Wondering what our favorite cross dressing detective Jack Silver was wearing the night his panties were stolen?
Check out his sexy ensemble here...
Silver's Detective Agency
By Hope Alexander
Part Two - In which we discover the nature of the panty thief....
Of course, like most of the criminally minded, this panty thief would never admit that she was one. No, she claimed to be nothing but an art dealer on the fashionable north side. It was bollocks of course, in my line of work, you learn to spot people who are hiding things, and the moment I laid eyes on Miss Sarah Boinkwell, I knew she had more than a few skeletons hiding in her pretty little closet.
She looked out of the screen at me, her full pink mouth set in a little pout, her eyelashes caught mid flutter around sweet green eyes, red waves of hair setting her creamy skin off to perfection. Oh she was a pretty one alright, if it wasn't for the fact I knew her skirts hid seven and a half inches of trouble, I'd be thoroughly tempted myself. Fortunately for sissy Sarah, I'm strictly a ladies man. Unfortunately for her I'm tough on crime, real tough.
Does it sound like I had a personal bone to pick with this lady? Well, let's just say that even the best of us are sometimes caught out. You see, Sarah Boinkwell and I weren't actually strangers when I agreed to take this case. I had met her for the first time at a little soiree I was holding at my apartment, she came as the date of a charming gentleman friend of mine, and was rather the little social butterfly as I recall, flitting about the place making sparkling conversation and entertaining the other guests thoroughly.
It was a lovely evening. I was dressed in a black sequined gown that clung from head to toe, long slits up the sides revealing my shapely sheer black stockinged legs and just a hint of garter. Even in my role as host, I like to think that I would have been more shrewd than to allow myself to be taken advantage of by a thief in my own domain, but I must confess that I was thrown off my game by another little lady that evening, Jane Domehard, a divorcee and satisfied client. A lot of women are put off by an unrepentant male crossdresser, but Jane was well in the thoes of post divorce exploration and she wanted to try everything, including me. A gentleman does his best never to refuse a lady, and it seemed that night her hands never left me for an instant. As a result my mind was a little hazy when pretty sissy Sarah minced over to me, clutched at my arm and asked where the ladies room was I directed her to my en suite, thinking nothing of it at the time.
It wasn't until the next day when Jane was cooking us eggs for breakfast that I realized my panty drawer had been well and truly pillaged. Sissy Sarah had an eye for quality, I'll give her that, I still haven't been able to replace some of the panties she stole that fateful evening. Since then Sarah had pulled off several similar heists, targeting the Governor's wife amongst other high profile citizens, and attracting the attention of the police. Oh yes, she had been a very, very bad girl indeed, and bringing her to justice would be an exquisite pleasure.
When you're a well endowed lady, the world is like a giant garden full of flowers and butterflies and dewy eyed baby deer nuzzling up to you at the slightest opportunity. However, when you have big breasts, you have to squeeze them into a bra at some point.
But what bra?
Victoria's Secret are legends in lingerie, and for good reason. Yes, they don't skimp when it comes to getting unbelievably hot models who look like they were bio-engineered in a South American genetics lab, but more importantly they make great innovative lingerie at a reasonable price.
Look at the pretty panties...
Getting caught out in lingerie can be a problem for men who like to wear it out of the house, or even those who are in relationships where their lingerie wearing is an issue. It's one thing to flaunt your lingerie when you're in a sharing mood, its completely different to be caught out at an inopportune moment. Then again, sometimes its fun to raise eyebrows and cause whispers. As with everything else in life, sharing your lingerie with the world is about timing...
Caught in lingerie...
Warning, this story contains themes of a lacy nature...
Silver's Detective Agency
By Hope Alexander
Of all the agencies, in all the world, she had to walk into mine. Jeans hanging off her hips, faded baggy t-shirt hiding any hint of a curve, plastic crocs clumping on the floor. Her mascara had been hastily applied and was running down her cheeks, mixed with her tears. Her double chin quivered slightly with her grief, her milky blue eyes looked out at me hopelessly through stringy blonde hair tainted with patches of mousy brown regrowth. She was a mess.
“Hello, Beautiful,” I smiled. Her look of surprise at the compliment was practically hilarious as I unfolded myself from my deep office chair and gestured for her to take a seat on the pink couch reserved for clients. She plopped down in the middle of it, wringing her hands and inspecting the polished wood floor.
