Wednesday, December 21, 2011

A love letter to thigh high stockings

Dear thigh high stockings,

I have missed you, my loves. I am so sorry I left you for that stupid schmuck, pantyhose. Pantyhose never understood me like you do. Pantyhose never fit me properly. They gave me muffin top. They left ugly lines on my body when I took them off. They didn’t let my junk breathe. I don’t know what I was thinking. But enough about them. It’s over. I will never wear pantyhose again. Thigh high stockings, you are the only hosiery for me.

I am so happy we ran into each other this past weekend. I needed sheer black hose, and all of those other hose had snags. It was destiny, serendipity, kismet. There you were in the back of the drawer, waiting patiently for years, since before I had kids. Waiting for that special night when I would pull you out of the package, gather you up in my hands, run you slowly up my legs, clip you into some garters, and go out… or stay in. You don’t care, stockings. You’re happy to go out, but you’re just as happy to stay home and make a night of it. I love that about you.

I have such beautiful memories with you, thigh high stockings. Remember our first time on an airplane together? Remember how you kept peeking out from under that too-short skirt until the nice couple next to us got up and switched seats so that the wife was next to me instead of the husband? Good times, stockings, good times.

You know what I really love about you, stockings? I love the way you make me feel. I feel sexy when I’m with you, like I have a secret. When I sit down, I love the way the garter caresses the back of my thigh, reminding me that you’re there, under my skirt. I love that little breeze on a cold night, reminding me that I am secretly naked in places that are not usually naked. I love that at any time, you might show yourself, just a little. That possibility makes me conscious of my body in a way that feels good. I walk differently, move differently, when I’m with you.

You know what else rocks about you, stockings? This might be TMI, but I think our relationship is ready for this level of intimacy. I love that I can pull down my panties to pee without having to worry about you at all. Those other leg coverings that we will not speak of, I had to pull them down, and then squeeze myself back into them again every time I had to pee. You just let me pee so easily. That’s really cool of you.

And while we’re getting intimate, my sheer silky darlings, I love that I can do anything without having to take you off. Yeah, anything. You know what I’m saying. You go from day to, ahem, evening perfectly. And it’s not just a matter of speed or convenience of… access. On the contrary, I’m told by those lucky few who have seen us together that you add a certain je ne sais quoi to the… event. Oh stockings, there is no need for euphemisms between us. When you’re around, I am far more likely to get laid. Why did I ever leave your side?

In both form and function, you are beautiful to me. One peek at you, and people look at me differently. They know I must be a certain kind of woman to be with someone like you. Thigh high stockings, you sexy little devils, I love you so. I will never leave you again.

Love, naughtiness, and secret smiles,


  1. Love the sound of swish, swish.... stockings...

  2. LOVE IT. My thoughts precisely. I LOVE the secret sexiness of stockings. Do drop by dreaming aloud, I've nominated you one of my heros for the year x