Dear coworker: The sight of your legs wrapped in Pantyhose makes me want to commit crimes.
I can't take it anymore I tells ya. I have tried and I have failed. The problem is her calves, which today are visible. I want to sink my teeth into those calves, ever so nicely. Like when I awake in the morning, I will not go straight for the coffee pot and wait for it to be half done so I can get at least some caffeine. No, I will instead slither beneath the covers and bite that orange of a calf muscle until I am told to knock it off. They look like elongated oranges stuffed inside of pantyhose. Elliptical oranges. The presence of nylon leggings, I assure you, is not helping matters any. Tomorrow is pants day and all will be calm once more. I can only begin to speculate on a possible world outcome if her shoes were to be removed to allow her womanly feets some airs, all the while covered in taught, black Nylon 6-6. Dear lord, will I ever be whole again?
Yes, pantyhose, let's focus in on that for a moment. Black tights, non see-through style. The tan ones are fine too. Control top keeping your feminine riches just a few microns further away. Not like hose can put up much of a fight, but you'd be surprised how well that layer protects. Also of surprise may be the degree to which you are suddenly infatuated with this 12 carbon repeat unit polymer. I can't imagine what Summer will bring, with its warm temperatures and extra-button-open blouses. Skin is so incredible an aphrodisiac. And to be honest, it is more of a visual obsession than a physical one. Nylon (pantyhose) is rather rough to the touch. I don't know how you girls do it. Maybe it's the reaction you get from men that spurs on the use of this product. This will be chapter one in the Book on Fetish.
Alright so she's married. Maybe that is a fetish in and of itself. I don't buy the Unavailable Woman As Desire, Just For The Sake Of Desire Her Being Married bit. I am nearly truly and likely unhealthfully obsessed with this person, and I'm not quite sure that it isn't all of a sudden due to the sudden emergence of these black, elongated-orange-calves-covering synthetic fabric devices suddenly thrown in my face. Oh, to have them in my face. To have them wrapped around my face by coworker, lightly smothering me (see Chapter 4: Smothering, non-invasive, non-foot, non-ass). I think perhaps then I could rest easily on my deathbed and not want more from life's green pastures. Yes, I think that would just about do it. Perhaps some coffee with that. Yes, some coffee and the memory of that experience would send me off to the final judgment secure in the notion that I had completed my journey well.
It doesn't help matters any, dear Fetishist, that the trail of perfume she leaves behind her as you pass in the hall has an effect which is utterly distracting. If they didn't already bottle it and sell it, I would say that they should bottle that scent and try and sell it to people.
I'm feeling kind of light headed. Perhaps a sandwich and some chips. I happen to know that the potato chip isle at the grocery store is a mere 20 feet away from the pantyhose isle. I can use the potato chips to cover up the pantyhose and Fleet enema kit. Now there is a sentence that I couldn't have predicted when waking up this morning. Scratch the Fleet enema, that was just for fun. I think we can safely blame the orange ellipses for this.
During a recent dining experience, I had the distinct pleasure of viewing Wilford Brimley's video presence selling Life insurance. Wilford Brimley, a classic pantyhose fetishist from way back. Imagine his commercial about oatmeal. Now, instead of him saying oatmeal, have him say pantyhose. See how well it fits into the dialogue? Now imagine that instead of eating the oatmeal that he claims is soooo goooood, picture him with a wad of pantyhose jammed into his mouth. You decide if they're the brand new kind or the not-so-brand-new kind.
Let me know when it is you get that image out of your head. I think I may go drink a Diet Coke in a can until my eyes begin to water.