From an outsider’s perspective Benny and Memo looked to have their lives well in hand. They had high-paying, union jobs at the Colvin & Culver® plant; bright, young families in sizeable ranch houses on the North-side of town; Wives whose figures remained impressive through childbirth—wives who the boys at the plant would whistle about and call *sexy* and *linda* and *tetona* and *culona* at lunch breaks and at tailgates and who they’d squeeze their half-inflated dicks through their soccer shorts to at weekend matches when everybody’s wives and kids would come to watch. Benny and Memo’s had custom Silverados and tricked-out Harleys in their driveways; they had money to go on vacations south of the border, or to the gulf resorts; they could afford to take their wives to the casino in Honey River or out to dinner multiple times a week for more than just tacos. To anyone but a spy up the mammoth wye oak in Memo’s front yard, or in a surveillance van at the Agave Gardens Motor Court these two *jefes*, these two leaders amongst sheep had it made in the shade.
Behind the closed doors of Memo’s bedroom or the various hot-sheet rooms at the Agave a different picture entirely was painted in sweat and cum and lipstick and lace. You see, Benny and Memo had been like blood-brothers since they met at Madison Middle. They were both from *el barrio*, both their mothers were hard-nosed, dedicated providers after the boys fathers had quit the scene. Both their mothers were also non-nonsense *perras*, quick with the belt or the switch at the slightest infraction (they couldn’t be bothered coddling their children with *la chancla*—no fathers at home meant double duty in the punishment department). And finally, to support Benny, Memo, and their brothers and sisters both of their mothers made extra cash turning tricks for a greasy, literally filthy pimp everyone called *El Grouch* since he reminded the town so much of the trashcan dwelling puppet. This was an embarrassing, open secret that Memo and Benny bonded over out in the scrub after school let out or riding their second-hand bikes up the freshly paved streets of the new developments going up on the north-side.
Oftentimes the boys would stay together at night while their mothers went out to work the motels. Most of the time they’d have no one minding them except their doddering *abuelitas* who’d be soundly snoozing at the kitchen table, or on a threadbare recliner before the evening news even came on. This was the boys time to explore the world around them. They capered and raised hell all throughout the dusty backstreets and alleyways of the depressing confines of their slum. But their boundless imaginations and penchant for sending their neighbors into spluttering, drink-fueled rages made it better than any theme-park Disney could dream of. They were equally happy wreaking havoc in their own homes. Playing pranks on their younger siblings and aged minders with devilish talent. And when they exhausted the misery of those around them they would turn inward to darker warrens of their mothers’ rooms. There were cigarettes to be smoked and tequila to be spat out and sometimes magazines full of muscular, naked men to leaf through within. In these dangerous wonderlands they discovered the truest fibers of their bonds.
*El Grouch* may have had no regard for his own appearance, but he was ruthless with his harem about their own. He made his whores dress and parade the banks of the interstate in the sluttiest, barely-there lingerie that the borderlands had on offer. And, darling, you’d better believe that these hapless women’s closets were straining to impound the twisters of silk and satin and nylon and lace.
Both Memo and Benny were entranced by the power of these garments from the moment they saw them backlit by the weak-watted bulbs and framed by the artificial wood-paneling of their mothers’ meager closets. They would run their hands along the soft, sheer fabrics, enraptured by their powerful cuts and their ability to transform light and break shadows into tangled patterns of vines and flowers and swirling, abstract shapes that like clouds could appear as anything the boys wanted. In the drawers or suitcases or bins where they found their mothers’ little panties they were even more spellbound, mesmerized, shaken to their young cores. Chemical reactions sent their pubescent hormones careening throughout their bodies like multiball bonus meteorites ricocheting off loud, neon obstacles. These panties seemed almost like wild animals to the boys; viperous, deadly beasts that had the power to slam their fangs down hard around a hand that held them wrong. To the boys these girly wonders were better than M80s or brand new BMX bikes or even Sega.
More often than not the boys’ mothers would come home when the boys were at the height of their catatonic, reverent communion with their mothers’ panties. The women’s sounds would break the boys’ trance and they’d scramble under the bed (or somewhere equally unseen in Benny’s case, because his mother’s mattress was directly on the floor). Silent and smeared their mothers would examine themselves in the mirror in their depressed finery. Sometimes they would drink and sometimes they’d cry, but the boys would watch silently, eyes completely prized open like Venus’s clam-shell. No matter how dejected and exhausted their mothers seemed their lingerie made their bodies look vivacious and full of sex. If they could shut out the tears or cover their sobbing faces there was a hot, electrifying trespass to it. The boys summoned feelings similar to when they were making mischief around the neighborhood.
