Just a Bit of Fun

I bent down and picked up the fishnets. Holding them before my eyes, I let them fall open to admire them. They looked so tiny. How Miranda's thick legs fit in them was a mystery to me. They still felt so soft and inviting. Miranda loved them. I was starting to see why.

I wondered what they would feel like on my legs.

The thought was absurd. But I was alone in the apartment. The idea gained so much more credibility from that fact alone. I chewed my lip. Screw it, right? There was nothing else to do besides watch movies tonight. Who would know, anyway?

Leaning with my bare ass against the counter, I carefully stepped into the stockings. It was a bit tougher than it seemed. I nestled my foot inside and worked to tug the stockings up a single leg. I did the same for the other. As I tugged them up to my waist, I saw that I was shaking. Each breath I took turned to a chill deep in my chest. I adjusted the fishnets, realizing that they were open at the crotch, with runners traveling up the thigh to the waistband.

At once my hands were sliding over the material. The tiny diamond pattern in the black stockings felt like silk beneath my fingertips. I twisted to look at my legs, feeling the way the sexy leggings hugged my skin. It all felt incredible, except when I looked further down my legs.

Of course they looked better on Miranda. There was hair on my legs, and it ruined the illusion. It wasn't like I was a werewolf, but I found myself wishing my thighs and my calves were as smooth and thick as Miranda's.

Again, I remembered that I'd be alone for quite a while.

I glanced at the shower. Why was I even considering it? I knew it was a stupid idea. Miranda would eventually notice that my legs were hairless. Maybe. Or she wouldn't notice at all. What was so exciting about the idea of shaving my legs anyway? I couldn't even talk myself out of it. It felt devious and naughty. I was alone. No one would even have to know.

As if pulled by puppet strings, I slid the stockings back down my legs and set them on the cluttered counter top. I turned on the shower and searched the little bathroom for what I needed. There were a couple of women's razors in a drawer. I considered them for a moment while letting the shower water grow warm. Then, with a little more digging, I found a bottle of hair remover and a sponge. This had to be what Miranda used.

Even in the shower I had chills. I couldn't breath right. It felt like I was about to ride a giant roller coaster. I lathered the cream onto my legs, then stepped into the water and worked slowly using the sponge to remove the hair on my legs. It worked like an eraser. I was amazed at how smoothly the cream peeled away. All that remained was my pale flesh. I knew it wasn't permanent, but it might as well have been. The rush of seeing what I was doing to myself didn't fill me with regret, but made me want more.

I didn't stop with my legs.

I knew I was getting a little carried away. Any bit of hair I could find, I lathered away with the cream. The tufts of my underarm hair were gone. My wet chest gleamed under the light after wiping away what little hairs had grown there. Even in my most private regions, I made sure to carefully apply small amounts of the cream and rinse the hair away. I paused when I looked at my forearms. That would be visible for weeks to come. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was sponging away the fine hairs that coated my arms as well.

I went as far as to scrub myself with Miranda's body wash when I'd finished. The fruity, floral scents made the experience so relaxing. Lathering the soap onto my body was so unlike any time I'd bathed before. Everything seemed to glide across my skin and down my legs. I felt so soft even under the running water. I rinsed completely and stepped out of the shower to behold the finished result.

Drying myself off, I couldn't believe how smooth everything was. I kept touching my legs and squeezing at my upper thighs. I clutched my flesh and released it again and again, watching in the bathroom mirror how my thigh would jiggle back into place. I didn't look that much different, but I felt it. Several times I caught myself sliding my legs together just for the sensation of my bare thighs sliding across one another. Still, my body was lacking something. After getting completely dry, my fingertips would catch and grab when I tried to slide them across my newly hairless body.

I spotted a bottle of lotion on the counter top beside the sink. Of course. I applied a liberal glob of it in my hands and began to spread it across my naked body.

My eyes rolled into my head.

I spent far longer than I should have applying lotion. The sweet smell filled the air and left me feeling so calm. My hands glided through my flesh, spreading a glistening film of berry sweet softness across my skin. I kept rubbing it in. I returned to the lotion bottle several times, making sure that my legs, my ass, my chest, and my arms were all freshly softened and moisturized.

