Elizabeth's many such!

#1 Yes, it's true. I'm a "crinimal." I've been caught in the act (meaning getting caught while wearing a petticoat) four!!! times (so far).

I was still very young when I realized I had an absolute fascination with women's clothes, especially their underwear - and was fortunate to have a mother with a drawer full of beautiful, lacy, satin and nylon lingerie. I was unfortunate enough to have an older sister (I have no brothers or younger sisters) who despised me - and I her. (Only years later, when we were adults and got together to compare notes, did we come to the mutual realization that our parents had been playing us off against the other.)

Anyway, Mom had a magical drawer full of wonderful clothes which felt so good, so fine, so pleasant to slip in to and experience.

My sister, on the other hand, had only utilitarian, unadorned, plain, cotton underwear, except for three rather large and noticeable exceptions: the three most beautiful, bouffant petticoats you could ever imagine in your most vivid, wildest, lovingest dreams. One was white, one was light pink and the other a pale blue. Elastic waists. Drop yokes. Double ruffled hems edged with matching colored lace ruffles. Shiny satin horizontal strips about 2 inches wide were sewn into each of the petticoats at about mid-petticoat level. The petticoats were hung on perfume-scented hangers and kept in large plastic garment bags so that the petticoats would not get dirty or dusty (they were not worn very often). Thus, when I unzipped the bag and took out the petticoat, it had an enchanting, intoxicating fragrance which I deeply inhaled (Bill Clinton, eat your heart out!) and positively reveled in absorbing through every available pore of my being.

The last player in this remembrance was my father, who I recall as a harsh, strict disciplinarian, a fighter pilot in the Air Force who was not home a lot during my childhood but when he was he yelled a lot. Once I discovered the secret lure of dressing up in my mother's lingerie and my sister's petticoats, I positively LIVED for those "golden" moments when I would be alone in the house. Fortunately, there were many evenings when I could partake of those treasured "golden" moments. My parents would go out to eat or to a movie or some other undefined destination, while my sister would have some impolite remark to sneer at me as she left to go over to a friend's house for several hours. Guess that left little ol' me all alone. Boo hoo? NOT!!! Yippee!!! You betcha!!!

So on many an evening I happily indulged my deep, dark, hidden, forbidden, horrible, sexually deviant and irresponsible fantasies (all attributes my father used when he found out what I was doing): I would strip naked and slowly, lovingly enjoy the sweet, sensuous pleasure of the feelings of the magnificent fabrics as they caressed my flesh, followed by donning one of my sister's dresses which had a flowing skirt, or one of my sister's simple blouses with a matching, flowing skirt. The BEST part came as I unzipped the garment bags and lifted out the enchanting, fragrant petticoats. Historical artifacts and documents in the Smithsonian Museum are not handled as carefully, as lovingly, as gently, as reverently as I handled those petticoats. Just touching them sent electric-like impulses through my body. I was actually trembling as I raised one leg, then the other, and delicately brought them down through the waiting, hollow circle of the waistband. Then pulling the petticoats up while watching myself in the large mirror which crowned the dresser: The mystical, magical transformation of the empty, flowing skirt in to a living, pulsating, gorgeous, bouffant creation of beauty!!! I can still recall how my eyes stung with my own tears as I lived those crystallizing moments in my life.

As my experiences grew in number, so did my confidence and boldness in dressing up for briefer and briefer periods of time. Remember, these events occurred in the era before answering machines, when door-to-door salesmen or the newspaper boy collecting for his route could show up at your front door - unannounced - at any moment. I had some pretty close calls!!!

