I started wearing thigh-highs to work after learning that he liked them. Some of the other guys in the office were ragging on him about it one Friday evening when everyone in the office had gone out for drinks. Not that this mattered – it was unlikely that he would see them anytime soon. We were friendly, but not that friendly. We lived on the “coworkers” plane, which was a far cry away from the plane where you saw each other’s undergarments.
Our office dress code was fairly casual. The men wore chinos and dark jeans, and the women could typically get away with wearing their “good” leggings and longer blouses. I, however, wore floaty skirts and dresses so that I could feel the tops of the thigh-highs rubbing together between my legs. Of course, since it was an office, no one knew that I was wearing them – they just looked like regular stockings. There was no line running up the back of them, and they certainly weren’t fishnets. It was my own little secret fantasy: that, maybe, one day, my skirt would blow up in a strong wind and he would see them clinging to the skin of my thighs.