2 comments/ 26858 views/ 1 favorites Panty Man Ch. 01 By: BOSTONFICTIONWRITER Tall and lanky thin with visible scars from teenage acne and wearing wire rimmed glasses, Norman has a good job. He's a statistician for the United States Census Bureau, Department of Census Bureau Data and Emergency Preparedness. He loves numbers and loves his job. He's been working there in the same position and doing the same job, a job that would have drove any sane person mad ten years ago. Ask Norman a question that relates to numbers and he'd have the answer off the top of his head right down to the infinite decimal point without hesitation and without error. He's a human computer is what he is. He's so good with math, numbers, percentages, statistics, ratios, and counting that he's been banned from every Black Jack table of every casino on the east coast. They all know who Norman is. They have the mathematical numbers that make up his facial profile recorded in their electronic facial identification software. If he steps in another casino, he'd be arrested. He's won enough of their money beating the house with an unfair advantage, namely, his big brain. Besides his love of numbers and his love of his job, panties are the only other things that Norman likes as much. He can tell you how many people are alive, how many people are dead, how many people have jobs, work from home, are enrolled in school, as well as how many children are in an average household, what type of pets, and the median income of anyone anywhere in the United States. Yeah, Norman knows numbers; he knows exactly how many pairs of women's panties he has in his dresser drawers at home. If you burglarized Norman's house, the first thing he'll do is to inventory his panty drawers to make sure they are all still there and neatly folded. True to his online name, Panty Man, he loves panties. Only, not new, unworn panties, he prefers worn slightly soiled panties that save the sweet, pungent aroma of the woman who recently wore them. He lives alone without a pet in a high rise, one bedroom condo in Boston that overlooks the Boston Common. Whenever he is off from work, his powerful binoculars scan the greenery of the park watching for women sitting on the grass and paying more attention to their lunch or conversation than to the condition of their skirt or dress. He has lots of friends, only they are all members of the opposite sex and all platonic women who routinely ask him to water their plants and feed their cats while they are away on their romantic weekends with their boyfriends. Norman uses that serendipitous opportunity to take one of their panties from their laundry hamper and add it to his extensive collection of women's panties that are sorted by size, color, style, and fabric. The women never miss a pair of panties. Besides, they assume that Norman is gay. The guys more correctly assume that he is weird. Norman had one date with a woman some months back that ended badly when he asked her a simple, single question. He had met her online after joining one of those dating services that his female friends and female co-workers pressured him into joining. At the conclusion of the date, when a normal man tried to steal a goodnight kiss, Normal asked a solitary question. The woman slapped his face and reported him not only to the dating service but also to the police. The dating service offered to fix him up on another blind date and the police took a report. There was no crime here, just a question of impropriety, bold assertion, and questionable dating decorum. "Norman, what do you have to lose? It's only a few dollars to reregister your profile on this dating service site. They've already e-mailed you that they have the perfect woman for you. You just might meet your soul mate," said Sheila, a co-worker, with a giggle probably from the thought of wondering who on planet Earth would be his soul mate. He rejoined and agreed to meet Cynthia, a brown haired, brown eyed, plain girl of average everything but for an unexpected spike in per capita income from all the overtime hours she worked because she is alone and lonely. They met for a movie, Good Will Hunting, of course, when A Beautiful Mind was already sold out, and a bite to eat after. The date went as well as expected with Cynthia being nearly as weird as Norman. She had that annoying snort of a laugh that not only doesn't endear her to people, especially members of the opposite sex, but also that makes those who hear it want to recoil before running away laughing. Lucky him, there is someone for everyone out there. She works as a buffer in a machine shop. She buffs the burrs off of metal parts, 10 hours a day and 5 ½ days a week. The overtime she earns affords her a comfortable lifestyle. She has a new car, nice clothes, and plenty of slightly worn panties. At the conclusion of the date when any man is readying himself to steal a good night kiss, feel a tit, and/or hope for a bit more