Paris Trip - Sex Stories

Paris Trip

... bathroom into a longish cotton nightshirt and came walking back to the sofa carrying her clothes which she set on the chair beside her. I observed myself, as if from a distance, noticing the straps of her white bra and a little bit of white lace emerging from under her folded t-shirt. Almost instinctively my eyes followed her to where she was settling into the sofa and pulling the quilt over her, and to where the nightshirt rose high up her smooth white thigh. Listen to me. I sound like a guy! Fascinated by a glimpse of a bit of lace. I have drawers full. But I will admit that as I settled into bed that night I allowed a fleeting fantasy about spending three days and three nights, in a shared room, with those legs; and that underwear. Now here is a moment to mention my position on lingerie. I have always liked nice underwear, from my early teens looking at glossy magazines. I had suspender belts and lacy briefs and G-strings long before there was any real possibility of anyone other than my mother seeing them. It wasn’t as if I was having saucy fantasies about sexy underwear. Well not many anyway. But I guess that at some level it probably boiled down to making me feel sexy or confident, and so I tend to take notice when the subject of underwear is ever touched upon. I already had it in my mind that Samantha was not really a lingerie girl. One of her friends had teased her once with a little throw away remark about thick white cotton pants and I had noted the fact that her ...

... defence was something about practicality in sports locker rooms and netball skirts and that she made no attempt to actually deny the accusation. I set out my position now because otherwise the extent that underwear seemed to be involved in the next three days may seem a little of a fixation. I think that it really was as much my general propensity to open magazines at the article or advertisements for a new style bra or knickers as it was the events of the previous night playing in the back of my mind that resulted in me raising the subject before we even reached the Channel Tunnel. We had bought Cosmo and Red and one or two other girly mags for the journey and before breakfast was served I was flicking through the magazines and glancing at early morning Kent flashing by the windows of the Eurostar train. I found a questionnaire claiming to reveal what our choice in underwear says about our inner woman. Samantha was fairly disinterested at first but we were both enthusiastic about the trip and I guess that although I wasn’t actually paying, the fact that it was my prize that was treating us made Samantha feel a little like my guest and so keen not to seem ungrateful. In any event, seeing my enthusiasm for the game, she entered into the spirit, admitting on most questions to a fairly conservative choice out of each list. Mostly white. Next most common colour black. Mostly cotton. Comfort the highest priority followed by practicality and versatility. Mostly department store ...