Benny popped his first hard-on here and as the years progressed Memo found the situation just as arousing. By the time they were in high school they had become masters of standing stock-still save for their own hands working quietly up and down each others overtaxed cocks while they watched their mothers’ after work rituals.
This was their private oasis, away from the pressures of algebra and the utter, foggy confusion of Shakespeare. While they may have dropped the ball with their studies they were excelling socially. Since their earliest days terrorizing *indigentes* on their blocks they had made a pact to rise above, to do better than their drunken, deadbeat, absentee dads and their quickest route was through football. Memo was a gifted, savage fullback and Benny had the speed and grace of a hungry cheetah with wings on all four of its feet. They were an unstoppable offensive force and brought the Cesar Chavez HS Broncos to three state titles during their tenure there.
Their skills on the field of play made them celebrities in the halls, classrooms and cafeteria of Cesar Chavez. They had their pick of cheerleaders and high-kicking dancers from the drill team. Every desirable girl in the school would’ve been honored to wear Memo or Benny’s patch. They had grown into penetratingly handsome young men. Their features were abrupt, knife-like; their muscles rockbound and wiry. They spent the better part of their time at Cesar Chavez fucking their way through an impressive cross-section of the school’s gentry as well as bushel-fulls of willing, yet status-free sluts. In backseats and behind school dances, in desert shanties and abandoned *bodegas* the boys put their prodigious cocks to work. And though the teenage moans and vise-tight pussies of these girls were sweet the boys found themselves missing something.
Memo finally guessed it one day after practice when they stopped to get Whataburger®. These little *chiquitas* were running around in granny-panties. None of them had the powerful allure of the treasures they’d uncovered in their mothers’ rooms. That very afternoon they stole into Memo’s mom’s tiny quarters and in sweaty excitement stripped before the altar of her lingerie. Pulling their briefs off, the boys’ cocks sprang up, already as hard as titanium rods. They lingered there, silently sipping the essence of each other, breathing in the heady pheromone dance party that shook withing the very molecules of the air. Then each taking a pair of lacy, black panties the boys clasped the elegant cunts around each others cocks and pumped. With a shivering, shuddering exhalation both boys grinned through airtight eyes. Benny was immediately drawn to Memo’s thick lips and without protestation they kissed each other, wet and hot.
Working their hard shafts against each other and between sheer folds of panties the boys found themselves so near to orgasm they split. Benny crawled onto Memo’s mother’s bed, pushing off all manner of debris from the San Marcos blanket onto the floor. Laying on his back with his legs in the air he continued to slowly jack his stiff, aching cock with Memo’s mother’s lacy, vaginal pair of panties. Without being asked Memo took his best friend’s legs over his broad shoulders and, gobbing a viscous wad of spit into his hand prepped his pulsing stave for entry.
“Fuck it like a pussy, baby.” Benny commanded, so lost in his own pleasure that he couldn’t even consider what his normal, Mr. popular, jock self would make of all this. Memo obediently entered his *compadre’s* sweltering asshole. Again he had to moderate himself for fear of loosing his hot cum too quickly. “Fuck me, *papi*” Benny begged and Memo got to work piston-pumping the running-back’s exacting, virgin hole. They kissed passionately as they probed and bounced against each other. Memo climbed atop his mother’s bed without pulling out and, still inside his blood-brother he collapsed onto his back and let Benny ride him like the captain of the Broncos that he was.
“I wanna wear it!” Memo shouted. “Before I cum, I wanna put it on!” He said motioning to his mother’s closet. “Oh yeah! me too, that’s some hot shit, bro.” Benny raised himself off Memo’s turgid cock and they went to the closet to costume themselves in desire.
It was awkward looking to say the least, first attempts so often are. Stock seams coiled impossibly around their bulging calves and quads, garter-belts left unfastened out of frustration, panties displaced by tumescence and lopsided by inexperienced wear. But they stood before each other subsumed by the beauty of the pieces and how they contrasted with their hard-bodies. Their cocks pulsed harder and as they fell upon each other with new-found intensity they realized that this was the beginning of a lifetime vanity. Until their deaths they would be obsessed with the glamor and danger of their secret desires.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cpe9je/their_gossamer_desireswt_mmfetish_xpost_to