That’s it. I’ve had it. I’m divorcing my pantyhose. I’ve tried. I really have, but I just don’t have the strength to keep up this relationship anymore. This love/hate fling we’ve had for thirty years has worn me out. I’m tired of the abuse those things just keep dishing out. Every time we go out, it’s the same old thing. They suffocate me. They hang on to me so tightly, I feel like I can’t breathe. The waistband won't allow me to relax when we’re around other people. They’re so..I don’t know…controlling. And demanding. Always reminding me to suck in my gut or tuck in my fanny.
I remember when we first met. I was young and carefree, excited about this new love. Everything seemed shiny and brand new. It made me feel so grown up, so adult. After all, they were usually nude. I didn’t mind that we were so tight. I was blinded by appearances and too wrapped up by my newfound love to care.
For a while, we went everywhere together. We were inseparable. But over the years I noticed a change in our relationship. We stopped seeing each other so often. I went from feeling hot and bothered to…well…just plain hot. They just didn’t seem to care how much they hurt me, and I quit reaching for them when I needed them most. We lost that spark, except when my thighs rubbed together. I guess it’s because I’m not the same person I used to be. I’ve grown….in many different directions. We just don't fit together anymore. Oh, I’ve tried from time to time to rekindle my interest, but it’s just not there. I'm ashamed to admit that here lately I’ve been flirting with other options…like socks or maybe bare feet. I want to walk on the wild side for a while. Call it a middle aged crisis, but I think we need to go our separate ways, at least for the summer. A few months of sandals might make me feel differently, but I don’t think so. I really think it’s over this time. For good. I‘d prefer that we don’t stay in touch. It will be much easier that way. We'll just remember the good times we had; the parties and dances, and leave it at that.
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