“How can I help you?” I asked, perching my pinstripe suit clad posterior on the arm and smiling at her.
“He's cheating on me,” she said numbly.
“What can I do?” I asked, examining one of my well manicured fingers, already knowing the answer.
“I want proof. I want to take him for all he's got. I want him to hurt.” A glint of purpose was in her eyes as she looked up at me, ferocious desire to hurt the man who'd hurt her so terribly, the passion briefly recalling what must have been her beauty before the grind of child bearing and marriage sapped her of her passion for life.
But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jack Silver, private detective. It's a lot less glamorous than it sounds of course, most of my clientel are women and men just like the one currently occupying my couch. Nobody walks through that door for a good reason. This is a business built on deceit – but it's also an avenue to justice, which is why I enjoy my work so very very much.
I reached down and squeezed her pudgy shoulder reassuringly. “Don't you worry darling, we'll get the bastard,” I assured her, earning myself a watery smile. I picked up a pad and paper from the coffee table in front of us, my skirt hiking smoothly as I sat back down and crossed my slim stocking clad legs, enjoying the soft whisper of nylon and the way my slim calves formed a well heeled triangle, one black stiletto dangling from my elevated toe.
A glance over at the full length mirror saw me seated there looking as impeccable as ever, dark hair curling to my shoulders, my eyes tastefully though dramatically highlighted with earth tone eyeshadow to bring out the deep brown of my eyes and topped off with long lash mascara – a guy's best friend.
My newest client introduced herself as Angela, a 37 year old housewife from the 'burbs. He was cheating with his secretary. It was a story made all the more tragic by its sheer ordinariness.
“I'm going to sue him for everything. He'll never see the kids again.” She spat venom, anger taking over from grief.
“Of course darling. Now you go home and take a nice long bath and leave this to me.”
She left, an angry little lamb buoyed with the thought of revenge. I smiled as she stomped out the door. It was all too easy, another stake out, another set of high definition saucy pictures, another five figure settlement.
Pressing the intercom button, I called for my secretary. She came tottering in all blonde curls and giggles as usual. I pay the girl far too much, but she's cute, and that's good for morale.
“Erica, get me a drink would you?”
“Of course, Mr Silver,” she bobbed in a curtsy that held a hint of sarcasm. Don't ask me how she manages to move sarcastically, just take my word for it. If you ever meet her, you'll know what I mean.
I watched her prepare the drink through slightly narrowed eyes. She's been my secretary for three years now, and I swear she never tires of finding new ways to playfully irk her boss.
“Thank you dear, do you have those files I requested from John at the station?” I asked as she handed me my usual, a pink lady.
“Uhhmmm,” her blue eyes practically rolled up inside her head as she thought about the question.
“Yes!” she finally revealed with a bright smile.
“Send them on to me, please.” I stood and walked back to my desk, drink still in hand, dwarfing her petite figure with my 6'3 frame elevated even higher by the 2.5'' heels. She calls me 'the Giantess' behind my back, thinks I don't know about it. Really I need to do something about that girl.
For the moment however, I had bigger fish to fry. The files from John at the station were on a case highly relevant to my interests. Sitting down behind my desk, I swung my long legs up onto the corner of the table and waited, sipping at the drink.
True to form, the 'new email' icon soon flashed on screen, and a few well placed clicks later, I was looking at the digitsed representation of my latest quarry – the inimitable panty thief.
Anyone who's been following along with the 'Men In Lingerie' articles will have by now spotted a special group of commenters, males who use female names, who prance and dance about the place looking pretty as can be in frills and lipstick, confusing and beffudling the rest of the world with their antics. As flamboyant as they are, little is really known about this group of men who wear lingerie - the sissy set. In a bid to change this, I interviwed Tonya St. Clair, a self confessed sissy and a great guy.
Tonya, what does being a 'sissy' mean to you?
Some men who wear women's clothes want to go for the full effect and the ability to pass as women. I was at that point when I was in my early twenties and I understand that desire. It's about wanting to be as close to a real woman as possible.
Other men who wear women's clothes seem to want to go for the "over the top" look. i.e. Drag Queens. These seem to be all about the "look at me" part of being a woman.
