Panties in a Bunch - Pt. 01

Latex is my kink.

I discovered it by accident on a dreaded work trip to San Francisco. Usually, these meetings drag on in conference rooms that are too flooded with light and big heads. But my firm just brought on a new partner, and I met Stacy in person for the first time.

Stacy recently transitioned and went full throttle in changing her appearance and body. I admire her bravery in wearing work dresses and full makeup at a male-dominated civil litigation firm. She caught me looking at her several times during the morning status update meeting. Then, she approached me in the conference room as people left for their offices.

"You like my dress, Jacob?" she says, twirling slightly to her right and left to make the dress swim. My admiration of her quickly exposes my fascination with wearing women's clothing.

"Did you make it yourself?" I ask.

"Yes, but not all of it," Stacy winks at me.

The lawyers clear out, leaving us in the conference room alone. She indulges me and lifts her skirt.

Stacy wears a pair of black latex panties that hug her muscular thighs. She runs a hand down them and lets the squeaking sound trail up to her groin.

"I'm a big fan of latex. It seems like you are, too," Stacy says.

This happened once before with my wife, Margo, a few years back. At the time, we were experimenting in the bedroom and took a chance to go to a sex shop together. I remember seeing the black and latex clothing on the wall. I stared too long and felt a bump on my shoulder. The scowl mixed with disgust on her face was enough to close that door and keep it closed. It's safe to say I've kept that love of latex a secret in the back of my mind. I'd almost forgotten it until Stacy started showing herself off to me. My arousal brings forward my hidden curiosity.

"I didn't know they made those for... I guess a better way to say this is to ask if they make those to fit men."

Stacy laughs and playfully grazes her long-nailed hand across my shoulder.

"They do. I have a guy who custom-makes anything you'd like. Want to meet him?"

"Absolutely," I say. Stacy pulls a card from her little purse and hands it to me.

"Meet me at the Felt Velvet Room on Fifth and Grand. Show them my card, and they'll let you in."

"What's your latex designer's name?" I ask.

His name is Rafael...

---

I navigate the club's narrow hallways and enter a crowded table room. I see Stacy sitting with him under dim lights, absorbed by the velvet purple walls. The man is dressed in black latex from neck to shoe. He smiles at me as Stacy leans in to whisper in his ear.

"So, you'd like some custom latex?" asks Rafael.

"Yes. I'm unfamiliar with styles, but I mainly want to ensure they fit," I say.

This statement gets a rise out of both Stacy and Rafael.

"Don't worry, Jacob," says Stacy, again grazing my arm. "I had you all measured up and down before we left the office today. I already gave Rafael your size."

Rafael smiles behind his martini as I try to control my surprise.

"Would you like to wear some of it this evening?" he asks.

"No," I say. "I want to try on all of it this evening."

Drinks, toasts, and smiles are passed around the table as the club fills with more people. After sucking down two mojitos and eyeing the latex red dresses and a few hoods, I build enough nerve to ask to try on my first set. Rafael hands me a key to his room for the Inn upstairs.

"Everything is laid out for you. Take your time and get comfortable."

---

I return wearing a latex skirt dress.

They had heels, extra makeup, a wig, and even accessories for me. Everything fit. When I walked through the halls and felt the material over my skin, I felt my exterior transform. The eyes that crossed my path on my way back into the club smoothed over any remnants of nervousness. And the small claps from both Stacy and Rafael seal the deal.

This is my new kink. My new passion.

There's a mirror by our table, and I catch a glimpse of myself. I've never fully cross-dressed before, but the new woman looking back at me is a better and sexier version of myself that I've always wanted to expose.

But then I think of my wife, Margo, and the disgusted look on her face about latex. How might she react if she saw me dressed as I am here? The thought that this evening will be rare deflates some of my energy. Again, the ever-observant Stacy notices.

"Something buggin' ya? Or do you just have too much talcum up your ass?" Stacy asks.

The laughter between us softens my tension and worry.

"My wife. She'd never accept this. I'm sure she'd have a meltdown and even threaten to leave if she found out what I was doing."

"Sounds like your wife needs a nice fuck off the bed or against a wall," says Stacy.

"She's just jealous, " I say, "and conservative, that's all. She's usually hot-headed anyway. But this might be a new level for her."

"Maybe you should bring her here. Talk with her about it," suggests Stacy.

"No," I say, "It's a non-approachable subject with her."

"Then maybe," Stacy says, sweeping her hand towards the dancefloor, "you can find someone here who might indulge your fantasy a little more. Have a fun little secret."

Despite twenty years of marriage and a sex life as dry as my empty drink, I've never thought about cheating on my wife. At first, I imagined the tension, her anger, and the verbal beratement I'd receive from Margo if she found out I cheated. It makes me shiver. But my shivering skin against the latex transforms the feeling. A positive feeling, an arousal, lines the stress of being found out. To be discovered, then made to be humiliated, is a delightful trade to make us even for my infidelity.

Flashes of red and black clothing on the dance floor call me to dance as the music changes. A man of my age and height is eyeing me through the crowds.

*Jealousy* is in the air for me. I find myself almost wanting Margo to see me and just play out her anger and her beratement. For some reason, the thought feels...

Good.

I rise from the table and walk straight for the man flirting with me with his eyes. We exchange no words as the music changes. My hands feel his body through the material. I feel his fingers explore me. And all the while, as we dance and grind on each other, the stench of jealousy about my wife rises.

It's almost like I want to get caught. To hell with the consequences. I dance harder, dragging my hand across this beautiful tight latex body and down over his cock.

He likes it. He feels me in return.

I like how he touches me more than my wife does. It's new and exciting. And for the first time, I grab onto a forbidden fruit hanging in front of me. I lean into my newly adopted lifestyle, kissing the man whose head I hold in my hands.

Damn the consequences. And damn my wife, Margo. Let's see how upset she'll get at me because of this...

And how good it might feel for her to be mean to me for it.

---

The work trip ends.

Margo doesn't bother greeting me at the door. The smell of her signature pot roast is the only warmth I receive.

"You're home late. Was your flight delayed?" Margo yells from the kitchen.

"No," I say, flopping my bag by the door and shedding clothes while I make my way to the living room.

"Well, come in and help me finish up making dinner. I'm starving, for Christ's sake."

Instinctively, I go to turn, collect my suit jacket, and roll off my sleeves as I always do when I help her. But as I do, my hand grazes the naked skin on my arms. I wish for the latex again. The feeling of making Margo angry with me for wearing it follows. I can't hide my smile.

"Jacob!" Margo screams from the kitchen.

For the first time, I ignored her and went to the living room. I put my feet up, switched on the TV, and searched for a movie.

Her stomping feet make my heart pound at the coming argument. Instead of obeying her orders, I look into my angry wife's face and smile at her. The argument that follows outlasts the cooling roast on the counter. Her beratement and mean comments about my laziness make me more erect as I sit and listen. All I think about is the latex man on the dancefloor and how some of his cum is still on my cock.

And how I can't wait for my next work trip.