Strange Habits

Hi, my name is Anni van Beek, and I found this site quite by accident. I live in Seattle, but I am of Dutch origin, and I have moved here with my parents when I was 9. (That is why neither my Dutch nor my English is close to perfect…)
I would like to tell you how I got into what others would call “strange habits,” and actually, I can tell stories that would fill a book.
It all started when I met Carlene. We work in the same insurance company, two cubicles apart. We often had lunch break together (we still have) and became fairly open to each other.
Back to Carlene– she looks like what the boys would call cute, seeming a bit naive sometimes.
She had told me once that her parents had always been very strict with her. They had, for instance, forced her to keep her clothes absolutely clean no matter what she did. When she had become old enough to leave home, she had felt a big relief, and had started to enjoy the new freedom going along with it.
She started to wear her nylons two to three weeks without changing – just because nobody could force her to do so any longer. Whenever she found strangely patterned pantyhose or stockings, she used to buy them, just to wear them until they fell apart. Both the patterns and the positions of the increasing number of ladders indicated clearly that she did not change them.
As far as I am concerned, at that time, I would never have had the courage to wear nylons other than black or tan… And I would never have put on nylons in the morning that have more than 2 or 3 ladders – at least not with a short skirt. Carlene was different. She first decided how long she would wear a pair, and didn’t let any later damage to the fabric change her mind.
She told me that she even soiled her clothes when she felt like doing it. First I did not understand that at all. When she explained it to me I could not believe it – until we went to town, shopping together. It was on a fairly warm but humid day, in June I guess. And actually, I recall it as if it had been yesterday. (Maybe also because I had written it down in my diary the same evening, and have read it several times since.)
Both of us were wearing pantyhose and a skirt that day. I have to admit that I always wear skirts unless I go jogging or so. It somewhat makes my butt seem slimmer – that is at least what I think. Carlene mostly wears skirts as well but she also wears jeans from time to time.
While I was wearing normal black 2” pumps, Carlene was wearing a pair of black suede ballerinas with a very flat heel. This type of shoes suits her well as she is a bit taller than me – about 5’9, I think.
Of course, my pantyhose were simple black, 20den. Hers were funny, a slightly thicker Scottish–style pantyhose with checked fabric, which she had already been wearing for two weeks or so. I recall that, in addition to the typical small ladders that emerged at her heels and one that was creeping up from one of her toes, she had a long, inch–wide ladder along the outside of her whole left leg. It had obviously started from a hole around the knee and was reaching from inside her ballerina shoe until it went up under her skirt.
We had been shopping across the city, mostly blouses and t–shirts, and two pairs of shoes each. Carlene did not have any problem trying on several pairs of shoes with her dirty and ruined pantyhose. Actually, this made it far easier for me to stand a (to my mind) big hole over my left ankle. I had torn it on one of these file cabinets in the office the day before, and it had already developed a ladder of a considerable length.
When we headed back to her car in the late afternoon, suddenly the sun came out. Already close to the parking garage, we found a small caf’ in a quiet side alley, far away from the mainstream. We sat down outside, at a table close to the sidewalk and had a big ice cream. The whole area was a bit dirty, as there was a construction site with a lot of mud (the sidewalk was not paved yet), and it had been raining most of the morning.
Carlene took off her shoes and stretched her legs off the terrace. She watched her big toe peeking through a hole in her pantyhose, and didn’t mind that her heels got a bit muddy from the dirty ground.
After we had finished our ice cream, together with a huge diet coke, we got up to move on. We just had to go past a big temporary wooden fence (belonging to the construction site), to enter the parking garage on the other side of the road.
To my surprise, Carlene did not put on her shoes again. Instead, she asked me when I had walked through a muddy patch the last time. I responded, “I guess when I was a child.”
Now she smiled, and her smile reminded me a bit of a child’s smile. “What about taking off your shoes now?” she said.
It has been 2 1/2 years since that very day, and I still don’t know what made me agree to her proposal. Maybe I was just in the mood, and had thought of discarding my ripped pantyhose after that day anyway.