My first incidence of getting caught happened one evening when I was so sure I would be alone for hours on end that I never thought to keep an eye on the clock. I was sitting in my sister's room, dressed in one of my mother's bras (the cups were filled with panties), a pair of my mother's nylon panties, one of my mother's Playtex panty girdle with Hanes stockings held up with the girdle's garters, a pair of my mother's high heels, one of my mother's white, lacy blouses and one of my sister's flowing skirts. Underneath the skirt I wore two petticoats, which caused the skirt to stand out practically like a ballerina's tutu. I was holding the third petticoat the way Linus holds his security blanket in the Peanut's cartoons: It was lovingly wrapped in my arms as I gently stroked the petticoat with my hands and at the same time stroked my face with the petticoat. I was humming a lullaby and swishing my legs together, savoring the sensation of the nylon as my legs rubbed together and also the feel of the petticoats against my legs. The bedroom door which led to the hallway was ever so slightly ajar. I never heard my sister come in the house. It didn't take long for her to make her presence known. Totally oblivious to everything else, I was in happily enjoyed life in my own petticoat world when my sister, standing in the now-open doorway, let out a blood-curdling scream!!! To this day I don't have a clear recollection of exactly what happened next, or the sequence of the actions which next occurred. All I can remember was my chest hurt (from my heart attack, no doubt wholly caused by my reaction to my sister's scream) and both of us yelling at each other at the top of our lungs.

Somewhere in the melee of events, our next door neighbor came over to see if everything was okay. He said they (his family and he) had heard screams, so he had come over to investigate and make sure we were all okay. Fortunately, my sister handled the neighbor at the front door. Meanwhile, I quickly got out of my sister's and mother's clothes, got dressed in my own clothes, and as quickly as I could rehung and replaced all of my mother's and sister's clothes exactly where they were supposed to be. In my haste, I forgot to close the sliding walk-in closet door...which was a dead giveaway when my sister stormed back in to her bedroom, seething and promising a FULL, COMPLETE, WHOLLY BIASED report to our parents THE MINUTE they returned home and boy was I in for it this time!!! My sister did not have to elaborate what "it" was...I already knew.

Crying and blubbering like a newborn, I apologized as profusely as I could to my sister, making solemn promises that incidents such as this evenings' would never, ever again occur, and BEGGED her to keep this to herself. Smirking, she icily informed me that there was not so much as one chance in a thousand of that happening and that, furthermore, she was going to look forward to seeing what fate awaited me, so I might as well just accept that I was done for....so there!!!

My parents were late coming home. It was past my bedtime, so I was in bed. Sleep was out of the question, of course. I laid there, terrified, as I listened as keenly as I could to hear how my sister would relate the events she and I experienced earlier in the evening. My sister kept her word: With venom dripping from her every word, she related a highly embellished report of her discovery. My mother was crying. My father was cursing. My sister was complaining about how could she keep me out of her room and what could my parents do to help her? My father came to my room. I pretended to be asleep and I suspect that my "pretendness" saved another very unpleasant event occurring to me on the same evening.

The next morning the whole thing seemed to have been forgotten. At breakfast, no one said one word about what happened or about the highly prejudicial report my sister had verbalized.

From then on, I adopted much more careful and conservative mannerisms when it came to dressing up in my mother's or sister's clothes. I "got away" with dressing up many more times, until I was caught one afternoon by my mother, the details of which will be revealed in my next episode.

#2 It happened during the Spring of the early 1960's. My father was overseas. My mother had taken a job to keep her busy while Dad was away. I was in high school. My sister had finished high school and left for college. Fortunately, she left behind a lot of her clothes which she never figured to wear again, including several blouses, skirts, dresses with full skirts and, best to all (for me!), her three petticoats. Naturally (and, yes, it DID seem natural to wear them!), I took advantage of every opportunity to play "dress up" and happily donned my sister's and mother's clothing and accessories. But I had to be careful...

At the time, I was in my early-to-mid-teens. I was growing bigger, taller and stronger, while the feminine apparel in the house seemed to be getting smaller, more delicate and a more snug fit. I didn't want to leave any "too obvious" traces of my dressing up activities, such as a rip or tear of any clothing.

