tagFetishThe Valentine's Day Panties Search

The Valentine's Day Panties Search

bySuperHeroRalph©

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

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Ralph collects his last pair of panties, Valentine's Day panties, to complete his collection.

Ralph collects panties. Of course, even though he knew that panties could be a fetish for some men, he assured himself that it wasn't a fetish for him. He never thought he had a panty fetish, that is, until he opened his dresser drawer one day and noticed that he had more women's panties than he had socks and Ralph has a lot of pairs of socks.

Shades of the manifestation of a sexual perversion, a meat and potatoes sexually, plain Jane kind of guy, he always thought he was a normal, one who'd never have a fetish, other than voyeurism. Yet, all guys are voyeurs, so much so that voyeurism isn't even a fetish, not really, when it comes to men, that is, unless they're a peeper. A peeper is much different than a voyeur, but this story is about having a panty fetish and not about voyeurs or peepers.

Without realizing it, what started as a joke, a sexual endearment, turned into a full blown fetish. He's not the type of guy who lurks in the lingerie department, while feeling the panties that are out on display. Nor does he get an erection, when he sees an underwear display in a magazine or an underwear commercial on television. Nor is he the type of guy who tries to steal up skirt peeks of women's panties on the bus or in the subway. Nor does he wear or masturbate on the panties that he collects. He's normal in every sort of way, other than the fact that he has a panty collection.

Yet, how can he possibly explain all these panties that he has in his possession without admitting that he has a panty fetish? To his defense, Ralph doesn't collect just any panty or anyone's panties. He only collects the panties of the women with whom he's had sex with, as a sexy souvenir. After winning the sexual charms of a woman, he takes her panties, as if being victorious and claiming the flag of his opponent. Sometimes not an easy thing to do, to claim their panties, without the woman thinking him odd. Yet, along with their sexuality, some women willingly surrendered their panties to Ralph with a laugh and a shrug, while others need more encouragement and persuasion to forfeit a piece of their lingerie.

Fortunately, Ralph has a way with women. Full of charm and charisma, a good looking man, Ralph is good at persuading woman out of their panties. A successful businessman, he owns a chain of gyms. As well as being the owner and manager, he works as the head personal trainer, and drives a new Corvette. What more would women want than to be with a good looking man, who not only had a buff body but also had money? The eternal bachelor that he is, he was a good catch and, being the lover that he is, by showing women a good time and lavishing them with gifts and tokens of his affection, he knew how to treat women right to make them surrender their panties.

Only, now that he was past his prime and in his forties, his panty collection was beginning to languish from lack of sexual interest and a decreasing libido from lower testosterone. He wasn't as young as he used to be and hadn't added a new pair of panty to his collection in some time. Now at a different place in his life, too many women who frequented the gym were half his age. Not wanting him, as much as he didn't want them, now that he was older and had more priorities than having sex with every available woman, he viewed the younger and immature women as eye candy and just members of his health club rather than sexual conquests. Unlike his friends who loved dating women half their age, he preferred women his own age, women that he could have a meaningful conversation with without having to stop to explain everything.

On those days when he was alone and lonely, when his only friend was one too many single malt scotches, as if the women were there with him, he'd go through his panty drawer and reminisce of his good times, while wondering why he never found the right woman. As if an archeologist on a dig, as if reading a chapter in his life's book, every panty in his collection saved a special memory and a story of making love and having sex, as well as a unique fragrance. Always saving a newly unique pair, never did he save a second pair of panty from the same woman. In the way the panties were saved and categorized by colors and styles, each one labeled with the name of the woman and the date of the conquest, his dresser drawer looked more like a forensic scientist's lab compartment than a piece of furniture.

He saved each rolled up panty in a plastic bag and then in a small air tight plastic container that was a bit bigger than a toothbrush container, so as not to mix the perfumed scent with another. He needed that sensual aroma to bring back the memory of their sexual encounter and with their fragrance jogging his memory, he remembered them, as if he were with him yesterday. Wondering if Tom Jones had a panty fetish, he wondered if he had more panties than Tom Jones. Back then, when Tom Jones was a big star, women would freely remove their panties and toss them up on stage.

