It all started in college when my football coach made some teammates and me participate in a ballet workshop to improve our coordination and balance.

Most of the guys balked, and eventually they dropped out or traded dance for other kinds of workout sessions.

For me, though, besides the fact that ballet meant spending an hour surrounded by mostly hot girls, it also meant that I got to be around girls who wore tights during that hour — so you bet I stayed.

During class, I loved to watch their legs, crotches, and bottoms move around in tights and leotards, knowing how firm the nylon held and the intimate places it roamed. Just by watching all those supple bodies move in tights, I felt like I was going “there,” too. Dance class proved to be a thrill unlike anything I had experienced before — I always jerked off like crazy afterward.

Through this, I came to realize that I longed to try wearing tights beyond what I did in the studio — but I really didn’t identify as gay or even bi, so the thought of buying my own pair of women’s stockings at the store felt taboo. However, given my enthusiasm for dance class, it was only a matter of time before the instructor asked me to be one of the “background toy soldiers” in the campus production of the Nutcracker ballet that year. That was when I finally felt “permission” to put on my first real pair of tights — and I’ve never been without a pair since.

For my Nutcracker costume back then, I wore white opaque tights with a black leotard, fake boot shafts over my ballet shoes, and a bright red soldier’s jacket and hat. And just like the lady dancers, I didn’t wear any other underwear — just my tights and leotard. What a rush: The nylon enveloped my cock and balls into a perfect bulge that wiggled enticingly when I “marched” or jumped. My dance attire looked and felt better than wearing a jock strap with those neoprene pants for football — the ladies sure seemed to think so!

During junior year I suffered a shoulder injury that took me out of football. Dance and physical therapy were integral to regaining my range of motion, so from then on I focused on my business classes, with ballet studio as my “elective” and sweet escape. Since I had no expectations of becoming a professional male dancer, it was an added treat to be cast for whatever random male ballet roles they needed me for — any reason to get a new pair of tights!

Sadly, my time at the campus ballet barre ended once I graduated and moved for work. However, even if I no longer suited up in my tights for “official purposes,” by then I’d grown more confident — and also more desirous of a true outlet for my love of nylons.

As luck would have it, one of my old dance friends had a friend named Petra who moved to my city to start up her own dance studio. Would I be able to meet Petra for coffee and maybe help show her around the neighborhood? Of course!

I wasn’t expecting anything at all when I agreed to meet up — other than maybe a chance to reminisce about my college dancing days. Instead, Petra’s arrival in my life was a grand jeté to my heart.

I was waiting at a little sidewalk café when I saw this brunette with a graceful figure walking toward me. She wore opaque black tights with knee-high suede boots and a sleeveless tunic. She wore her hair long and wavy with dangly earrings — a true West Coast bohemian who was somehow trying to make it work here in the more conservative mid-Atlantic marsh.

“Steve?” Petra smiled and extended her hand.

“Yes — wow,” I blurted out. “Welcome — you look great.”

She laughed and tousled her luxurious mane of hair. “I see Cindy was right when she told me about you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Petra sat down and crossed her lovely legs in front of me. “Cindy told me that you are the guy who keeps in touch with his barre and musical friends more than his football pals, and that you’re very cute, somehow straight, and — ,” she paused, “unattached?”

I smiled. “Sounds accurate.” Testing the waters, I added: “So, did she tell you that I actually enjoyed wearing tights, too?”

Petra laughed and nodded. “She might’ve hinted at that. But you know, I don’t find it peculiar at all. Tights make the body beautiful and sleek.”

I wanted to shout for joy, but I played it cool. In fact, I actually waited until our second date to show her the full extent of my “inner dancer.”

You see, when it’s cold like it is now, I really love to wear footless tights under my suit pants for extra warmth — no boxers needed, either. And sometimes I’ll even cut the feet out of old pantyhose for this reason.  But beyond the warmth, I find the sensation irresistible.

I love the way the silky nylon feels against my skin, and I love the way my tights squeeze and hold my cock and balls all day like a constantly smooth embrace. I never wear thigh highs, by the way — only because just covering parts of my legs isn’t enough. I need my cock and balls and ass to be completely veiled off in the nylon, so that when I invariably get aroused, the teasing is as endless as it is sublime.

