Struggling to rescue myself

[In my last entry, I wrote about how I intentionally destroyed a pair of black tights that actually fit me.  I did it because I wanted "OUT" of this fetish.  I felt it was doing a number on me, making me less appealing to girls even though they didn't know I was wearing them.  In actuality, I was dead right.  It wasn't the tights fetish, but the self imposed ANXIETY over having it.  If I'd accepted and embraced it discreetly, there wouldn't have been any problem.  But this inner struggle affected my confidence in more ways than one.  In some respects, I let the tights fetish stifle a tremendous amount of potential, negatively affecting the course of my life for years to come.]

I stood there, looking at the cut-up shreds of what was once a decent pair of black tights.  Part of me felt sad about it, but a stronger part of me felt this was the right thing to do.  Like a baby who finally sheds his blanket, it was time that I stopped wearing tights.  And why let temptation challenge this?  Any wearable pair of tights available to me would taunt and tease my mind until I'd finally cave in and wear them again.

* * * * * * * *

About a week ago, I was riding in someone's car.  This was a family that was friends with my family.  They have two boys, one about my age.  He and I weren't pals because we lived far enough away by bicycle and in completely different school systems, so it wouldn't be easy to get together.  Plus, we had rather different personalities.  I don't think either of us were feeling like being friends is a high priority.  Anyway, he's in the front seat, his dad is driving, and I'm in the back seat.  I'm wearing black tights under my jeans and the air is warm enough in the car that I'm beginning to notice the tights more.  They weren't uncomfortable, just warming up enough to notice them.  So, Arnie is talking about some girl he was interested in at school.  He had mentioned a few things about her, then said something that perked up my interest--she is studying ballet.  Arnie apparently likes her and is trying to figure out a way to make contact.  His father gives him some very basic advice, but Arnie then mentions a boy in her dance class that she seems very close with, and he's not sure if he's a boyfriend or not.  That's when his younger brother sitting next to me says something like "I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Arnie.  Boys who take ballet are all gay.  Just look at them, they wear friggin' tights!  Hahahahaha."  His dad didn't like what he said, but Arnie agreed with him and laughed.  I sat there, wearing my tights, and feeling like a complete loser.

* * * * * * * *

With that experience fresh in my head again, I quickly put on the black tights and without hesitation, put the scissors to them and figuratively cut myself free.

I felt good.  I felt manly.  I put this God damned fetish behind me.  No more tights to wear.  I will make a point of getting a porno magazine, even if I have to steal it, and learn to masturbate to the pictures of naked women.  And I will not let myself gaze at the tights covered legs of my attractive female classmates.  This is good.  I am going to be alright.  I really am.

Exposure to ballet

After school, mommy would take us to the YMHA-YWHA for activities (Hebrew version of YMCA).  I was very interested in ceramics.  My sister was too, but mommy wanted her to study ballet.  She started classes at age 7.  She wore a black leotard and pink tights.  At first I was curious about the tights, but I didn't like the color.  Plus, I was taller than her and I knew they wouldn't fit.  I had no interest in the leotard.