One thing that I had NOT been able to "break" myself of was my near-tunnel vision appreciation and total fascination for the most magnificent clothing yet to be created by mankind: petticoats. With only my mother living in the house at the time, it seemed I could have a lot of time to myself if I so desired. By nature I am an outgoing, friendly person, so my afternoons after school were usually filled with sports or girls.

My dressing up times most frequently occurred during the late afternoon or early evening hours before my mother returned home. Somehow, the "golden moments" I enjoyed when I was dressing in my sister's petticoats never seemed long enough. I had to think of an alternative plan if I wanted to feel those petticoats more frequently! The solution wasn't particularly difficult: I started making excuses to leave school to go home. Sometimes I wasn't feeling well (I would come down with a "24 hour flu bug"); other times I went home for lunch (and was often late getting to the class which started just after lunch...my excuse was that I fell asleep watching TV while eating my lunch); or I simply played hooky and ditched classes for an afternoon. My grades were satisfactory, so I was in no danger of failing anything...at least academically.

My interest in donning petticoats was heightened by visual images I enjoyed seeing in magazines, newspapers and on the television. What I most often fondly recall was seeing the women models spinning or twirling, joyously sending their skirts and petticoats flying "aloft." Naturally, I absolutely HAD to experience those wonderful sensations myself! So that became one of my pleasurable activities: While wearing the petticoats, I too enjoyed spinning and twirling myself around the room, all the while loving the images of myself in a large mirror which I had lugged from the bedroom into the living room, which was the only room in the house where I found I had enough space to allow the skirt and petticoat to fully "go aloft."

One lunch time (somehow, I was never actually hungry while dressing up), I was dressed in one of my sister's dresses which had a expansive, flowing skirt, one of my mother's bra and panty sets, a pair of my mother's stockings and my sneakers (my feet had grown much too large to fit into either my mother's or sister's shoes). Did I mention that I was wearing one of my sister's petticoats? Or that I had all three petticoats sitting on the living room couch and would take one off just to put another one on, so that I could enjoy all three colors and also have a "contest" as to which petticoat went "highest aloft" when I was spinning?

I was in a petticoat-charged, erotically-drunken stupor as I continuously hand-fluffed the petticoats, spun and twirled myself around the room, laughing and smiling and having a wonderful time!!! ...... when I thought I saw a shadow in the room near the edge of the room where the hallway started. I stopped dancing and slowly looked around. No one was there. In a loud voice I called out "Is anybody here?" Silence. Whew!!! I gotta stop being so paranoid! So I flounced over to the couch, slipped down and stepped out of the petticoat I was wearing, and stepped in to the next petticoat. My back was to the edge of the room. I had leaned over and was starting to pull up the petticoat and appropriately adjust the skirt when I heard my mother's voice.

Mom was speaking in a quiet, controlled voice. She didn't sound mad or angry. She said that it was obvious I had been enjoying myself and wanted to know how I was doing. I carefully lowered the petticoat to the carpet and stepped out of it while at the same time turning to face my mother. There I was, standing in front of my mother, wearing, except for my shoes, not one stitch of male clothing. I was incredibly embarrassed and humiliated. I apologized to her. My mother told me to sit down. I did and she sat next to me. She took my (trembling) hands in her own. Her hands were soft and warm. Mom spoke in a soft, gentle voice. She asked me again how I was doing. I told her that myheart was racing right that minute but that right up until then I had been having a perfectly wonderful time. My mother said she knew; she had been silently observing me for about the last 15 minutes. I asked her why she hadn't answered when I called out. She told me that, as a mother, it gave her great joy seeing her children happy and enjoying themselves and didn't want to spoil my good time.

I remember asking my mother what caused her to return home on this particular day. She said that the school had telephoned her at her office about my increasingly frequent occurrences of leaving the campus (my high school had a "closed campus") during school hours) and was concerned that I might be up to some mischief. So during her own lunch break, my mother had decided to drop by the house, just in case. Sure enough, her motherly intuition had paid off and she had caught me in the act of being a " crinimal'."