Sissies in my opinion are like drag queens in that we are interested exaggerating an aspect of being a female. For drag queens it seems to be all about exaggerating the glamorous. For sissies it's about exaggerating the soft and frilly parts of being a woman.
To me it's an expression of the submissive side of my personality mixed in with my love of cross dressing. It's about reveling in all things frilly and soft and sweet smelling. It's about the joy of throwing off the work-a-day world and slipping in to my own fantasy world of pink satin and ruffles.
Now obviously some of that is a cross over from cross dressing, but I think of it like this:
I've made some generalizations here but I think you get the idea.
Does being a sissy mean that you are gay or bisexual?
I don't think that being a sissy has anything to do with being straight or gay. It's really about what I find emotionally satisfying. Not to say that being a sissy isn't about sex, but it's different than what bits and parts I'm interested in. If I'm feeling emotionally satisfied only then do I feel able to to be sexually satisfied. And that is true no matter who is sharing my bed.
If you're wondering I classify myself as omnisexual. Currently I'm 90% hetero and 10% homo, but those numbers have flexed (and certainly will flex again) over the years. I mention that only as statistical data. :-)
Does being a sissy mean that you are submissive?
Yes, I would certainly label myself a submissive. As I referenced above, being a sissy is where my submissive side and my cross dressing overlap.
Once again I think there are different flavors of submissive just as there are different flavors of cross dressers. For me it's about being overseen/controlled by a matriarchal figure; a mother, an aunt, etc.
Do you think sissys make good husbands and boyfriends?
I guess that really depends on the chemistry of the relationship as a whole. I know that for me and my wife it works. If there is some sort of scale between submissive and dominance then I would guess that my wife is only as far on to the dom side as I am on to the sub side. But for us that stays compartmentalized to the bedroom.
Just like cross dressing in general, the depth to which one can explore one's sissy-ness really varies with their partner and respecting their boundaries.
What separates a sissy from just a guy who wears lingerie sometimes because he likes it?
Again, I discussed the answer somewhat in my first answer. Being a sissy is not just about wearing lingerie because it's fun; it's about the exaggeration of the most feminine aspects of being a woman.
This is more of a warning shot over the bow of things to come as it were, rather than an in depth article of revelation and insight, but for those of you who have no interest in the subject matter, or who know it all already, there is a picture of a goat wearing a wedding veil... don't ever let it be said that I don't take care of my readers.
Go hence unto the article!
Hi all. Hope here again, looking to you, the great reading audience of this blog for a little assistance, if you will. It has come to my attention over the months that a lot of the men who read this blog identify as 'sissies'. Now I don't know all that much about the sissy set, and I think that needs to change. I also think that the world at large is woefully underinformed on this subject as well, so I'd like the chance to chat with and interview for the purposes of an article some men who identify as sissies. It can be confidential if you like, and we will be keeping it G Rated, so no overt sexual stuff or raunchy pics ;)
Any willing victims can get in touch via the address on the side bar...
This is something of an instructional video that I happened to stumble across on YouTube. Observe as the self proclaimed 'Sissy Michelle' struts his/her stuff in front of the camera. Now men, note the potentially fatal 'flaw' in this video.
(Hint: It is the same mistake that our hero made in the story 'Corporate Lace'.)
A very big thank you to all those of you who have voted on the poll, and especially to those who took time out to email me your reactions to 'Corporate Lace'. I'm still more than open for feedback and suggestions, but the response so far has already shown that there is definitely a desire for more such fiction.
For those of you who don't know, I am a writer and author by trade, and have penned quite a few erotic stories for various publications under various pseudonyms. I am starting a line of erotic fiction just for men who wear lingerie, but instead of going the traditional publishing route, which is fairly long and arduous, not to mention costly for the reader, I've decided to provide several short stories as single downloads in .pdf format as a starting point.
You'll be able to download them free of charge, though I will provide a link for donations, which are always appreciated. I am a big fan of the creative commons approach to publishing, and the philosophy of leaving it to the audience to decide what a story is worth, if anything at all.
The full length version of 'Corporate Lace' will be available for download later this coming week. I hope you enjoy it, and once again, welcome your feedback. If there are certain themes you'd like to see explored in these stories, feel free to let me know. If I get enough requests for a particular theme, or if it strikes a chord, you may very well see it explored in an upcoming story!
