La Reine des Culottes

A woman's lingerie says a lot about her. I had a neighbor who dried hers in the open air, for the pleasure of the whole court, her bras, her lace panties and stockings. No sporty pants, or cotton bras: everything was delicate and elegant. Every time we took the elevator together, I used imaginary X-Ray vision and visualized all of her lingerie, touching her warm skin and absorbing the soft moisture between her legs. I must have seemed like a creepy guy, but it was just pure fascination. Then, one day, pink satin panties appeared hanging from our palm tree, like a message, or a provocation. I removed them carefully because I didn't want the branches to damage the soft fabric or for my girlfriend to find them before I did. I went up to her apartment with the pink panties. My hands were sweaty, they always get cold and sweaty when I'm nervous. I knocked on the door and it opened. She looked at her underwear and laughed. As she showed off her cleavage in a luminous flower dress, I spotted her trembling white breasts. I slowly leaned forward to bury my nose between her panna cotta breasts. She smelled like butter and lavender. 'But what am I doing? I thought, blinded by her breasts.