Mom knows best
Posted: Mon Sep 09, 2024 2:58 pm
A rewrite of a previous published story.
01. Introduction.
Last year school started in the most terrible way possible. Your life suddenly becomes a nightmare. A nightmare that doesn’t seem to have an ending at first. But slowly everything is finally settling, calming down. Next week I’m going to get my diploma and school will be over. Then my summer vacation will start.
My mom had promised me a nice and relaxing vacation if I caused no more problems, would listen to her and graduate Cum Laude. This vacation is now finally within reach, though she told me multiple times, this doesn’t mean she has forgiven me for all what had happened. And that's what hurt me the most since I was innocent.
I'm an 18 year old boy and on vacation I’ll celebrate my 19th birthday. And the reason that I have had a terrible school year is because I have been framed by some girls. They had taken revenge on me for not letting them cheat.
How did this all happen, well, let me tell you.
My name is Alex, short for Allesandro and my mom is Amalia. I don’t know who my dad is. My mom never really talks about him. My mom is a powerful businesswoman. She owns a large company with multiple laundry's and she is very strict, stern, demanding so the company radiates quality.
When I returned to school in September last year for my last year of my Gymnasium, I had promised myself this would be my best year ever. Just like every year I had celebrated my birthday during the holidays so now I could finally drive my car without needing my mom beside me. In my mind I was already counting the respect for being one of the few at school with his own car.
But it wasn't the car or my driving license that started all the trouble, it was my brain that helped fry up the whole situation. I'm pretty bright, I have no problem in learning, classes are easy for me, the chance of graduating Cum Laude, were already very high. Cum Laude is how they describe “With Honors” here in the Netherlands, your lowest grade must be at least a 7 but I’ve set the bar at an 8 minimum. I like everything to be organized and strict.
Following rules is just great, you’re sure someone thought about it and has chosen the best option, just like driving, don’t go over the speed limit, you don’t get a fine and it's safer. And if my mom tells me to do something, even if I don’t want to, I do it, simply because she knows best and, well, she sets my rules, so I have to obey. I do have some friends at school and together we love playing Dungeons & Dragons or just simple computer games. So I'm smart, introvert and nerdy.
Physically I'm not very impressive either, I'm pretty small for a boy, many girls tower above me, especially Dutch girls. And thus for a Dutch boy I'm really small. My mom blames this on my dad. She had a fling during a summer-holiday in Italy and got pregnant by an Italian, that's all I know. Hence my Italian name, Allesandro, but everyone calls me Alex. So my complexion is slightly tinted, I have some Mediterranean blood in me. I don’t know anything else about my dad, and never had a step-dad. My mom has raised me all alone. After giving birth to me, she quickly started her own little cleaning company. Amalia’s Cleaning Service, shortened to ACS. Somehow she could quickly expand and started specializing in Laundry cleaning. Business went well and she expanded, buying out other laundry cleaners, merging them into her slowly growing empire.
Besides my small physique I also haven't been touched with puberty that hard. My mom often comments that she just loves that I kept my baby-fat, a remark I don't like at all, but I cannot talk back to my mother. Like I said before, she is a very stern and strict woman. I don’t have a say in what clothes I want to wear, she buys them, puts them in my closet. If she decides I need to wear skinny jeans, she buys new jeans, takes the old ones out of the closet, gets them cleaned at one of her shops and then stores them, still neatly packed, in the basement. And I just wear skinny jeans. And maybe after three months everything will change again. We have a basement filled with bags of neatly packed clothes.
Once I tried to sneak into the basement to get some of my clothes back. In the end I didn’t dare take it back but it was wonderful looking at was all stored there. I learned my mom had probably ridden a horse because I saw some big black shiny leather boots and even some whips. And I saw some of my mom’s old gymnastic clothes. I’m glad nowadays they’re made from softer fabric and not that tough vinyl and leather. Though the ones she had stored with the lacing were nice.