Welcome back faithful readers, and eager newcomers, I have a bit of a treat for you all today. It comes in the form of the first part of a series of erotic stories featuring men who wear lingerie and the women who love them.
How many of you sneak off to work wearing a little lingerie, hoping it won't be noticed, or perhaps, hoping that it might be? That's what happens in this, a story of...
By Hope Alexander
Eric was running late again. The alarm clock had singularly failed to rouse him from sleep and when he finally stumbled out of his bed, he barely had time to gel his hair into submission, slip on the last ironed shirt from his closet, douse himself liberally in deodorant and slip a pair of his favorite nylon panties on.
Tight, but not too tight, he sighed as he snuggled them into place, relaxing a little as he always did when he felt the soft, smooth material caressing his nether regions. A matching bra quickly followed, then a shirt. He couldn't help but glance at himself in the mirror, admiring the way the thin nylon clung around his cheeks, and under his still open shirt, the bows and lace of the bra peeked out, the lace gently rubbing across his nipples. It was almost enough to distract him from going to work entirely, but the ticking clock made him regretfully button up his shirt, and hunt around for a pair of socks. Ordinarily he would have searched out some nice stockings, but today there was just no time.
Tugging on his work pants, and shoving a corner of toast into his mouth, he rushed out the door, stabbing his feet into his shoes on the way.
Today was a big day. Not only was the new manager arriving today, but his boss had kindly scheduled his presentation today as well. He frowned at his appearance in the rear view mirror as he waited in traffic, hoping that the 5 O'clock shadow around his jaw line would be interpreted as rakish and not slobbish. Fortunately for him, his deep blue eyes and strong features generally contrived to make him look good no matter what.
Traffic was, of course, slow, and he ground towards his office with the rest of the panicked 8.57 am rush, planning out the details of the presentation in his mind and hoping that the new manager was better than the last one.
Finally he pulled into his parking spot, grabbing his briefcase and heading up to the office. Glancing at his watch he despaired a little. 9.04. Late again. Cursing under his breath, he rushed out of the car park into the lobby. Lady Luck must have been smiling on him, the elevator was waiting at the bottom and he barreled into it, slamming the 'door close' button frenetically.
The door began to slide closed and he breathed a sigh of relief, until the toe of a pretty green stiletto crammed itself into the gap between the door and the frame and a delicate manicured hand forced the door back open.
A woman entered the elevator, fixing him with a withering look. “Chivalry is dead, is it?” She said in an accusatory tone.
“So sorry.” Eric apologized. “I really didn't see you there, I'm running late.” He explained.
She looked him up and down, seeming to find him inherently deficient. “I see. Maybe you should pay more attention.” She said, ending the conversation by turning her back on him and pressing the button for the 5th floor.
Eric spent the rest of the ride observing the shrew before him. She was tall for a woman, boasting a pleasantly curved figure and what would have been lovely dark curling hair were it not scraped back severely. If she were less aggressive and angry with him she would have been a good candidate for a date.
She got off at the 5th floor, her heels clipping efficiently over the floor. Eric slipped by her as she stopped at reception, heading for his cubicle. He could see through the fake palm fronds and blinds that tastefully adorned the conference room everyone was already assembled for the meeting. Groaning he grabbed the disk containing his presentation and headed towards his destiny.
To his immense relief everyone was still slurping coffee and bolting down the special chocolate muffins ordered for the big event when he arrived.
“Erwic.” His best office friend, Richard, a fellow with a Elmer Fudd voice and rotund belly greeted him. “Just in time. They're about to bring the new manager in. I hear she's a lady.”
Eric's stomach sank even before the door to the conference room opened again and their CEO ushered in the new manager, the woman with the pretty green shoes. He slumped down in his chair, trying to hide behind Richard and avoiding her gaze. Perhaps she wouldn't recognize him.
No such luck of course. The CEO waffled, and the new manager, a Miss Germaine Hallswell smiled brilliantly, and before Eric knew what was happening she was glancing down at the schedule.
“First order of business. Mr Dawkin's presentation.”
Eric stood up, tossing the disk for his presentation for Richard to load into the laptop, and walked to the front of the room.