I got a bit lost after several minutes. I rubbed at my inner thigh with one hand while stroking the lotion into my limp dick with the other. The sensations were orgasmic. I didn't stop until a warm sting burrowed it's way to the tip of my cock. I didn't want to go there. I wanted this to last. I was alone. I had all night.

Wiping my hands on a small towel, I snatched the stockings and went to work pulling them up my legs. Once I'd stretched them into place, I adjusted the fit around my waist and took a few steps out of the bedroom to take my new leggings for a walk.

Now my legs felt right. The fishnets slid smoothly in places and hugged me tightly in others. For some reason I stepped along on the balls of my feet, fearing I might stretch or rip the stockings beneath a full step. I watched my legs as I walked. My pale flesh lined by the diamond pattern looked just delectable.

I spotted the stand up mirror in the bedroom and hastened toward it. Stepping in full view, I beheld the person in the reflection. Shaking my wet hair away from my brow, I gawked at the boy in fishnets. The stockings didn't feel that tight, but in the mirror they seemed to cinch through my pale flesh near my upper thigh. I twisted my hips and extended my legs to admire the way the fishnet stretched and moved across my skin. The fabric had a way of outlining every curve in my calves, my thighs, and my hips. Were my hips really that big? Or was it an illusion caused by the stockings?

I rubbed my palms down my legs. It felt incredible. My jaw quivered. My breathing was slow but erratic. I knew I was doing something deviant. That made it feel even more addicting. Using two of my fingers, I bounced my limp dick in front of the mirror. Even that was soft and fleshy like everything else in that moment.

I actually looked kind of hot.

I loved the way the stockings felt and how they made my legs look. I wanted more. I needed something else. It was just a bit of fun. Why shouldn't I keep going? New ideas took form in my mind. I glanced over at the dresser. I chewed my lip, wondering if that was too far.

The mischievous allure pulled at me. It felt good not to resist.

I stepped over to the dresser. My hand trembled when I reached for the top drawer. I didn't hesitate. I just pulled it open. My eyes were met with the sight of piled lace and satin. My fingers drifted through the assortment of panties. I picked a pair up and held it out in my fingers. A simple black thong. I wondered how it would fit. What would happen if I stretched it out? Surely I was too big for these? No. Miranda was big in the hips. I was a guy, but we had to be comparable in size down there.

I dropped the thong and continued to sift through the underwear. Going through Miranda's things was thrilling. Every color I could think of I saw. Some looked more like shorts. Others looked like little more than strings. There were even several pairs that I recognized. Each one felt so light and soft in my hand.

I held up a pair of striking red panties. They were a deep shade of crimson, that seemed to shimmer somehow with tinted black waves of shadow. They were large in the front, narrowing to little straps that left nothing to the imagination in the rear. Ornate black lace outlined the entire thing. I rubbed the material in my hand. Soft was not the word. The panties were so thin it was as if nothing was even there.

I swallowed. I was seriously considering this. I thought of what Miranda might say if she walked into the bedroom to see me prancing in front of the mirror wearing a pair of her panties. She'd really think I was less of a guy's guy then. Those thoughts kept seeping deeper into the crevices of my mind. I thought of how that fabric would feel on my bare body. How would it look paired with the stockings?

I shut the drawer and turned away with my prize.

I ignored any thoughts of Miranda or the outside world. I was alone. What would it hurt to just mess around? Again I was shaking. I stretched open the panties and shot a single foot through. It was peculiar for such a small garment to be considered clothing. With both legs through the tiny pair of panties, I slid my thumbs back and forth along the straps and lifted them high into place. It took some adjusting. I had extra parts to tuck into the front of the material. It seemed like I wasn't wearing them correctly until I realized that's just how it felt to have a thong riding up between the cheeks of your ass.

I glanced up at the person in the mirror again. Another piece had fallen into place. The dark red panties brought a pop of color to my new outfit. The lace trim matched so well with the stockings. I stared at my own legs, amazed out how the panties and the fishnet accented my form. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought I was staring at a lingerie model's lower body on the internet.

Then my hand rubbed the front of my panties.

I gasped. I barely touched myself and it sent shockwaves through my whole body. The faintest caress of my fingers was all it took. The cloth was as slick as oil, my fingertips swimming over the shape of my shriveled dick. It was better than touching myself nude. Every brush of my fingers seemed electric, and every fine detail of my cock was outlined with such definition.