As a matter of fact, I followed when she took me by her hand, first through wet mud, and then through a puddle of brown, muddy water. We started very carefully but soon were kicking the water, soaking our pantyhose up to our knees, holding our skirts up a bit.
Although this seemed very childish in retrospective, I did not feel like playing. I rather felt a bit sexually aroused. And I didn’t think of what would happen if others were watching us. It was certainly made it a bit easier due to the fact that there was a big temporary wooden fence (belonging to the construction site) on one side, with the other side facing to the parking garage where Carlene had parked her car. That means that we felt nearly invisible to others – and, actually, we soon didn’t care any longer when people saw us while leaving the garage with their cars.
While the coarse ground helped Carlene’s right heel to make it through what used to be an expensive pair of pantyhose, the ladder in my pantyhose had gotten two smaller companions. Surprisingly for me, I did not mind at all.
Carlene suddenly left the puddle we were just standing in, and put on her ballerinas again. I must have stared at her in a funny manner, watching her ruining her suede shoes with her muddy feet. She told me that she could easily wash these shoes in the washing machine after, and that she had done that a couple of times before.
Then she looked at my shoes and I expectantly, but I did not manage to put on my expensive leather pumps over my wet and dirty feet. (Actually, it would normally take me 2 months to go beyond what I had already done to this point.)
Carlene was a bit ahead, as far as her courage was concerned. She moved her skirt a bit out of the way and sat down – in the mud. As I said before, I was not able to follow any more – I had already gone far beyond what I would have assumed to be my limit. I just managed to ask her what she was doing, and why. She said that she had to pee, and she cannot just take off her pantyhose in public. (I understood THAT!) So, while sitting, she moved her panties aside through the pantyhose – and let go in her nylons…
“Nylon fabric does not hold too much fluid, and it dries quickly”, Carlene explained, “so it is not really a problem if there is no loo around”. She kept sitting with spread legs while she told me that – probably in order to let it dry a bit directly. Thus I could see through her now fairly transparent nylons that her white or yellow panties had gotten a wet patch as well – maybe from letting it flip back too soon after peeing, maybe she had let it dribble a bit before.
She saw my look, looked down herself and said something like “Getting my panties a bit wet as well doesn’t hurt at all, you know. Actually, I do it deliberately sometimes.” And she did, while sitting. I could clearly see the dark spot on her panties grow, and drops falling down from her crotch.
She must have had a very full bladder, because she added another flood after she had gotten up – I could see a small stream appearing under her skirt, between her slightly spread legs. She had made a step forward, into the big puddle, so that the pee poured down into the water between her feet. The patch was deep enough to have her ballerinas nearly covered by the brown water.
By the way, Carlene’s burgundy–red skirt had remained remarkably clean, except for a ring of mud around her hem at the backside, from sitting down.
I was so excited by this daring activity that I felt the urgent wish to pee as well – for the first time in my life. Lacking the courage to do as Carlene did, I managed to wet my panties at least a little bit. This really felt good, but I felt too embarrassed to tell Carlene – funny enough, after all she had just done in my presence…
Eventually, we headed back to the car – Carlene wearing her dirty ballerina slippers, me carrying my clean pumps in my hands, thus letting the coarse concrete complete the destruction of my pantyhose soles.
Later, Carlene told me that scenes like this always excite her sexually, and that she had “a nice time” in her bathroom back home. I had to promise her that we would repeat this somehow soon. However, I did not manage to talk to her about it for about 2 months, although very soon I felt sorry for the missed opportunity to let go in public.
I am strictly heterosexual and, thank goodness, Carlene isn’t into girls either. Thus we could stay “normal” friends, thinking of men whenever doing something like this in public together. I am happily married, and meanwhile I have had the first adventures with my husband in this regard.
It remains to be said that Carlene had worn the same skirt and pantyhose to work the next day. I knew that she was having a shower every morning (a remainder of her ultra–clean education), but I was still surprised by her boldness to put on her dirty clothes again. She was just wearing knee–high leather boots instead of ballerinas, hiding most of the mud at her lower legs – but not the ladders in her pantyhose that had again grown in number.
Although we have had many nice “adventures” like that since, I am still dreaming of that very day!
By: Anni