Hand-Me-Downs

“Honey, why are your panties in my drawer?”

“Because I gave them to you, Bob.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘I gave them to you.’”

“Yes, I heard, but I meant why?”

“Because they don’t fit me anymore, and after the baby, I don’t expect to get back to my old size.”

“Yes, but why give them to me?”

“Who else would I give them to?”

“Well, a woman?”

“Hand-me-downs are usually kept in the family, Bob.”

“But, men don’t wear panties.”

“I suppose most are too insecure – but, I remembered what you said when I wanted that lamp last week – with the baby coming, we have to make sacrifices. I figure this saves over $60.” Kathy is just starting as an associate at a legal firm, and I’m working on a screen play, so money is tight.

“But, they’re panties!” I stammered.

“They’re just underwear, dear, and yours were getting very shabby. The elastic was shot, and your bits dangled out as often as not. They couldn’t have been comfortable.”

“Well, they weren’t, but …”

“Then you should appreciate getting better underwear while saving money – or are you getting all sexist?”

“No.” What could I say? I did need new underwear, and, since I work at home, no one else would see me in panties.

“Okay, then, let’s see how they fit,” she said, holding a black nylon pair open. As I stepped in she pulled them up and smoothed them over my rear.

“See, they fit perfectly!” She stepped back. “… And, I see you like them very much! What do you say?”

“I’m embarrassed?” My reaction shocked me as much as it amused her. I rationalized that sex had become less frequent, … and the panties were so …

“I mean when someone gives you something you obviously like?”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. I have to get to work, and you could use some private time.”

So, it began. I couldn’t help touching myself when she left. In no time, the panties, my panties, were soaked. Once I could think, I felt like a complete perv. What kind of man gets excited by panties? I resolved never to do that again. I needed fresh underwear. My only choice was another pair of panties. I picked white cotton ones, but being plain didn’t help. By lunch time, three pairs were soiled. I didn’t want Kathy to see them. I remembered she often washed panties in the sink. I did the same.

Later, I had to pee. The panties had no fly, so it seemed natural to sit. Sitting with panties around my knees with more drying over the shower rod drained my masculinity. The thought that I liked wearing panties kept intruding on my efforts to write, so I took a nap. Waking late, I hurriedly took my panties off the shower rod and put them away. Since I’d done no writing, I decided to cook – something I rarely did. I’d watched Kathy use frozen patties and canned sauce to make veal Parmigiana, so, I did the same. When she came home, I greeted her with a kiss and a pina colada.

“I could get used to this, Bob.”

“Well, I thought you could do with a little TLC after our spat this morning,” I said before returning to cook the pasta.

“Thank you, dear, this is delicious! … By the way, your shirt is splattered with sauce. You should wear an apron in the kitchen.”

“Thank you … and you’re right. … So, how was your day?”

“Rough – trying to clear my cases before the baby, and fending off MacKinsey who still thinks women’s place is in the home. He wants to replace me while I’m on maternity leave. You know – give my office and clients away. If I take the six months leave I’m due, I’ll have to start over from scratch.”

“That’s terrible. What can you do?”

“I’m working on it, sweetie.”

“Well, let me know how I can help.”

“Thanks, I will. … So, how’s your script going?”

“Oh, not much progress today, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame … but that lovely aroma smells like you’ve made up for it.”

“You think? Thanks.” I put on a floral print apron I’d bought Kathy for Christmas and plated our meal.

“This is delicious, sweetie! You’re a wonderful housewife,” she said jokingly.

After dinner Kathy retired to work and I cleaned up. Then, not wanting to disturb her, I tried to read. At 11:00 I woke up. As I passed the hall mirror, I saw a woman in a floral dress, but it was just me, still wearing the apron.

When we got ready for bed, Kathy noticed that I wasn’t wearing the black panties, but only smiled. Later she said, “I know that you’re not used to wearing panties, but you look sexy in them.” Once we were in bed, she showed me she meant it.

The next couple of weeks were uneventful. I got used to wearing panties, and took over the cooking and cleaning to make Kathy’s life easier. Then, she started throwing up – morning sickness. A few days later, I was vomiting as well. Kathy insisted that I go to urgent care, where a lady doctor saw me. She decided I had couvade syndrome – sympathetic pregnancy – something about a fifth of expectant fathers get.

“What causes it?”

“It’s poorly understood, but when I examined you, I saw your panties. So, in your case, it may be related to being submissive.”