I had to jerk my trembling fingers away. I took a deep breath and tried to let it out steadily. I could feel my bottom lip quivering, though. Staring at the person in the mirror, I suddenly wanted to keep them forever. I lied to myself thinking this would just be a one time thing. I knew in that moment I needed more of this.

Turning toward the bed, I spotted my phone. I walked over and plucked it from the nightstand and immediately swiped through the lock screens to activate my camera.

Holding my hand as steadily as possible, I pointed the camera toward the mirror. At first I just took a simple picture of the fishnets and panties. Examining the stale picture on my screen, I started to lift my knee, twist at the waist, and turn to expose the side of my smooth ass cheek. I snapped photo after photo, never satisfied with the last.

Staring at a few of the pictures made me wonder if I cropped my upper body from them, would anyone be able to tell that it wasn't a girl? The thought excited me. I'd have to play with some of the photos later. The idea that it was really me in all these pictures, and standing there in the reflection, was starting to make me feel mischievous.

The one flaw in my line of thought was the little bulge that had started to swell forth in the red fabric at my crotch.

I chewed my lip. Maybe that could be smoothed out in an edit. But there was something satisfyingly and perverse about seeing the shape of my cock head in the panties though. It was the one bit of proof those sexy legs weren't a girl's. I twisted around to expose my ass to the mirror. I snapped the picture and admired the way my cheeks looked. The thong outlined the round dimensions so perfectly. If I'd never worn my girlfriend's panties, I'd have never known I had such a nice ass.

Glancing up from my phone, my eyes fell over the pair of shorts just inside the bathroom door. A little grin formed on my face.

In a matter of seconds, I was stepping into the blue jean shorts my girlfriend had been wearing earlier. I tugged them up my legs, thinking that there was no way the things would fit me at first. The shorts grew so tight around my thighs, but with a bit of wiggling, I settled them right up around my ass.

The shorts fit like a glove.

I fastened the button and zipped them up. It was impossible. Once the pair of denims were snugly in place, they felt like they were made for me. Maybe they were a bit tight in places, and it felt odd to be wearing something so tight fitting instead of a baggy pair of cargo's. The short shorts felt amazing, though. I gave them a look in the standup mirror.

"Oh... my god," I uttered.

The contrast was so enticing. Black fishnet webbing coated long pale legs, with airy blue shorts sealing the deal around a wide set of hips. I slid my fingers into the beltline of the shorts and tugged up at the straps of the thong, setting them in place at my waist to peek over the shorts.

It was hot. I was hot. I took so many pictures of my lower body. I felt like a social media whore, desperate to find the shot that would pierce the hearts of lonely internet surfers. I felt my cock bulging beneath my new clothing. The shorts pinned it inside, though I could feel my swollen tip sliding through the silky panties to find a release that would not come.

I looked over my shoulder at myself. The ends of my shorts were wedged beneath the cheeks of my ass. I tugged up at a single cheek, watching it drop back into place. I ached to show this to someone. I wanted them to see the hot bitch in the leggings and shorts. That had always been Miranda for me. Now I wasn't so sure. I could have this any time. It was me. As hard as it still was to stare at that body in the mirror and believe, it truly was me.

I flopped back onto the bed. I laid with my phone in one hand and allowed my other hand to explore. I rubbed at my shorts, fingered the strap of my panties, and caressed the hypnotic pattern of the fishnets. I tried to browse my phone for videos to watch or social media posts to read. I acted as naturally as I could.

Which wasn't natural at all.

My legs were together. I slid my thighs against one another and pawed at my ankle with my other foot. Everywhere I touched, I did so with my fingertips. I was acting dainty, girly. Something about the clothes, the smoothness of my skin, and the feel of my dick trying to press out against it's silky prison, all made me sink deeper into the act. I looked that way... I felt that way. It was so easy to slip into a girly mindset.

I considered watching shows the rest of the night, dressed the way I was, like I was a lonely chick just finishing out the night. Of course I was shirtless. Maybe I needed to fix that. I kept tapping back into my picture gallery on my phone. I couldn't stop admiring myself. But I also couldn't help glancing up at my face and my upper body, wishing that I didn't still see a misguided boy in his girlfriend's clothes.