with an offer of an invitation for an intimate evening, Norman has something else in mind. He's poised to ask his question. To be continued... Panty Man Ch. 02 At the conclusion of the date when any man is readying himself to steal a good night kiss, feel a tit, and/or hope for a bit more with an offer of an invitation for an intimate evening, Norman has something else in mind. He's poised to ask his question. He parked his car in her driveway. She lived there alone with her elderly mother and her two tomcats named Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp. There was an uncomfortable moment when two people who meet for the first time wonder what will happen at the end of the date and look at one another without talking while waiting for the other to make the first move. This was that moment. "Well, goodnight and thank you for a lovely evening," she said with a smile and a snort. "I had a swell time." Cynthia took an aggressive lead and leaned into Norman. Only, instead of following her lead and discovering her ready lips with his, he leaned closer to her and whispered his burning question in her ear. "May I have your panties?" "What? My panties?" She sat straight up and looked at him. "I don't understand your meaning. Do you mean you want to have sex with me or you want my actually panties?" "I want just your panties...for now with more later, if you are still willing." "Why do you want them?" "I collect them," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm not giving you my panties," she said giving him a look that could have removed wallpaper from a wall. She placed her hand on the car door in her readiness to flee. She looked back at him and looked around the car to see if anyone was looking and if anyone could see her parked in her driveway. The moments that past felt like minutes. "Close your eyes," she said reaching up and under her skirt and pulling off her panties. "Here," she said throwing them in his face. "You happy now? Sicko!" Norman put his hand to his face while holding her panties in place and inhaled. "Ahhh, thank you so much Cynthia," he said through the white cotton fabric while deeply breathing. With his other hand, he reached down, unzipped himself, and pulled out his cock. As if she wasn't there, he slowly began to stroke himself. She stared down at his cock with a dumbfounded look on her face. "Well, this is certainly a different first date. I can't wait to write this in my journal." She looked up at him and back down at his hand that stroked his cock at a regular pace. She laughed a snort. "Do you need any help there, Norman?" "No, I can handle this," he said stroking a little faster while sniffing her panties. "Do you mind if I watch," she said laughing and snorting while making herself comfortable in the passenger seat by turning towards him for a better look of him masturbating. "The writers are still on strike and watching you is way better than whatever rerun is on television tonight." "No, I don't mind if you watch. I find it terribly exciting for you to watch me. Matter of fact, you can join me if you'd like." "Join you? What do you mean, join you?" "Play with yourself. I'd like to see that." He removed her panties from his face, opened his eyes, turned his head towards her, and looked at her. "I'd like to watch you play with your pussy." "You want me to masturbate here in your car parked in my driveway with my elderly mother peeking out the window, no doubt." "That makes it even more exciting for me to know that your Mom is watching me play with my cock. Do you think she'd get off seeing me jerk-off?" "Ewww! No!" Cynthia put her back to the passenger side window to block her mother's view should she be watching. She raised one leg on the seat of the car and lifted her skirt high enough to expose her bushy pussy to her date. She started fingering herself. Her other hand fingered her nipples through the material of her blouse. "Take them out. I want to see them." "What? My tits?" She looked down at her blouse and then at his cock again and before making eye contact with him. "You want to see my tits? Really?" "Yeah, unbutton your blouse, lift up your bra, and show me your tits." He looked at her. "Why do you sound so surprised that I want to see your tits?" "Well, I figured you'd just be into my panties and jerking off." She turned in her seat trying to see if any of the neighbors could see her. She unbuttoned her blouse splaying it open and exposing her white bra while watching Norman watching her as he stroked his erection. She lifted one side of her bra allowing her tit to fall free and then the other side. "I feel so wicked," she said laughing and snorting. "I feel like I'm in porn movie," she said laughing and snorting again. "Yet, I feel so free and unencumbered, as if all my inhibitions are gone suddenly." "You've never done anything like this before?" "You've got to be kidding, Norman. No! This is wildly bizarre. If I read this