Fast-forward to our second date: Things were really heating up. Petra and I were in front of the fireplace at her loft drinking wine and making out. She was on top — and when she reached down to feel my bulge and unzipped me, she discovered the nude pantyhose hiding beneath my pants — and the fact that I was a commando within them.

I braced myself for possible immediate rejection, but instead her face lit up brighter than her miniature Christmas tree: “Steve, what do we have going on here, hmm?” My swollen member throbbed as she stroked it through the gossamer nylon.

“I — ” I was so turned-on that it was hard to catch my breath, much less speak. “I hope you don’t mind?”

Petra smiled and cupped my balls through my pantyhose: “Does it look like I mind?” Then she flicked her tongue up and down my imprisoned shaft.

All I could do was smile and close my eyes as the sensations overtook me. But teasing is the name of the game in my world — so I was hardly shocked when Petra stopped and demanded that I stand up and strip down to just my pantyhose.

“Mmm-mmm! Steve, what a great ass you have.” Petra swatted my bottom. “And you still keep your legs smooth?” She caressed my muscular legs, careful not to snag the material with her nails.

“Old habits die hard.”  I playfully struck a pose or two for her.

“Well, then,” she said, standing up. “I think I should show you something.”

With that, Petra unzipped her skirt to reveal she was wearing high-waist sheer black pantyhose — but these had a built-in garter and no “panty part” at all to get in the way of her bald pussy lips. She smiled at me and did a quick pirouette.

Just from watching that, I could have easily keeled over and died a happy man. But Petra was in charge. She took my hand and made me feel the smooth, silky detailing around the garters and then she guided my fingers to her soaking-wet pussy.

“Oh, my God — ” I gasped. “I want you so much!”

“Me, too,” Petra moaned as I helped her out of her bra. She has smaller breasts with these puffy, tubular nipples — my dance-class leotard jerkoff fantasy brought to life!

We ended up on the floor again beside the fire. I fingered and tongued her exposed cunt, savoring every smooth inch. Petra pinched her nipples and squirmed in delight.

Meanwhile, the nearby fireplace’s warmth added even more heat to my nylon-covered body. Between my own sweat and the smoldering embers, my pantyhose were becoming a red-hot cage. I could feel the sweat and pre-come on the head of my dick as I brought Petra closer and closer to the brink.

I pressed my lips around her clit and hummed ever so slightly, and that did it. Petra cried out and gushed her sweet girl juice. She took a minute to regroup and then kissed me again: “I think we need to do something about you now.”

I grinned. “It’s your choreography tonight.”

She cupped my bulge with both hands and looked into my eyes: “May I?”

I nodded.

Petra used her fingernail to split open the middle seam of my pantyhose, freeing my sweaty hard cock at last. “Mmm, now that’s what I like.”

She eagerly sucked the sweat and pre-come away and then focused on coating my shaft in her glistening saliva. I have no idea how I managed to keep it together — I had never felt so much desire before.

We worked into a little rhythm of face-fucking, but Petra kept the pace slow and paused to just maintain my pure arousal. Finally, after taking my cock to her throat’s deepest recesses, she gasped for air: “I want you inside of me now.”

She stood up and guided me over to the loft’s newly installed barre and mirror. “Like this.”

My beautiful stocking-clad ballerina stood at the barre and motioned for me to get behind her. And with her beautiful nylon-covered leg extending outward beyond me, I entered her pussy; she “tucked” and I thrusted. I reached around to pinch her nipples gently as our rhythm built.

“Oh God, yes!” Petra cried out. She turned to kiss me and gently bit down on my lower lip.

We changed position so I could take her facing me, but still standing at the barre. Now that I could more easily watch myself [in tights] fuck her [in tights] in the mirror, my ravenous lust exploded. And from what I could see in her reflection, she was riding the same wave. It wasn’t long before Petra’s tight cunt began contracting in orgasm, forcing me to give up my load.

We collapsed together by the barre and then snuggled in front of the fireplace.

I might not have proper dress rehearsals anymore, but the undressed ones I have now are even better — and so are the tights we wear.