I tossed the phone aside. There was no way I could go through with all of that. The clothes were easy to take off. It was just a bit of fun. I could tuck those away in seconds and pass it all off as curiosity.

I kept thinking about the bathroom though. I was by myself. No one would have to know. I wiggled on the bed. Just the thought of all that makeup strewn out next to the sink was causing little spasms in my shorts.

No. That was too much. What the fuck was I even doing anyway? Was I really wearing my girlfriend's clothes? She'd freak if she saw me. There was no way I was going to sit down and priss myself up.

I stood up and walked to the mirror one last time. Enough was enough. I was acting like a freak. One more look at the pretty boy in the mirror and I was done. I needed to take this stuff off and forget about it. It wasn't right to keep playing around like this.

I looked at myself in the reflection. My eyes fell over the fishnets, and the bulging thighs squeezed within them. I blinked, trying to shake the trance. I unfastened the shorts and pulled the zipper open to remove them.

The girl in the mirror was opening her shorts. I spotted her thong. The silky red straps arched high over her hips. I held my breath, waiting for her to show me more. Her thumbs slid through the waistline of the jeans and pushed down ever so slightly. Soft pale flesh swelled out at her hips, finally free of the shorts, but still held tightly by the strap of that thong.

My dick nodded. I blinked and shook my head. Pulse after pulse of unyielding energy swarmed through my crotch. The girl in the reflection was so hot.

God... the girl?

I slid my hand into the front of the shorts. I closed my eyes when my fingertips slid over the straining head of my cock, still shrouded by the smooth panties. Tingles and tickles kissed at my swollen fresh through the fabric. I rubbed myself. I didn't stroke or pull or squeeze, I rubbed gently with three fingers. The panties slid across my shaft as smoothly as the lotion I'd lathered into myself not so long ago.

I opened my eyes. A few gasps of breath hit my lungs. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked so much like a girl, with her hand stuffed into her shorts rubbing at the hot flesh beneath through her panties. She was worked up. I was worked up.

I chewed my lip. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. I stared right back into my own eyes in the mirror. It looked like an imposter standing there. I wanted it to look right, to look complete.

I whirled from the mirror, leaving any logical thoughts to evaporate in the air behind me. If I hesitated, I'd talk myself out of it. I fetched my phone from the bed. My finger dashed through videos on the internet. Somehow I steered myself into the bathroom without so much as looking up. I must have tapped on a dozen videos before I found the right tutorial. Something easy, something simple.

For the next half hour or so, I rubbed egg shaped sponges on my face and dabbed soft brushes into pallettes of color. I stared at the pointed tip of what looked like a black ink pen and wondered how I would keep from stabbing myself in the eyeball. I powdered on color that I could barely see until it seemed to warm my cheeks. There was so much to it. Several times I had to wet a wash cloth and remove whatever child's mess I'd made on my face.

Finally, I was fanning a tiny black brush through my eyelashes, watching them take shape in the mirror. I sat back to behold what I'd become. The smokey colors behind my eyes somehow made the blue orbs sparkle from behind my lashes. Gone were any blemishes or pores or lines. My face was as smoothe as the rest of my body. I swept the locks of dyed black hair from my forehead, trying to decide if I should wet it again. Something was missing. Part of my face just looked... flat.

I pursed my lips.

I scanned the counter until I found what I was looking for. I pulled off the cap and stared at the black tip of the lipstick. I chewed my lip. It would look striking, right? No. Too amateurish. Too bold. I wanted to look the part. I set the tube back down and found another. This one was a dark shade of pink or brown. Simple. That's what I wanted.

I knew better than to use too much. I skimmed a single lip with the fluid like stick and mashed my lips together. I'd seen Miranda do that lots of times. The color was deep and bold enough to accentuate my lips, but not enough to make me look clownish. It was perfect.

When I stood up straight and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, I didn't recognize the person in the reflection anymore. She looked like someone I might date. Shaggy black hair that swept low over her eyebrows. Tattoos of skulls and stars cascaded down her arms. Tight shorts and daring fishnets hugged her legs. She fingered at the straps of a thong that hid behind the denim.