Traditional
2006 October 10
I was the one at the wedding wearing a pink and black halter dress with a plunging neckline, but it wasn’t nipple slips I was worried about.
My sheer black stockings were two inches too short. I’d been discreetly tugging at the garter straps all afternoon through my dress.
(I’ve got a nylon fetish. Any excuse to wear is a good excuse to wear.)
The older gentleman in the back row caught me pulling up my sliding stocking top when I thought no one was looking. I looked up and we made eye contact. I blushed. He smiled. Not like a lecher; it was a kind smile – and a pleased one. He’d caught me wearing.
I’m what you might call traditional.