Some may view his panty collection as a perversion or a fetish, but he viewed it as more an odorous photograph album, a recollection of his sexual past. What some men saved in a little black book, he saved something more personal in plastic bags and air tight, little boxes in his dresser drawer. He never thought anything wrong with that, that is, until looking at them all now and until realizing just how many panties he had.

Some panties were perfumed and others were powdered, while some had a fragrance of both perfume and powder, as well as other odors that are natural to a woman's body in her time of sexual arousal. As if he was a dog and able to identify all the other dogs around him, not that women are canines, albeit some are animals, especially when sexually aroused, with just one sniff, already possessing the name and the date of their encounter, he could recall the rest of the details. Never would he consider laundering them. The soap and water would permanently erase the memory from his mind of their time together.

Some of his panties were old, yet, because he preserved them in airtight containers, they still saved their unique fragrances. He was, indeed, a lucky man to have bedded so many beautiful women. He didn't need their pictures to remember them; he had their panties with their scent. If only they knew he still saved their panties, along with their fresh memories, as if it was yesterday. He wondered if they'd be grossed out, flattered, or indifferent.

With nothing better to do and in the mood to enjoy his panty collection, one by one, he removed all the containers from his drawer and lined them along the floor in rows of twenty-five. He had so many panties that if he removed them all from their containers and flatted them out, he could wallpaper his room. Still in their containers, when lined up in this way, they resembled a plastic panty flag of all the multi-racial and multi-national women he bedded. Tall, short, pleasingly plump, thin or shapely, brunette, blonde, or redhead, their panties were all here.

One short of five hundred panties, with panties in every color and style, and in celebration of every holiday, special occasion, and tender moment in his life, he had them all, except for one. Oddly enough, he was missing Valentine's Day panties. Quickly, he looked through his collection and there was not one panty with pink hearts or Cupid holding his bow and arrow. How could that be? The odd thing about it was that, of all days, as strange as that may be, racking his brain as hard as he could, he couldn't recall ever having sex on Valentine's Day. He couldn't even recall buying a woman the customary Valentine's gift of flowers and chocolate.

Then, when he thought why he didn't have Valentine's Day panties, moving his mind through the amount of scotch he just consumed, he realized that Valentine's Day was his beloved mother's birthday and on that one day, in honor of his deceased mother, thinking of her memory, he never went out on a date. Instead, he flew to the cemetery where she was buried in Hershey, Pennsylvania, so very far away. That's where she was born and where she wanted to be buried, after she divorced his Dad, so very long ago. With his Dad no longer in his life, not knowing if he was dead or alive, he lost touch with him years ago and had no idea where he is now, but he knows where is mother is buried. Without fail, every year, as if it was his personal pilgrimage, he visited his mother's grave on Valentine's Day with a bouquet of red roses, her favorite flower.

As if it was fated, it's funny sometimes how life has a way of rearranging his internal compass to put him in a different direction that he may not have ordinarily taken. The road he never traveled put him on a collision course for a new adventure. With Valentine's Day quickly approaching, the next day, he packed his car and set out for the drive. Usually, short on time, he flew to Pennsylvania. This time, he could have taken the train, the bus, or the plane, and anyone of those modes of transportation may have put him in a different time and a different place to deter him from his collision course with fate, but he loved driving his new car, his beloved Corvette. A little dicey in the winter, he had outfitted his car with four snow tires. Between the traction and stability control, he was more surefooted than most drivers with four wheel drive that only drove on all season tires.

Between staying overnight here and hanging out with some friends there, taking his time and enjoying his journey, it took him three days to reach the cemetery. Usually never running into anyone, today was different. As soon as he came upon his mother's grave, he saw a familiar face. His mother's caregiver, Susan, was just leaving, after paying her respects and leaving a red rose behind.

"Susan. Wait. Hi."

"Ralph? How are you? Oh, my God. It's been years and," she said pausing as he neared. "You look the same and I look so much older," she said touching her blonde hair and looking away, as if she was embarrassed by her appearance.

