Paul recently graduated from medical school and needed a place to stay in Orlando for two weeks while he studied for his state board exams. Angela didn't know him personally, but she found out that he needed a place to stay through some mutual friends. She was going to be out of town, so she offered to let him stay at her house. It was perfect for him, but while there, he found a pair of her royal-blue panties, which were to be his undoing. What made these panties so special was the fact that they were soiled and he could smell her on them. When it was time for him to leave, he couldn't bear to leave them behind, so he took them. He's had them for twenty years, keeping them in his desk at his medical practice. He occasionally took them out, looked at them fondly, and smelled her essence.
Over the years, he slowly became addicted to her odor, and he desperately wished that he had never taken them. If he hadn’t have taken them, perhaps, he could have had a real relationship with her instead of one that was manifested only in his imagination.
He started feeling guilty for what he had done, and he began thinking more and more about trying to make amends. Eventually, he became obsessed with her and with what he had done. By now, she was most likely married with several children, but he had to know.
With a simple internet search, he quickly found her. But now, after all of this time, would he have enough internal fortitude to contact her and return the panties? He was frightened, but he was compelled to know if the panties that he occasionally held in his hands would still fit that trim little bottom that he had seen in photographs of her some twenty long years previously.
She placed the envelope on the table and slowly opened it. I was trembling. My chest was pounding so hard I thought it would explode or just stop. She pulled out the perfectly preserved, perfectly folded pair of royal-blue panties and laid them on the table. She had placed them somewhat discretely on the table between us, but she made sure that they were in plain sight and right in front of me.
They were simply lovely just lying there, but they were terribly out of place, and because of that, they were, in some strange way, terribly erotic. We were on our first date, sitting across the table from one another in a nice restaurant, and we were staring down at a pair of girl’s panties, which she must have, by now, recognized as her own.
Nothing was said for about thirty seconds. During that time, I felt as though I were in purgatory. Needless to say, my hard on was gone. In fact, I thought that it was probably gone forever because, right then, I considered the possibility that I may never need it again.
“I’m sorry, Paul, but I can't accept these,” she said as she slowly looked up at me. At that moment, I knew I was dead, or at least, I knew that I wished I were. We sat in silence for another minute. I began to perspire as I waited for the explosion.
Then, she asked me very slowly. “What could you possibly want with a pair of my panties? What possible use could you have for them?”
“I would rather not say,” I replied. I was dying of embarrassment.
She looked me squarely in the eyes “Why not, what could you possibly do with them? Obviously, you didn't take them to sell, or you wouldn’t still have them, and we both know that they wouldn't fit you,” she said.
I couldn't answer. It seemed way too perverse, at this point, to even think about it. There was just no way that I could confess to her that I was enchanted with her smell, her natural body odor and that I masturbated while holding them to my face so I could breathe her body into mine. I just sat there feeling and looking stupid, waiting and hoping that she would just stab me with her dessert fork and get it over with.
“Paul,” she said, “I know what you wanted my dirty panties for, and I know what you did with them.”