Besides controlling, my mom is also very caring. If I have a cough, we go to the doctor. If I had diarrhea, obstipation, or pain in my tummy, we go to the doctor. Wheezing and sneezing, we go to the doctor. So I now take daily medication for my asthma, allergies and I’ve got some medication when my Irritable Bowel Syndrome kicks in again. At the time I got acne, my mom took me to a specialist. The first specialist taught me everything on how to keep my pores clean. Mom was not satisfied so she brought me to a second specialist. He told me once more to keep my pores clean, but he also gave my mom a subscription for medication and supplements. As soon as I started taking those pills my acne almost disappeared. I told you, mom knows best.
And when I sprained my ankle at school during physical education, my mom arranged for me to be excused for it for the rest of the year. School however demanded I would join some sport and give proof of it. I wanted to choose tennis or track running, but my mom was against those choices. She signed me up for gymnastics. I remembered her old gym clothes in the basement and I guessed she had liked it very much. So since my mom told me to go to gymnastics, I went and was one of the few boys.
I must say gymnastics is fun, the girls acted normal, we weren’t friends but they tolerated me without any problem. It was important that you could trust each other during the exercises, so we were always very serious. Coach said I had potential and told me I should try out for the rings, horse and parallel bars but mom disagreed. She feared I would get hurt so I stayed with the girls.
So my mom was very protective and because of all these troubles I experienced in my life, I had a handful of pills every day during breakfast I needed to take. And in the evening, after dinner, more than once there was an extra shake with proteins and fibers like flax-seeds, oats and quinoa. But it helped. My allergies were under control, I suffered little problems with my breathing, my bowels ran regular and my acne was well under control.
02. My drivers license.
About my drivers license. If you draw a picture of me after learning the previous about me, you probably wouldn't picture me as a boy rushing to get his driving license. The rules in the Netherlands are simple. At 16 and a half you can start learning to drive. When you’re 17, you can do the test. Until you’re 18, you’re not allowed to drive without supervision from an adult who has a valid drivers license. Besides driving, you also have to do a written test. That one was easy.
I remember how it started. My mom entered my room at friday-evening just before I wanted to go to bed.
“Alex, you should start your driving lessons. Isn’t that an exciting idea.?”
“Oh mom, but I’m sixteen, and traffic, it's like..”
“Nonsense, with a good tutor you’ll learn to drive perfectly without any problem. And the written exam, I bet you’ll learn the rules within one hour, you’re smart.”
“But mom, no, what if I make an accident, or, you know, at night in the car, I usually fall asleep, and that gear shifting, it’s..”
“Stop it Alex, don’t be such a baby about, what are you, a girl? Even girls learn how to drive, I’ve seen girls drive better than boys all the time. I’m sure you’ll be even better at driving than all those girls.”
“Mom, please, I’ll do it when I’m 18, or 19, I promise.”
“ALEX, NO, stop acting like that, you’ll do fine, you learn to drive and when you turn 17 I’m sure you will pass your exam for the first time.”
“Can't it wait until I’m 18? Boys in the class will pick on me I’m sure, and the girls..”
“Enough, come here.”
With those stern words my mom grabbed me and pulled me over her knees, as if I was a little boy who had taken a candy and thought that by denying everything would go away. But nothing simply goes away with my mom. I received a spanking on my bottom, she even pulled down my pajama pants so her flat hand hit harder. It really hurt and I started crying. With disgust my mom stopped after having spanked my bottom at least ten times.
“Tomorrow on Saturday you’re getting your first driving lesson, I’ve booked everything already. I’ve paid for the best package and you thank me by whining like a little girl. What of the other he, what if you had been a girl, maybe you would have looked more like me, your mom. Stronger, not a whining little boy.
You’re grounded for next week. You better pay attention during the driving lessons, I want you to be ready to get it as soon as you turn 17. END OF DISCUSSION!”
