Dirty Knickers
At the beginning of our final year at uni, my best mate and I moved into a flat on the outskirts of the city. The flat – on the top floor of a dodgy tenement building, which has now been torn down - was a cheap rental, used by different groups of people every year. It was pretty nasty, to be honest – no lights in the communal hallway, used syringes littering the floor of the basement – but it was, as I’ve said, dirt-cheap, and was, as a result, favoured by hard-up students who preferred to spend their cash on more alcoholic diversions.

We’d been moved in for about a week before I’d amassed enough laundry to warrant opening the washing-machine ... When I did, I was greeted by the sight of 8 or 9 pairs of skimpy girl’s knickers, all of which looked like they’d been worn at an after-show party for Ron Jeremy’s retirement. Every kind of stain was present, from standard piss-yellow, through monthly-red, right up to crusty semen-leakage white ... I was single and horny, so I’m ashamed to say I inspected these items in rather TOO much detail ...

Our moving-in party was a rather sordid affair, with much drunkenness and vodka jelly-induced vomiting. I was more sober than most, which is when I was approached by a rather fetching young thing who promptly sat down on my knee and initiated a startlingly-interesting conversation. I turned out that this girl was a nurse (aside: niiiice!) who had lived in this flat the year before. She now lived on the ground floor, which is how she’d been invited (by my mate) to our shindig. We talked and flirted shamelessly, but nothing happened that night.

It didn’t occur to me until much later (the next day, in fact) that the dirty knickers from the washer would have belonged to this girl. When I did realise this, my hormones went into 100% overdrive – the thought of this randy, clearly filthy girl, just one floor down from my bedroom ... I resolved to get my hands on the pair of dirty pants this girl was currently wearing as soon as possible.

My plan – while moronic on reflection – seemed like a dead-set winner at the time, which is how I found myself, after much beer and little deliberation, standing in the darkened hallway outside her front door holding her bunched-up used panties in front of me. She opened the door:

“If you’re as filthy as these knickers, then I think I might be in luck” ...

Now, as I’ve said, there wasn’t much light in the hallways in this apartment. In fact, there was no light at all really, especially if you were on the inside looking out. I hadn’t thought this through, clearly, as when this girl opened her door, all she saw was a shadowy figure, shrouded in girl’s knickers, uttering obsenities in a deep, threatening - slightly inebriated – manner. The door was duly slammed and I was left alone in a dingy, drafty hall, with only the feel of her silk underthings to keep me company, along with the fading scent of crusted femininity drifting from each tainted gusset ...

*We did hook up later that week and spent a goodly month in each other’s bedrooms… It turns out she was slightly more prudish than her panties suggested, but did manage to leave a new (not so fresh) pair for me to enjoy almost every evening! I blame her for my current fetish tbh ...
(Brett Starbuck, Tue 15 Dec 2009, 15:10, 2 replies)

Someone ring the Amorous Badger Alarm

( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Tue 15 Dec 2009, 22:56, closed)

Exactly what I was going to write
under the - why would you tell the internet this - category, I think.
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Wed 16 Dec 2009, 2:11, closed)