"Are you kidding me? You look wonderful. You've aged with grace. Matter of fact, you look better now than you did ten years ago. You look even more like Marilyn Monroe now than you did then."

"Oh, stop. You haven't changed. You're such a flatterer."

"You do look quite a bit like Norma Jean Monroe," he said again, suddenly taken with her good looks.

"Thank you, you're so sweet, so kind, and such a great liar," she said with a laugh, while running a hand over her hair again. "Although I do admit that you're not the first person who has told me that I look like her. You still look great," she said giving him the eye.

"If I look good at all, being in the health and fitness business, it's only because I must, as an example to my gym members. I'm also vain enough to die my hair," he said with a chuckle and a shrug.

Knowing his flowers would be collected the next day or stolen that day, as the cemetery had strict rules about not planting flowers, unless the grave had a planter, Ralph cleared a bit of snow with his foot and left his flowers leaning against his mother's tombstone. When he bowed his head to say a prayer, giving him some privacy, Susan stepped back a few feet, while busying herself in her pocketbook. She pulled out her lipstick and colored her lips a bright red. Then, adding a bit of rouge to her cheeks, she looked at herself in the compact, while fluffing her hair.

Normally, after driving such a great distance, he would have stayed longer to visit with his mother, but more interested in her than in his mother's grave, Susan detracted him from his thoughts. Maybe tomorrow, he'd visit again, before leaving. To run into her again, after all these years was kismet. He never had given her a thought, until now.

"I can't believe you drove your car all the way here, instead of flying," she said. "How is that car in the snow?"

"I have snow tires and so long as I'm careful and don't drive like a maniac, it's perfectly fine in the snow. I can't help it. I love my car. I'd rather drive than have someone else do the driving or flying."

"Well, it was so nice to see you, again, Ralph," she said giving him a hug. "Happy Valentine's Day."

They both turned to walk back to their cars, before her well wishes hit him in the back of the head, as if a thrown snowball.

"Wait. Susan," he said turning around and walking towards her. "Even though I knew it was Valentine's Day, of course, because it was Mom's birthday, I never realized the significance of the day, until you just said it. Partly being the confirmed bachelor that I am and partly because Valentine's Day was my Mom's birthday and my day to pay her my respect, I never celebrated Valentine's Day in the way that others did."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Valentine's Day is the day of love and romance," he said making eye contact with her and suddenly thinking of her more as a love match than as his mother's ex-caregiver.

"Not for me, it isn't," she said with a laugh. "Valentine's Day is just another day, I'm afraid. I've gone beyond love and romance. I can't remember the last time anyone gave me flowers or bought me candy," she said with a sad little laugh.

Tall, shapely, blonde, and with blue-eyes, she was pretty and he always liked her, but not in that way. Whenever he visited his Mom, she'd be there and she was always affable, funny, and fun. He never gave her consideration as a love match because she was married then and he never dated married women. Encouraged now, by her confession of how she felt about Valentine's Day, suspecting that she was alone and widowed or divorced, perceiving her loneliness, he persevered. Moreover, perhaps, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of finally adding Valentine's Day panties to his collection.

"People shouldn't be alone and everyone should have someone in their life. If you're not doing anything, I mean," he said brazenly and to the point. Looking at her and suddenly sensing her rejection of him. "Sorry, I didn't realize. Oh, how stupid of me? I thought, I just assumed, you were like me, alone and lonely. Surely, someone who looks as good as you do would have someone in your life and for me to presume--"

"I don't. I mean, I did, but I divorced my husband, after I caught him in bed with our babysitter. She was only 18-years-old, the pig."

Again, encouraged by her confession, hoping to have a romantic evening, he persisted.

"Do you want to get some dinner?"

"Sure," she said pausing, "but why don't you come to my house. I'll cook something. I don't go out much anymore. I've become a homebody. Besides, it's a small town and everyone talks. I'd have an easier time explaining your car in my driveway that I would with someone seeing us sitting together in a restaurant," she said with a laugh.

"I'm just the opposite. Either I order takeout in or I go out to eat. It would be a real treat to have a home cooked meal."

"Follow me, then. I'm not far from here."