The first driving lesson was difficult, my bum still hurt from the spanking, but I managed. The theoretical part was easy, I learned all the rules within two weeks, got my theory-exam next week and my mom had ordered the instructor to already book my exam as soon as I turned 17. If he thought I would need extra lessons, he only needed to tell my mom and she would pay.
So when I turned 17, four days after my birthday I sat in a car, drove as instructed, followed the orders, and memorized all possible routes so I made no errors. When I stepped out of the car, the examiner told me he understood why my instructor had warned him that I drove like a girl. But besides that fact, I had followed all the rules, made no mistakes and, most importantly, I controlled the car. So I passed. I now was in possession of my own drivers-license.
From that moment on, every time my mom had to go somewhere together with me, I was given the keys and chauffeured her. In the beginning she sat beside me, but later on she stepped in the back of the car. On my 18th birthday, she handed me the keys of my own car, an older Volkswagen Polo. I was very happy with it. Air Conditioner, Apple carplay, all options were present. It was smaller and less luxurious than my mom’s car, but wow. A nice set of wheels.
The driver's license is one of the many things my mom pushed upon me, things I didn’t want at first but after a while noticed my mom was right about it.
03. Working at my moms company.
My mom’s company, A.C.S., is basically just a laundry cleaning service. But when she bought out almost all of her competition, she maintained all those stores, shops, buildings, workers and most importantly, the contracts. Her company does laundry-cleaning for a lot of recreation parks, hospitals, hotels, retirement-homes, several government institutions, and even at least three different prisons. And of course, if you don’t have a washing machine at home or have some special costume that needs dry-cleaning, come over.
Sometimes I had to pick up mom at her HQ, usually I would have to wait half an hour and then I loved to walk through the factory, see the machines get filled with laundry, being unloaded, the sorting processes, folding, and go on. It was always as if I was watching an episode of How it’s made on the Discovery channel.
But my favorite part was the lost and found room. At the main factory they collected all the lost and found laundry from all the shops. Here were the clothes that didn’t get picked up, maybe a resident in an old people-home died or a prisoner was released. Or when somebody's wife discovered a panty that wasn’t hers and simply thought it was a mix up at the cleaning-store. Or just stuff that was forgotten in a hotel room. All clothes were clean and stored in a room.
If it hadn’t been collected in six months, clean and good clothes would be donated to different charities. Socks, underwear and defective clothing were disposed of in an environmentally friendly way. I think they got pulped for paper ? And besides the lost and found clothes, there were also clothes that were donated to the charity but weren’t washed yet or properly. The charity delivered them to us, they were washed and due to the tag immediately ended up in the lost and found room.
So my mom thought it was a good idea to put my name on the employee-list for the days I had nothing to do. I was still 17 so not allowed to drive alone. I couldn’t simply drop my mom off at the office and then drive back home. So she decided I should drive her to the office and I got the most hated job at the factory.
My job was to open the bags with clothes that were there over half a year or directly from the charity. I had to sort everything and basically it was either usable or not. If it was still usable I had to remove any wash-tags and sort it. Pants, jeans, shirts, blouses, coats, dresses, you name it. First I made stacks based on type. When I had enough of one type I sorted it into style, size and color. It took two days but then I was able to create a system and it worked.
There was also damaged clothing but sometimes it’s damaged on purpose at the factory. Ripped jeans are apparently good jeans and more than once I saw a good brand pass by. I was allowed to make my best guess, so even if it was a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, a Tommy Hilfiger shirt with a tear in it, it gets pulped.
The best stuff was in the bags that came from some of the hotels. People checking out without collecting their laundry or just leaving clothing behind in the hotel room. Lots of lingerie, all kinds in shapes and sizes. Lingerie had to follow the same route as normal underwear, socks and teared clothing.