Then she said that I had better get changed so I could get back to school. I asked her if she was angry at me. She smiled and said no. I asked her if she was going to tell anyone. She asked me if I meant the other kids in the neighborhood, my football coach, or my father? No, she said, this will be our little secret. Just don't do it any more, okay? I promised I no longer would. I kept my promise to my mother. For as long as I remained living under the roof provided by my parents, I never again worn any women's clothes. There is a postscript to this episode: Shortly after my mother caught me, she removed the petticoats from the house. I never saw them again but I have never forgotten them and frequently and fondly think back to and recall and relive those wonderful, memorable times.

#3 I met Carol while square dancing. It had been about 5-6 months since my divorce and I was very lonely for some female companionship. Oh sure, I could have kept myself busy at bars and picking up hookers downtown, but that's not my style and certainly not my life style. I enjoy being with folks who are more honest and wholesome. Hard to get more of those admirable attributes than in a square dancer, I always said. And I was correct. Carol was a very nice woman to know. A little on the short side, a little on the plump side, but with a pleasant personality, a happy, cheerful face, a great cook and man oh man did she ever love that cushion pushin'!!! What's more, Carol loved to be the recipient of unexpected little gifts such as flowers, candy, invitations to eat out, and lots of Victoria's Secret lingerie (unlike my ex, who always frustrated my romantic attempts). Carol always showed her appreciation the very same night. She loved to dress in her new lingerie and put on a private "fashion show" for me.

All that was really nice, but what I secretly enjoyed even more was what I was "forced to live with" when Carol invited me to move in with her so that we could share living expenses as well as be closer to each other. Carol lived in a two-bedroom apartment. Her mother (not an overly elderly woman but who had serious medical problems) used to live in the room I was moving in to, but Mom had become quite ill and was now in a nursing home so that she could have 24-hour observation and health care. Carol told me that she was very sorry but my clothes would have to share the bedroom closet with her petticoats. I managed to control the excitement in my voice and the trembling of my legs as I assured her it would be no problem. And it wasn't. My clothes easily fit on one half of the hanger rod, with her two huge, voluminous petticoats taking up the entire other half. (One day, Carol explained to me that she left her petticoats hanging in my closet because her closet was completely full of her clothes. Thus, the petticoats could dry out (from her perspiration from dancing while wearing them) and not get that "bunched up" look if she had to bag them due to any other lack of available space. Again, I assured Carol that it was no problem.)

I never told Carol about how, on almost every evening, while she was in the bathroom just before we went to bed, I would go to my room and just bury my hands and face in either the side panels or lacy hem of the petticoats, just loving the feel, the touch, the sensation of the fabric against my skin. Or, sometimes, I would take the petticoat off the rod, hanger and all, and just hold it close against myself or my own clothes (if I was wearing any), then quickly replace the petticoat and hanger in the closet. Then, a quick, quiet kiss on the petticoat and off to bed and pleasant dreams. (I was always very careful that I didn't leave any "marks" or "stains" on her petticoats.)

Carol didn't know about my absolute fascination with her petticoats, even though I gave her plenty of clues: I asked her to pose with me (she did) for a snapshot when we were both dressed to go out square dancing. We went square dancing as often as we could. I once asked her to dress up in her square dance clothes, including her petticoat, while we spent an otherwise quiet evening alone together. She did, although later she told me that she thought it was just another of my liking to do fun, impulsive things, all of which lead ultimately to wild simultaneous "gratification" later in the evening.

Carol found out about my fascination the hard way.