on the pages of Literotica, I wouldn't believe it." "You read Literotica?" "Sometimes." "Are you a member?" "Yes." "What's your screen name?" "Panty Girl." "No way!" "Why? What's your screen name?" "Panty Man." To be continued... Panty Man Ch. 03 "Panty girl? I can't believe your Literotica screen name is Panty Girl? How weird is that?" "And I can't believe that I found Panty Man," she said laughing. "What are the odds of that?" "I'll show you my panty collection, if you show me your panty collection," said Norman with a nervous laugh. "Why do I get the feeling that I would be amazed by your panty collect," said Cynthia with a snorting laugh. "I hesitated about writing down my fetish on that dating service application and now I'm glad that I did." "Me, too, I almost didn't write that down, but I figured that I'd rather have a boyfriend who knew about my sexual peccadilloes before we even started a relationship. I've been with some guys who just didn't understand. They called me a slut and a whore for wanting to expose myself." She looked at her new boyfriend playing with his penis. "I don't feel that I am a slut or a whore. I just need to flash my panties to get arouse before having sex. What's so wrong with that?" "It would have been nice if the dating service gave me a heads up. I was sweating bullets about asking for your panties." "Well, I'm glad you did. Now, it just goes to show you that there really is someone for everyone." "It's obvious, of course, why I chose the name Panty Man, but why did you choose the name Panty Girl?" "That's easy. I like showing my panties, mostly, to men. I like showing my tits, too, but showing my panties are much easier to do than showing my tits." She watched as he slowly stroked his cock. "I like to make it appear accidental. Their reactions are what gets me off." Norman sat across from her amazed. Except for her annoying snorting laugh, finally, he had found the perfect woman. He loved seeing panties and she loved showing her panties, how perfect a union they had. The possibilities that flashed through his mind were endless. "What if" he said afraid to continue with the question and hoping beyond hope that she was receptive to his idea, "we were to work together to satisfy our perversions? We can be a sexual panty tag team." "Well, that's where we differ, Norman, I don't consider flashing my panties a perversion." She watched him sitting in his car stroking his cock while sniffing her panties. "I consider what I do a sexual stimulant, a precursor for what more is to come." She stared at his cock as he slowly stroking. "I need real sex, whereas, I'm getting the impression, mostly by watching you stroke yourself as you sniff my panties, that you don't need a woman, per se, just their panties." "Okay, I can understand why you would think that," he said removing her worn panties from his nose. He backpedaled. He didn't want to piss her off or insult her. He didn't want to screw up this chance of having the woman of his dreams. "What if you stimulated me sexually by showing your panties to men? Then, after we were both sexually stimulated, we could have sex." "Hmm, that sounds interesting," she said as she continued masturbating herself as Norman watched. "What do you have in mind?" "Well, I live across from the Boston Common in a high rise condo. What if you were to wear a short skirt and hung around the commons exposing your panties while I filmed you from upstairs in my condo?" "Do you have a telephoto lens?" "I have everything, video cam, digital camera, binoculars, telescope, and a huge telephoto lens like the ones they use at Fenway Park." "I'm not sure if I understand, Norman. How is my exposing my panties street level going to get me off?" "Well, you said that exposing your panties is a sexual stimulant. Correct?" "Yeah." "While you are outside getting all horny exposing your panties to men, I'll be across the street, up in my condo recording the action. Then, when you have had enough, we'll watch it all the big screen while we both masturbate and have sex to what transpired." "Brilliant, Norman, that's so cool." Cynthia masturbated while watching him stroking himself while he sniffed her panties. "There's only one possible problem." "What's that?" "You said you live in a high rise?" "Yeah." "What floor?" "I'm on the sixteenth floor that has a great view of Tremont Street, Boylston Street, Charles Street, the Boston Commons, the Public Gardens, and even the Esplanade and Logan Airport off in the distance. I've capture a few great sights on the Esplanade." "Yeah, well, that's the problem." "What?" "With you so high up on the sixteenth floor, the angle is too high for you to capture an upskirt of my panties, which is what I need to get myself off." "That's not a problem. I take care of my neighbor's plants and cat while she works the weekend shift at the hospital. She lives on the 3rd floor. The view that she has is perfectly in line, almost a