"Give me your address," he said. "If you don't mind, I have to go to my hotel to check-in first and change. I don't want to lose my reservation. Besides, I need a shower. It's been a long drive."

"Sure," she said retrieving a piece of paper and a pen from her purse. She wrote her address and handed it to him, while giving him a sad look that made him realize that she didn't think he'd come.

"I can't wait for a decent meal," he said with a smile and giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek to reassure her that he would. "What time?"

"Oh, any time after six. We can have a drink and visit, before we eat."

Promptly at six, Ralph appeared at her door with a dozen red roses, a Valentine's Day card, a bottle of wine, a plush, white teddy bear with a Happy Valentine's Day banner across his chest, and a big, red satin heart filled with candy. Susan greeted him at the door with her makeup freshly applied, her hair fixed, and wearing a low cut top and a short skirt. She looked amazing and more how he remembered her looking, than how she looked at the cemetery.

"Oh, Ralph, how nice of you to do all of his for me. Thank you," she said accepting the roses and the card, while he carried in the wine, the teddy bear, and the candy.

"Actually, other than buying my mother birthday gifts on Valentine's Day, I never bought a woman anything for Valentine's Day. You're my first Valentine," he said with a laugh. "I was always visiting with Mom on Valentine's Day, even after she passed away."

"You were always so good to your mother and you're so sweet to buy me all of this," she said surprising him by throwing her arms around him and giving him a peck on the lips.

He held her around her waist and back and returned her hug. They looked at one another, when they stepped apart, and there was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation.

"To be honest, I had fun buying you Valentine's Day gifts. It made me feel," he said pausing, while wondering if he should finish his thought.

"What did it make you feel, Ralph?"

"For the first time, it made me feel, as if I was coming home to a woman. I never felt that way with anyone before, maybe because I already know you and always felt comfortable around you. I remember, whenever I came to visit my Mom and she was napping, we'd talk over a cup of coffee, while waiting for her to awaken. When I think back, we spent a lot of time together."

"That sometimes feels as if it was another lifetime ago, Ralph."

"I know it may sound funny and I apologize, if by what I'm about to say makes you feel uncomfortable," he said pausing, while looking at her.

"What, Ralph?"

"When I saw you standing at Mom's grave, I couldn't help but wonder if we were meant to be together."

"Oh," she said looking at him without speaking.

"I'm sorry. See? I did it again. I made you feel uncomfortable."

"No, actually, quite the opposite, I sensed the same, when I saw you," she said blushing. "Then, as if you were my husband or my boyfriend, I felt the same way, when I saw you standing at my front door bearing gifts. I felt your generous and loving spirit."

"Thank you," he said.

"You're quite the catch and why some woman hasn't scooped you up before is beyond me. Call it fate or kismet, maybe this was meant to be, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that I felt the same way about you, when I saw you in the cemetery."

"What are the odds of that happening, of running into you like that? It's been years," he said. Why now?"

"Sometimes things happen without us knowing the reason," she said. ""Maybe we shouldn't question destiny and just go with the flow," she said.

After having a cocktail before dinner and lots of conversation to catch up on one another's lives, they spent the evening drinking wine, laughing, and talking, while eating dinner. Ralph couldn't remember ever having a better Valentine's Day. He couldn't remember having a better time with a woman that didn't include sex. Only, his dinner date with Susan was about to get even better.

Susan sat on the couch across from him in the living room and when she leaned forward to set her wine glass down on the coffee table and to get up to go out to the kitchen to fix dessert, she flashed him her panty. Unable to stop himself from looking, he couldn't help but wonder if she had flashed him accidentally or on purpose. Not having been with a woman in some time, the sudden flash of her panty excited him.

He couldn't help but notice that her panty was pink, just as he couldn't help but notice that there was some sort of image on her panty. Much like suddenly seeing a part of a tattoo, when a woman is leaning forward or bending over, he wondered what the image was. Was she wearing his special Valentine's panty? Only, suddenly seriously interested in her, he hoped this was more than that.

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bySuperHeroRalph© 4 comments/ 23015 views/ 1 favorites

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