Three times a week on her way home from work, Carol would stop off and visit her mother in the nursing home. Since I always got home before her anyway, the situation seemed ideal for taking advantage of...that is, jumping in to those gorgeous petticoats myself, even if just for one time!!! Even if just for one minute!!! And that's exactly what I did. Only I did it more than one time and for more than one minute. Because Carol was a bit on the plump side, her square dance outfit blouses, which had lots of elastic in them, fit me. Ditto her square dance skirts. Ditto her elastic-waisted petticoats. I didn't have a lot of money (remember, I had recently gone through a divorce and, as any man who has been through a divorce all too well knows, once through THAT wringer - especially in California - you hardly have two dimes to rub together), so I had to improvise when it came to lingerie for myself. Wearing Carol's was out of the question: I told myself that if she found one of my body hairs in any of her undies, my goose would be cooked. So I left her lingerie alone. I didn't want to incur the expense (or having to explain it to Carol) of buying two sets of everything. Besides, I wasn't going to be dressing up a lot, so I didn't consider spending a lot to be cost effective.

What I wound up doing was purchasing four pairs of queen size pantyhose and one bra. One pair of the pantyhouse was for my legs. I cut off the legs and cut through the crotch of another pair. Those legs covered my arms and the panty portion covered my chest and trunk. (The pantyhose kept my body hairs from leaving tell-tale reminders on the petticoats.) Then the bra went on. Each cup got filled with one balled up pantyhose. Cheap, ugly, simple, but functional for my purposes. Plus, it was easy to crush and hide the mostly nylon items.

So, three times a week, for about 15-20 minutes each time, I enjoyed my private moments. Carol "enjoyed" them, too: When she would get home, I would have changed back in to my guy clothes and would be so worked up that Carol could barely get through the door before I was making lewd and lascivious suggestions which she heartedly endorsed and we both eagerly followed up on!!!
And so it came to be that one fine day I was all "dressed up," admiring myself in the full-length mirror which hung on the back of my bedroom door when, to my heart-stopping horror, the door opened and there stood Carol!!! Although it was only a few seconds, it seemed like hours passed that we both stood there, neither of us moving a muscle, looking at each other with our mouth's hanging open, not saying a word. Then, still without saying a word, Carol turned and walked back out to the living room and sat down. My stomach hurt, but I managed to pull myself together. I quickly changed back into my guy clothes, put away my lingerie and as carefully as I always did rehung her clothes and petticoat. Then I went to see Carol.

It was not a fun time to be me. Carol didn't want any explanations. Her voice shaking and tears welling up in her eyes, in as calm a voice as I guess she could have had at a moment like that, she said she wanted me OUT and she wanted me out NOW. No, she didn't want to take a minute to catch her breath. No, she didn't want to take a walk. No, she didn't want to go out to dinner and discuss anything. No, she didn't want to hug or have a quick roll in the sack. She said she had said NOW and she meant RIGHT now. Today. This minute. Pack your stuff and GET OUT. Thank goodness I hadn't given her a ring or something more expensive than some lingerie. I packed my clothes and spent the night with some friends from work. The next day I found a place of my own.After that, Carol and I occasionally saw each other at square dances. She was always polite but formal the way the British are known for. Neither of us "pushed" the other to get back together (although some of the other square dancers wondered what had happened because we had seemed "the perfect couple" when we went together). After several dances, I noticed Carol never wore the outfit that she had caught me wearing, so during a break at a dance I asked her about that. As formal and polite as ever and, looking me right in the eye, Carol very quietly told me that not long after I moved out she decided she would never wear any of those clothes again and so had given the blouse and skirt to a local charity thrift store and, knowing how much I admired and adored the petticoat, had BURNED IT in her fireplace! Stunned, I told her that that had been wholly unnecessary; that if she hadn't wanted it any more I would have been happy to purchase it from her at any price she wanted. I also told her that, to me, hearing of her having done something like that was like hearing about someone buring the American flag. Carol just gave me a little smile and walked away. We never again spoke to one another.

I eventually went on and met, fell in love with and married the wonderful woman who is now my wife. We are very happy together. My wife and I square danced for a brief while after we were married, then drifted away from it. But I did hear one last thing about Carol. She had married some guy from Oklahoma and had quit her job and moved back to the mid-West, where she now lives.

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