But the first time I discoverer some red lace boy-shorts between the laundry. I remembered the time in the bathroom when I accidentally kicked over the hamper and spilled out the contents. I had stripped for a shower and threw my clothes like a basketball-player in the hamper, but it tumbled. Quickly I picked up everything and put it back in. When I finished with showering, I noticed there was something still on the ground. It was a black lacy thong from my mother. I got curious and smelled it. The thin strip of fabric fascinated me. I held it in front of my crotch. No way could that cover up my penis. Or could it. I put it on, felt the fabric slide in between my butt cheeks, and it held my penis in. The thong was a little bit big for my small ass. I looked in the hamper and fished out the bra. I liked the feel of the cloth, but not having breasts made it useless. Still I tried it on.
I watched myself in the mirror and my butt looked fantastic. My Mediterranean skin, two butcheeks with enough babyfat, the black lace separating them. From then on I regularly tried on some of my moms underwear. I wished my own underwear would have the same feeling, but all I had were simple briefs, a little bit too large but I was afraid to tell that to my mom.
Now in the lost and found room I had found some lacy boy-shorts and they were nice, and maybe small enough. I held them in front of me and it seemed they could fit. I put them apart. There was more lingerie present so I decided to put everything on a separate pile. Just as I did with other clothes I sorted through them. I had found a lacy bra that fitted the boy-shorts, other sets were completed also, some stuff remained single. Next I took a glance if it was about my size and if yes, I stuffed it in my bag. And of course if it somehow appealed to me it also disappeared in my bag. If not, it landed on the pulp-pile.
In the end I had collected several sets of lingerie that I liked and even might fit me. The red boy-shorts, a simple pink cotton thong with something that looked like a training bra, and a lace body, or leotard ? And some thongs and bras. At home at night I tried them all on and only the boy-shorts and the body was truly a decent fit. My first idea was to return everything the next day, or at least the non-fitting, but I decided to keep it hidden in my closet. It felt good to have them. I was finally acting like a real boy, looking at women's underwear and liking what you see. Boys at school constantly talked about seeing girls in their underwear, especially without the girls knowing they were watched. Then the boys told them how good it would be to fill them up. Now I was living their dream, filling up girls underwear. And the fit, it was perfect, soft, nice and comforting.
01. Introduction.
Last year school started in the most terrible way possible. Your life suddenly becomes a nightmare. A nightmare that doesn’t seem to have an ending at first. But slowly everything is finally settling, calming down. Next week I’m going to get my diploma and school will be over. Then my summer vacation will start.
My mom had promised me a nice and relaxing vacation if I caused no more problems, would listen to her and graduate Cum Laude. This vacation is now finally within reach, though she told me multiple times, this doesn’t mean she has forgiven me for all what had happened. And that's what hurt me the most since I was innocent.
I'm an 18 year old boy and on vacation I’ll celebrate my 19th birthday. And the reason that I have had a terrible school year is because I have been framed by some girls. They had taken revenge on me for not letting them cheat.
How did this all happen, well, let me tell you.
My name is Alex, short for Allesandro and my mom is Amalia. I don’t know who my dad is. My mom never really talks about him. My mom is a powerful businesswoman. She owns a large company with multiple laundry's and she is very strict, stern, demanding so the company radiates quality.
When I returned to school in September last year for my last year of my Gymnasium, I had promised myself this would be my best year ever. Just like every year I had celebrated my birthday during the holidays so now I could finally drive my car without needing my mom beside me. In my mind I was already counting the respect for being one of the few at school with his own car.
But it wasn't the car or my driving license that started all the trouble, it was my brain that helped fry up the whole situation. I'm pretty bright, I have no problem in learning, classes are easy for me, the chance of graduating Cum Laude, were already very high. Cum Laude is how they describe “With Honors” here in the Netherlands, your lowest grade must be at least a 7 but I’ve set the bar at an 8 minimum. I like everything to be organized and strict.
Following rules is just great, you’re sure someone thought about it and has chosen the best option, just like driving, don’t go over the speed limit, you don’t get a fine and it's safer. And if my mom tells me to do something, even if I don’t want to, I do it, simply because she knows best and, well, she sets my rules, so I have to obey. I do have some friends at school and together we love playing Dungeons & Dragons or just simple computer games. So I'm smart, introvert and nerdy.
