My first attempt at a story so, please, be gentle. Panty lovers might get a kick out of it! Feedback appreciated.
Hope someone enjoys it out there...
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Denise lived next door to my family as I grew up in a small city in Australia. She was married to a guy who never grew up, drank a lot and treated her poorly. Their home was littered with his empty beer bottles and her empty dreams.
My Dad would often say she was a pretty woman who deserved a whole lot better in life. Denise was originally a country girl and in Australia that meant there was a certain something about her. She came from a sheep and grain farming family and was used to hard, physical work. This also meant that she had muscularity to her feminine shape and 'wiriness' in her long limbs.
Denise was tall, with large, heavy, firm breasts atop a slim body. Her dark brown hair was always shiny I remember and whilst she seldom wore make-up, she was a young, attractive looking woman for a forty two year old. She hadn't had children, which surprised me because she was a qualified teacher who seemed to love children.
My lasting memory of Denise to this day was that she would always work in a singlet shirt outside in her garden (in Australia they're called 'Wife Beater' singlets) with 'Farmer shorts' that were rolled up to expose a fair portion of her thighs (Farmer shorts were pretty common, strong, canvas shorts in the 80's in Australia). She would be so engaged in her work that most often her right bra strap would slip down onto her arm and she was forever jerking that arm upward to loop the strap back over her shoulder. That action would cause her right breast to jiggle deliciously and it was this jiggle that has etched itself into my mind for eternity.
Whilst there were other, prettier women in the local area for me to fantasise about in my late adolescence (I had just turned 18 at the time of this story), Denise was my next door neighbour and she was always close by. I had diarised in my mind all meetings with her on different levels that fuelled my masturbatory fantasies as a young adult.
Most common were the picture stills in my mind that were seared in my memory: a hint of breast flesh here, a cursory glance up the leg of her shorts to reveal pale blue panties, bending over in the garden to reveal a heart shaped ass atop long powerful legs -- the list was, and still is, endless. I often lay on my bed in the stillness of night, furiously beating off to visions of her dressed in panties and bra with me holding her breasts or her allowing me to rub my fingers over her panty clad pussy, feeling the wetness seep through the thin gusset of material. I could never 'last' long enough to actually consider any sort of sexual penetration in my dreams -- rather I was simply longing to touch her I suspect.
In fact, panties (and most specifically, her panties) had become one of my obsessions as my teen years faded. The fact that a woman's panties were worn close to her pussy made them 'private' garments for me. My experiences with cousins and relatives had taught me that women's panties were private -- my cousin once screamed with disgust when I simply fingered a pair of her panties on the clothesline at her home one sunny afternoon. It caused a minor family breakdown and I remember, after the event, Dad had explained to me (under duress from Mum) that it probably wasn't the best idea to play with a woman's 'private attire' because, in his words, 'Blokes don't play with women's undies mate.' A typically Aussie Dad response.
However the sheer reaction from my cousin that afternoon had set me on the well trodden male path that, if women were not keen for me to see their panties, there must be something worth looking at! Thus I deduced if panties were my 'thing', then the next obvious step in my young, preoccupied male mind might appear to be having a pair of Denise's!
And so it began.
My parents, freed from a life of child minding at my coming of age, had become expert travellers. They had been reticent to let me stay on my own at home during my early teen years. Thus, with their newfound freedom, each weekend saw them load up the car and take off to some sort of beach location around our state -- often with friends who had also jettisoned their parental responsibilities, leaving their kids at home to fend for themselves.
In the summer of 1986 Mum and Dad were off every weekend, often arriving home on a Sunday evening just in time to unpack, sleep and wake the next day to head to work for the week.
So it was one particular weekend in '86 that I stood on the driveway and waved them goodbye to the increasingly familiar sounds of arguing from next door. As my parents disappeared from sight down the road, my attention turned to Denise and her husband attempting to pack their own car for a weekend trip to visit her parents.
As I looked on, Denise struggled out the front door with two bags packed to splitting point wearing a patterned, summery dress that billowed in the afternoon cool breeze. Her gorgeous breasts jiggled with her effort and my eyes focused so I could commit this to memory for later that night. She offered me a warm smile which was quickly followed by a scowl as her dead head husband issued a torrent of abuse from within the house. Seeing her unsuccessfully attempt to swing the bags into the trunk of the car, I quickly jogged over the grassed area between our houses to help.
I offered her a 'Hello' and grabbed at the handle of the case in her right hand to help her out. She muttered a quick 'Thankyou' and I got an eye full of jiggling boob as her body adjusted to the lack of weight. Her Lavender smell was present as always and I could make out some panty lines through her cotton dress. I became fully aware of my pulse and heartbeat at that second.