direct line of view, for what I have in mind." "Cool," Cynthia said. To be continued... Panty Man Ch. 04 The next day was a warm spring day and Cynthia parked herself on a park bench in the Tremont Street side of the Boston Commons across from Norman's window. She sat with her knees spread enough apart to give whoever walked by her a nice view of her sheer bikini panties, so sheer that if one looked close enough they could discern her bush. Cynthia took care in choosing which panties to wear. She picked the one that showed her camel-toe. It was obvious that she had played this game many times before. With the knowledge that Norman was filming all that went on in front of her, she never had to look up to see who was watching her. She knew that she could watch the video on Norman's Plasma television later to receive all the sexual stimulation she needed. She never had to blow her cover and spoil her fun to see who was looking. Everyone who passed by her and noticed her panties thought surely that it was an accidental flashing on her part and good fortunate on their part to happen by at this exact time to capture this exhibitionistic view. She pretended that she was too focused on text messaging to notice the inappropriate way she was sitting with one foot tucked beneath her buttocks and her other dangling free from the bench. To further highlight her experience, she parted her hair down the middle, put her hair in braids, and wore her skirt that looked much like a high school uniform. She tucked what appeared like a school book bag next to her and that further made her look the part. Surely, at 27-years-old, Cynthia could still pass for someone who was 18-years-old, especially with her hair in braids, her head down text messaging, and wearing her plaid look-a-like school skirt. Besides, not many were looking very closely at her face. They were more concerned with her panties. To spice it up even further, she wore a white button blouse that looked much like a school blouse. She left the top few buttons unbuttoned and as she leaned forward concentrating on her text messaging, she gave those standing near her or walking by her a great downblouse view of her sheer bra and cleavage. From where Norman was setup to videotape her, he not only had a view of her panties but also a great down blouse view of a good section of her B cup tits. She had men who slowed their pace, men who stopped and stared, and men who pretended to tie their shoes while looking up from their squatted positions for a better look of her sheer panties. She had men who stopped in front of her pretending they were looking at their watch or getting their bearings on which direction to take. She had men who hung out across from her leaning against a pole, sitting on the bench or pretending they had to stop to discard a bit of trash or to light their cigarette. She was creating quite a stir and more than she ordinarily would have had she looked up from her text messaging to notice the men hanging around her. Human nature was amazing. This little stunt could have been research for a psychological study. There was even a guy pretending to read the newspaper while constantly and continuing looking up and over the paper to steal an erotic view. Even women slowed their step to get a better look of Cynthia's panties. In the hour that she sat on the bench, she had attracted much attention from both sexes. It was a perfect plan. Cynthia wasn't a bad looking woman just a little plain is all. With the right clothes, a better hair due, and a bit more makeup, she'd even be pretty. Nonetheless, her appearance plain or otherwise never stopped men and women from taking a look at her exposed panties. Using his telephoto lens attached to his video camera positioned out the patio door of the studio apartment, Norman had a clear view of Cynthia sitting on the park bench wearing her short skirt that hiked up to her mid thigh exposing her sheer panties when she sat. He hooked up the feed to the television and, as it recorded, it played the sordid activities real time. He put the camera on a tripod, set it up double checking the view a few times, and left it there to record whatever transpired. Indeed, Norman and Cynthia were the sexual panty tag team. Norman turned to look at the television. There was his Cynthia, her panties, and men loitering in the area for a better and prolonged look of her panties. That was when he thought that they could post this to the Internet and make some money with it, perhaps. He had to think how to market it, but the idea appealed to him. Of course, he'd have to run it by Cynthia. Within an hour, he captured 167 men and 74 women looking over at Cynthia's panties. This section of the Boston Common at the Tremont Street end is very busy with people going to and from work or catching the subway at Park or Boylston Streets. One by one by one, nearly every man young or old turned to look as he past by her. To be continued...