Physically I'm not very impressive either, I'm pretty small for a boy, many girls tower above me, especially Dutch girls. And thus for a Dutch boy I'm really small. My mom blames this on my dad. She had a fling during a summer-holiday in Italy and got pregnant by an Italian, that's all I know. Hence my Italian name, Allesandro, but everyone calls me Alex. So my complexion is slightly tinted, I have some Mediterranean blood in me. I don’t know anything else about my dad, and never had a step-dad. My mom has raised me all alone. After giving birth to me, she quickly started her own little cleaning company. Amalia’s Cleaning Service, shortened to ACS. Somehow she could quickly expand and started specializing in Laundry cleaning. Business went well and she expanded, buying out other laundry cleaners, merging them into her slowly growing empire.
Besides my small physique I also haven't been touched with puberty that hard. My mom often comments that she just loves that I kept my baby-fat, a remark I don't like at all, but I cannot talk back to my mother. Like I said before, she is a very stern and strict woman. I don’t have a say in what clothes I want to wear, she buys them, puts them in my closet. If she decides I need to wear skinny jeans, she buys new jeans, takes the old ones out of the closet, gets them cleaned at one of her shops and then stores them, still neatly packed, in the basement. And I just wear skinny jeans. And maybe after three months everything will change again. We have a basement filled with bags of neatly packed clothes.
Once I tried to sneak into the basement to get some of my clothes back. In the end I didn’t dare take it back but it was wonderful looking at was all stored there. I learned my mom had probably ridden a horse because I saw some big black shiny leather boots and even some whips. And I saw some of my mom’s old gymnastic clothes. I’m glad nowadays they’re made from softer fabric and not that tough vinyl and leather. Though the ones she had stored with the lacing were nice.
Besides controlling, my mom is also very caring. If I have a cough, we go to the doctor. If I had diarrhea, obstipation, or pain in my tummy, we go to the doctor. Wheezing and sneezing, we go to the doctor. So I now take daily medication for my asthma, allergies and I’ve got some medication when my Irritable Bowel Syndrome kicks in again. At the time I got acne, my mom took me to a specialist. The first specialist taught me everything on how to keep my pores clean. Mom was not satisfied so she brought me to a second specialist. He told me once more to keep my pores clean, but he also gave my mom a subscription for medication and supplements. As soon as I started taking those pills my acne almost disappeared. I told you, mom knows best.
And when I sprained my ankle at school during physical education, my mom arranged for me to be excused for it for the rest of the year. School however demanded I would join some sport and give proof of it. I wanted to choose tennis or track running, but my mom was against those choices. She signed me up for gymnastics. I remembered her old gym clothes in the basement and I guessed she had liked it very much. So since my mom told me to go to gymnastics, I went and was one of the few boys.
I must say gymnastics is fun, the girls acted normal, we weren’t friends but they tolerated me without any problem. It was important that you could trust each other during the exercises, so we were always very serious. Coach said I had potential and told me I should try out for the rings, horse and parallel bars but mom disagreed. She feared I would get hurt so I stayed with the girls.
So my mom was very protective and because of all these troubles I experienced in my life, I had a handful of pills every day during breakfast I needed to take. And in the evening, after dinner, more than once there was an extra shake with proteins and fibers like flax-seeds, oats and quinoa. But it helped. My allergies were under control, I suffered little problems with my breathing, my bowels ran regular and my acne was well under control.
02. My drivers license.
About my drivers license. If you draw a picture of me after learning the previous about me, you probably wouldn't picture me as a boy rushing to get his driving license. The rules in the Netherlands are simple. At 16 and a half you can start learning to drive. When you’re 17, you can do the test. Until you’re 18, you’re not allowed to drive without supervision from an adult who has a valid drivers license. Besides driving, you also have to do a written test. That one was easy.