I blushed. I was so used to panties, I’d forgotten I was wearing them.

“It is nothing to be embarrassed about, lots of men are submissive.”

“So, what’s the treatment?”

“There is none. It usually goes away when the baby is born. Your morning sickness will end with your wife’s, but you can expect more symptoms after that – weight gain, breast enlargement and sensitivity – that sort of thing. Afterall, subconsciously, you wish you were pregnant.”

“You really think so?”

“It’s very likely.”

“Ah, thank you doctor.”

I felt very feminine as I left, but wasn’t sure I liked it.

I told Kathy what the doctor said. She responded, “That makes a lot of sense. I’ll try to be more supportive, Bobby.”

I did gain weight around my hips and abdomen, and my breasts swelled, so maybe the doctor was right. When the weather turned hot, I found my shorts didn’t fit my hips. Kathy gave me her old shorts, moving them to my side of the closet. Most were solid colors, but a couple weren’t.

“Kath, you gave me a couple of skirts!”

“They’re not skirts, they’re culottes – a style of shorts. See … they have two legs, not one.”

“But, they’re floral prints.”

“So are some of your panties, sweetie, and your apron. If it makes you feel better, think of them as Hawaiian prints.”

“Okay, okay.” There was no point in arguing. The culottes were pretty, and cheered up my side of the closet. All I had to do was not wear them.

Women’s shorts fit my bigger hips and rear well. Of course, most had no fly and those that did didn’t zip far enough to be of any use, but
I’d been sitting to pee for a while – so no problem.

After a few days Kathy was looking at me strangely.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Kath?”

“Sweetie, this may sound strange, but it disturbs my aesthetic sense to see hairy legs sticking out of my old shorts. Would you mind shaving your legs? They’d look so much better.”

“I’m already wearing panties and women’s shorts, so I can hardly object that only women shave their legs.”

“Some men do, you know.”

“I suppose so. I guess no one will notice but you. So, okay.”

Meanwhile, my nipples started being irritated by my clothes. I wanted to ignore them, but there they were – a little more prominent every time I looked. Each day, a more feminine figure looked back from the mirror. You wouldn’t think reflections could affect how you feel about yourself, but they do. I didn’t think of myself as a man anymore, but didn’t think of myself as a woman either. It was the image in the mirror that was getting feminine, not me.

Eventually, I took on the laundry to give Kathy more time. Not having a system yet, I stepped out of the shower to find that I was out of clean shorts. So, reluctantly, I put on a pair of cream culottes with a rose print. With the divide between the legs lost in the folds, the image in the mirror wore a skirt. Small pointy breasts stood out from her chest, and long hair confirmed her femininity.

I just starred – neither attracted nor repelled. Frozen, I wondered how I’d look with styled hair, makeup, or heels. Slowly, my hands moved to my breasts, delivering in an erotic shiver. It was all too much. I pulled my skirt, or rather culottes, off. It didn’t help. The image wore pretty orchid panties.

Kathy had woken and was watching. “Don’t take off the culottes, Bobbie. They look great on you. … And, I love your little titties.”

I pulled the culottes up. “Thanks, I guess, but my ‘little titties,’ as you call them, are in a lot of pain. They rub against my shirts and are sore as hell. I don’t know how you women stand it.”

“We protect our assets.”

“Well, I wish someone would protect mine.”

She went to her dresser. “Here, these camis don’t fit me anymore. They’re yours.” She took a plain white satin one and placed the rest on the bed. “Hands up.” She pulled it down. Pert nipples pressed against the cups. “There, that should help and no one will see it under your top. … This blouse goes with those culottes.” She gave me a soft kiss, then started getting ready for work.

Now, every stitch I wore was made for a woman. I should have rebelled. I didn’t. I remembered what the doctor said about being submissive and wanting to be pregnant. I did the housework, and didn’t mind. I was wearing panties and a cami, a blouse and what was effectively a skirt, and didn’t mind.

Then, it hit me. I was Kathy’s wife. I thought back to when we were in college. I didn’t propose to Kathy. She told me that after we graduated we’d get married. It made me so happy. Now, I was looking forward to having a baby to care for, while Kathy was worried about how it would affect her job. Maybe Kathy already knew I was her wife when she gave me my panties. I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter.

Later that summer, Kathy got her share of a large settlement. She asked me what I wanted.

“I’m tired of wearing your hand-me-downs.”

“Oh? You want more masculine clothes?”

“No, I want some new dresses and shoes to go with them.”