewhere else, bouncing around in his skull without his say-so.