“Welcome, Miss Hallswell.” He said with a smile, acknowledging her. She nodded back, the smile still on her face, but the look in her eyes less than friendly. The stakes on this presentation had just gotten a great deal higher.
He felt her eyes boring into him as he began speaking. Fortunately he knew the material inside and out and was able to confidently deliver the presentation without a hitch. Unnervingly her eyes never left him, they seemed to drift over his body slowly then return to his eyes.
His presentation over, his coworkers filed out to begin the real business of the day, checking their emails and breaking the office solitaire record. He began to follow suit, but was stopped by Germaine's hand on his arm.
“A minute of your time, Mr Dawkins.” She said.
“Sure.” Eric agreed.
She waited until the stragglers had collected themselves and left, then fixed him with a strange look.
“That was a good presentation.” She said.
“Thank you. I hope it was useful.” Eric said guardedly.
She smiled and walked around behind him, frowning in confusion, Eric followed her with his eyes until he could no more, then stifled a gasp as she took hold of the tag on his panties which was sticking out the top of his pants and tugged firmly.
“Interesting choice of attire, Mr Dawkins.” She said, a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she walked back around to face him.
He couldn't believe it. He had been wearing lingerie to the office for years, and never so much as a comment had resulted. This woman had walked in off the street and had already discovered his secret. She leaned back against the desk, smiling playfully and it was with relief that he realized this seemed not to be an automatic strike against him
“So are you a girly man then, Mr Dawkins?” She asked bluntly.
He frowned at her. “No. I am not.” He said, drawing himself up to his full height. He had at least a foot on her, and he was willing to bet that he weighed two of her. It was one thing to be lectured for forgetting to hold an elevator, but slurs on his masculinity were another matter all together.
She smirked. “A man wearing panties...” She let her voice trail off.
Eric's hands were on his hips now as the frown became a glower. “I assure you, Miss Hallswell, I am entirely male and entirely heterosexual.” He said, his voice a low growl. He moved a little closer to her, letting her feel his presence, strong and large.
It didn't bother her in the slightest. “Hm. I don't know. Perhaps I should make a note on your employee file.” She said, her tone light. Eric got the strong feeling that he was being messed with. The vixen was toying with him.
Now that she had shed her jacket, she was wearing what could be described as a corporate dress, severe and black, cut low enough to give those taller than her more than a hint of cleavage, not so low as to be mistaken for one of the naughty 'interns' upper management sometimes employed. Her eyes were a charming light caramel brown shade that matched the golden brown curls that were already working their way free of her chignon.
He placed a large hand on the table next to her, looming over her, his voice softer now.
“I would be more than happy to give you a demonstration, Miss Hallswell.”
There was a faint blush on her cheeks as she slid away from him and began picking at her dress, clearly flustered. Eric stood back up, arms folded across his chest, a broad smile on his face.
“You may go now. Mr Dawkins. I am sure you have much work to do.” She said, not looking at him.
“Oh, yes Ma'am.” Eric chuckled, picking up his disk and flashing her a smile as he turned to leave.
He may have won the battle, but the look she gave him under her eyelashes as he stepped out of the conference room was enough to guarantee that the war was not yet over, not by a longshot...
Okay, time for feedback. Did you like? Did you not like? Want more? Let me know....
Our lingerie is like our alter ego. Hidden away under our clothes, adorning our 'inner selves', it hides secretly from the eyes of the world. You could say that is not until the outer layers of our image shell are peeled away and panties, bras, bustiers, stockings, garters, corsets and camisoles are revealed that we can truly see what somebody is like. This would be something of an overstatement, but nevertheless a fun premise to base yet another personality test on, so strip down and let's discover what your lingerie reveals about your secret character!
Take The Test
Some men in lingerie don't want to be feminine, they just like the sensation of the smooth fabrics, and perhaps even resent the societal inequality which dictates that delicate fabrics are solely for women. Fortunately for men who prefer not to wear boxers or briefs, but don't want to put a pair of women's panties on, there are other options
Sexy, sexy options...
As much as I love lingerie, even I have to admit that lingerie addiction is nasty. If not kept under control, lingerie can ruin lives. As men in lingerie, you need to make sure that you keep your lingerie obsession to a reasonable level, and I've developed a scientific test to help you do that.
Am I addicted to lingerie?