I remember how it started. My mom entered my room at friday-evening just before I wanted to go to bed.
“Alex, you should start your driving lessons. Isn’t that an exciting idea.?”
“Oh mom, but I’m sixteen, and traffic, it's like..”
“Nonsense, with a good tutor you’ll learn to drive perfectly without any problem. And the written exam, I bet you’ll learn the rules within one hour, you’re smart.”
“But mom, no, what if I make an accident, or, you know, at night in the car, I usually fall asleep, and that gear shifting, it’s..”
“Stop it Alex, don’t be such a baby about, what are you, a girl? Even girls learn how to drive, I’ve seen girls drive better than boys all the time. I’m sure you’ll be even better at driving than all those girls.”
“Mom, please, I’ll do it when I’m 18, or 19, I promise.”
“ALEX, NO, stop acting like that, you’ll do fine, you learn to drive and when you turn 17 I’m sure you will pass your exam for the first time.”
“Can't it wait until I’m 18? Boys in the class will pick on me I’m sure, and the girls..”
“Enough, come here.”
With those stern words my mom grabbed me and pulled me over her knees, as if I was a little boy who had taken a candy and thought that by denying everything would go away. But nothing simply goes away with my mom. I received a spanking on my bottom, she even pulled down my pajama pants so her flat hand hit harder. It really hurt and I started crying. With disgust my mom stopped after having spanked my bottom at least ten times.
“Tomorrow on Saturday you’re getting your first driving lesson, I’ve booked everything already. I’ve paid for the best package and you thank me by whining like a little girl. What of the other he, what if you had been a girl, maybe you would have looked more like me, your mom. Stronger, not a whining little boy.
You’re grounded for next week. You better pay attention during the driving lessons, I want you to be ready to get it as soon as you turn 17. END OF DISCUSSION!”
The first driving lesson was difficult, my bum still hurt from the spanking, but I managed. The theoretical part was easy, I learned all the rules within two weeks, got my theory-exam next week and my mom had ordered the instructor to already book my exam as soon as I turned 17. If he thought I would need extra lessons, he only needed to tell my mom and she would pay.
So when I turned 17, four days after my birthday I sat in a car, drove as instructed, followed the orders, and memorized all possible routes so I made no errors. When I stepped out of the car, the examiner told me he understood why my instructor had warned him that I drove like a girl. But besides that fact, I had followed all the rules, made no mistakes and, most importantly, I controlled the car. So I passed. I now was in possession of my own drivers-license.
From that moment on, every time my mom had to go somewhere together with me, I was given the keys and chauffeured her. In the beginning she sat beside me, but later on she stepped in the back of the car. On my 18th birthday, she handed me the keys of my own car, an older Volkswagen Polo. I was very happy with it. Air Conditioner, Apple carplay, all options were present. It was smaller and less luxurious than my mom’s car, but wow. A nice set of wheels.
The driver's license is one of the many things my mom pushed upon me, things I didn’t want at first but after a while noticed my mom was right about it.
03. Working at my moms company.
My mom’s company, A.C.S., is basically just a laundry cleaning service. But when she bought out almost all of her competition, she maintained all those stores, shops, buildings, workers and most importantly, the contracts. Her company does laundry-cleaning for a lot of recreation parks, hospitals, hotels, retirement-homes, several government institutions, and even at least three different prisons. And of course, if you don’t have a washing machine at home or have some special costume that needs dry-cleaning, come over.
Sometimes I had to pick up mom at her HQ, usually I would have to wait half an hour and then I loved to walk through the factory, see the machines get filled with laundry, being unloaded, the sorting processes, folding, and go on. It was always as if I was watching an episode of How it’s made on the Discovery channel.
But my favorite part was the lost and found room. At the main factory they collected all the lost and found laundry from all the shops. Here were the clothes that didn’t get picked up, maybe a resident in an old people-home died or a prisoner was released. Or when somebody's wife discovered a panty that wasn’t hers and simply thought it was a mix up at the cleaning-store. Or just stuff that was forgotten in a hotel room. All clothes were clean and stored in a room.
