As luck would have it, I was visiting a relative on Cape Cod when he was suddenly called back to the city to deal with an issue at his business. As he was closing the door behind him, he told me to stay as long as I liked and to be sure to lock the door when I went out. At first, I was disappointed because I had anticipated a nice visit and time for us to catch up, but it was a quiet season of the year, and I enjoyed the thought of exploring on my own without having to deal with the summer crowds. I changed into my bike clothes and hopped on the rail trail which was only a block from his house and spent the first morning, getting acquainted with the surrounding area.
When I returned to Wellfleet, I rode into town and found a nice cafe. Had it been a hot day, I would have gone home and showered first, but I felt that it was not necessary on this particular day. Upon entering the cafe, I noticed a friendly looking gentleman sitting in the corner. He was wearing jeans and a blue oxford shirt with a light fleece. I ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea and could not resist a pastry and sat at the table next to him. As I was fixing my tea, he commended my choice of pastry. I took a bite and immediately agreed. Our conversation took off from there. We discovered that we shared a number of common interests, and I found him to be relaxed and even more friendly than I first suspected.
When I mentioned to him that I lived in a tiny house, he chuckled and suggested that I would probably find his house interesting and invited me to check it out. I think that I surprised him when I took accepted the offer.
We finished our drinks and cleared our tables and then headed down the street, a short two minute walk around the corner and down the block and then we came upon his very small house. It looked almost like a doll house, so typical for Cape Cod, dressed in its weathered shingles and decorated with flowers. Obviously, he took pride in how he maintained his little home.
We entered the house, and I was totally impressed with the look and the feel of the interior. It was like stepping back in time, but everything had its place and it was comfortable beyond imagination. He pointed out the loft where he slept and showed me the small kitchen. And then he asked if I would enjoy a second cup of tea. I gladly accepted and sat down at the table while watching him put the kettle on the stove. He sat down across from me, and we continued our conversation.
He struck me as a gentle, sensitive kind of guy, perhaps not the kind of qualities that are to be found in guys all that often, but traits which I happen to admire. Like me, he was divorced, later in life, but he had not remarried. I wondered to myself if he had an active sex life, if he was a ladies man who used his sensitivity to find his way into women's hearts, or if he had a tendency to be more interested in guys. As if he were reading my mind, he shifted the conversation to include the fact that he had not met any women on the cape. There were plenty of single women to be sure, but none of them had actually struck him has potential soulmates. I asked him if he felt lonely, and he replied that he was still looking for a good friend, that he had this silly notion that somewhere out there, there was a kindred spirit. If Anne of Green Gables could find a kindred spirit, why couldn't he? Was it possible for guys to share that same kind of friendship?
I assured him that I thought it was possible, that I had had a few friendships during my lifetime in which I felt a true bond. He asked if that included sex, and I smiled and said no, just good friendships, but then I added that I could understand how sex could play a role in a meaningful relationship between two guys. Our conversation paused, neither of us knowing just what to say next.
Breaking the silence, I asked if I could use his bathroom. He pointed, but he really did not need to. In his tiny house, it was quite obvious where everything was! I closed the door and looked around. There was a hamper with no lid in the corner, and on the top of the heap of dirty clothes was a pair of very delicate, sexy panties. I wondered if, perhaps, he had a room mate that he had yet to disclose.
I finished and washed my hands and returned to the main room. It seemed that this would be an appropriate time to thank him for his hospitality, to bid farewell, and to head back to the house for a shower, but my new friend encouraged me to sit down again. He had no agenda for the day, and he was enjoying sharing time with company. Of course, I had no agenda either, so I gladly accepted the invitation. He started by saying that he was intrigued with my comment regarding the possibility of sex being shared by two guys. I voiced the thought that two healthy , like minded guys who enjoyed sex might very well have an intense relationship, perhaps connecting in a way that might be impossible in a heterosexual relationship. He nodded in agreement.
At this point, I apologized for being somewhat nosy and asked if, indeed, a woman was in his life, having noted the pretty panties in the clothes hamper. He paused, thinking intently about his response, and then he obviously made the decision to share some intimate details. He told me that the panties were his. He stopped and studied my reaction. I was certainly surprised, and I am sure that it showed through my expression. But then I smiled and remarked that he had good taste. That seemed to break the tension that had suddenly filled the room. He chuckled and told me that he appreciated the compliment.
We talked about his interest in wearing woman's panties, something that had started early in his life. I felt compelled to share that I too had an interest and that from time to time I had borrowed a pair of my wife's panties and worn them, a wonderful secret that I found to be quite a turn on. We quickly grew comfortable talking about the eroticism associated with wearing soft feminine undergarments, and I lamented the fact that it took so much coaxing to get my wife to put something especially sexy on.
And then I asked him point blank, if he was wearing panties under his jeans. He smiled and responded that, indeed, he was It seemed like many seconds passed before he resumed the conversation and asked if I would like to see them. I sensed that once again he felt as though he had gone out on a limb. He was not sure how I would react. Would I thank him for the tea and make an excuse to quickly leave or would I accept his offer to see what was hidden underneath his jeans? I smiled and told him that I would be delighted to see them.
It was immediately apparent that he was grateful to hear that. He was glad that instead of being a conversation killer, it was confirming. Not only did I tell him that I would enjoy seeing his panties. but I was telling him that it was perfectly ok for him to share intimate thoughts, that I was interested, that I found it worth it to pursue this friendship, knowing that we might quickly open ourselves to vulnerable positions in which we shared details about our sexual fantasies. And that was ok.
It was obvious that he was pleased that I was interested in seeing his panties. He got up from his chair and slowly, but deliberately, began to unbutton his jeans and then he pulled down his zipper. He was standing just a few feet from where I was sitting. It dawned on me that I was finding this experience to be very exciting. I was intensely interested to see his choice of panties. I wondered if they would be soft and feminine and sexy, or more like the utilitarian ones that my wife typically wore. I wondered if he would be aroused, if I would see the outline of his cock through the material. I wondered how big he was. We had just met an hour ago, and here I was sitting in this fellow's small kitchen, sharing a cup of tea , and watching him undress in front of me, questions zipping through my mind.
