Moving on...

[Carol and I continued to date for almost two years, and I did not seek to involve hosiery in our intimate moments.  I completely stopped wearing tights or unitards.  It was as if the fetish never existed for me.

All good things eventually come to an end.  I wasn't planning on that happening with Carol.  But somehow we were just in different places.  I wasn't ready to settle down, but for her the clock was ticking.  And so we parted ways.  Because we worked at the same place, it was tough having to run into each other nearly every day.  Eventually I changed jobs and moved out of state.]

It was a bit stressful being in a whole new place, with only one friend nearby.  The new job was a mixed situation as well.  While I felt very competent at what I was tasked to do, I was faced with a clique situation and I found it increasingly difficult to "win over" my co-workers.  They were a pretty tight knit little group.  I eventually transferred to another group in the company and that worked out much better.  Dating wise, there weren't any real prospects.  Most of the women at work were married, or in a serious relationship.  Those that weren't were not desirable to me.

In retrospect, I wish I'd had a lot more self confidence.  I was terrible with the club and bar dating scene, about the only venue I knew of to meet women.  I'd made some new friends at work and this was all they knew as well.  I tried to branch out and take some classes in the arts, in hope of meeting up with women in the "real world", but nothing came of that.

I still had a lot of boxes I'd not yet gone through at home, so I figured it was time to cut through them and get it over with.  Some boxes didn't have labels on them and so I left those for last.  Eventually when I got into them, I found one having a zip up duffel bag inside.  When opening that up, I found a tied off garbage bag.  And then inside that... a large collection of tights and unitards.  It was strange to see them again.  I felt oddly detached and yet was keenly aware of how I used to feel about them.  The red footed lycra tights stood out among the rest.  Touching them, I was curious to know if they would feel any different this time around.  So, I slipped them on...

Nothing.  No reaction.  None whatsoever.  Had I beaten the fetish, starved it into oblivion?  Perhaps.  So, I took off the tights and put the box away.  Later on that night, I decided to take out the red tights again.  I put them on, still getting no reaction.  I then went to bed with them on, just for the heck of it.

When I awoke in the morning, things were different.  Of course, I realize that there's always morning wood for guys, but having the tights on seemed to up the ante so to speak.  I decided to indulge it and well, it was just like old times.  I hadn't beaten the fetish like I thought I had, apparently.  Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't dating any women and that it had been a long time, coupled with feeling a bit lonely.  Whatever the case, I was back to where I started from.