If it hadn’t been collected in six months, clean and good clothes would be donated to different charities. Socks, underwear and defective clothing were disposed of in an environmentally friendly way. I think they got pulped for paper ? And besides the lost and found clothes, there were also clothes that were donated to the charity but weren’t washed yet or properly. The charity delivered them to us, they were washed and due to the tag immediately ended up in the lost and found room.
So my mom thought it was a good idea to put my name on the employee-list for the days I had nothing to do. I was still 17 so not allowed to drive alone. I couldn’t simply drop my mom off at the office and then drive back home. So she decided I should drive her to the office and I got the most hated job at the factory.
My job was to open the bags with clothes that were there over half a year or directly from the charity. I had to sort everything and basically it was either usable or not. If it was still usable I had to remove any wash-tags and sort it. Pants, jeans, shirts, blouses, coats, dresses, you name it. First I made stacks based on type. When I had enough of one type I sorted it into style, size and color. It took two days but then I was able to create a system and it worked.
There was also damaged clothing but sometimes it’s damaged on purpose at the factory. Ripped jeans are apparently good jeans and more than once I saw a good brand pass by. I was allowed to make my best guess, so even if it was a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, a Tommy Hilfiger shirt with a tear in it, it gets pulped.
The best stuff was in the bags that came from some of the hotels. People checking out without collecting their laundry or just leaving clothing behind in the hotel room. Lots of lingerie, all kinds in shapes and sizes. Lingerie had to follow the same route as normal underwear, socks and teared clothing.
But the first time I discoverer some red lace boy-shorts between the laundry. I remembered the time in the bathroom when I accidentally kicked over the hamper and spilled out the contents. I had stripped for a shower and threw my clothes like a basketball-player in the hamper, but it tumbled. Quickly I picked up everything and put it back in. When I finished with showering, I noticed there was something still on the ground. It was a black lacy thong from my mother. I got curious and smelled it. The thin strip of fabric fascinated me. I held it in front of my crotch. No way could that cover up my penis. Or could it. I put it on, felt the fabric slide in between my butt cheeks, and it held my penis in. The thong was a little bit big for my small ass. I looked in the hamper and fished out the bra. I liked the feel of the cloth, but not having breasts made it useless. Still I tried it on.
I watched myself in the mirror and my butt looked fantastic. My Mediterranean skin, two butcheeks with enough babyfat, the black lace separating them. From then on I regularly tried on some of my moms underwear. I wished my own underwear would have the same feeling, but all I had were simple briefs, a little bit too large but I was afraid to tell that to my mom.
Now in the lost and found room I had found some lacy boy-shorts and they were nice, and maybe small enough. I held them in front of me and it seemed they could fit. I put them apart. There was more lingerie present so I decided to put everything on a separate pile. Just as I did with other clothes I sorted through them. I had found a lacy bra that fitted the boy-shorts, other sets were completed also, some stuff remained single. Next I took a glance if it was about my size and if yes, I stuffed it in my bag. And of course if it somehow appealed to me it also disappeared in my bag. If not, it landed on the pulp-pile.
In the end I had collected several sets of lingerie that I liked and even might fit me. The red boy-shorts, a simple pink cotton thong with something that looked like a training bra, and a lace body, or leotard ? And some thongs and bras. At home at night I tried them all on and only the boy-shorts and the body was truly a decent fit. My first idea was to return everything the next day, or at least the non-fitting, but I decided to keep it hidden in my closet. It felt good to have them. I was finally acting like a real boy, looking at women's underwear and liking what you see. Boys at school constantly talked about seeing girls in their underwear, especially without the girls knowing they were watched. Then the boys told them how good it would be to fill them up. Now I was living their dream, filling up girls underwear. And the fit, it was perfect, soft, nice and comforting.