OOC - Tim was a baby faced 18 year old, fresh graduated from high school and eagerly awaiting enrollment at the local University come fall. At 5'10" and about 165 pounds, he was slim but well muscled through the neck and shoulders. His smile was quick and easy, dark hair short and spikey and his blue eyes shined with mischievious wit and charm. But even with his easy going cool around his friends, around girls he was a damned mess. A virgin and desperate to remedy this fact, he found himself drawn towards older women, their air of experience and class a natural draw to him. He also found himself stuck with a fetish, an insane lust that involved black thigh high stockings, matching garter belt and high heels. A woman walking by in anything that may hint at that caused Tim to always whip his head around, trying to sneak a peak. He was horny and desperate to be taught, to enjoy the sins of the flesh and maybe indulge his fetish....
IC - Tim was at work at the local grocery store, stocking shelves and idly wondering what that evening held for him. It was friday and that meant maybe a night out with the guys assuming any of them were around. A tight knit group of friends, all sort of low-key, the proverbial t-shirt and jeans type who liked to shoot pool and the breeze. He wandered up the aisle, chain to his wallet clinking against his pants, boots squeaking on the fresh waxed floor. He would stop occasionaly, admire the scenery so to speak, all the nice professional ladies coming from work to shop. Short skirts, tight sweaters, all those wonderful goodies. He smiled to himself as he heard the click of high heels upon the tile, what a musical sound that was to his ears. He whistled some tune to himself and continued working, always watching the foot traffic from the corner of his eye...
IC - Tim was at work at the local grocery store, stocking shelves and idly wondering what that evening held for him. It was friday and that meant maybe a night out with the guys assuming any of them were around. A tight knit group of friends, all sort of low-key, the proverbial t-shirt and jeans type who liked to shoot pool and the breeze. He wandered up the aisle, chain to his wallet clinking against his pants, boots squeaking on the fresh waxed floor. He would stop occasionaly, admire the scenery so to speak, all the nice professional ladies coming from work to shop. Short skirts, tight sweaters, all those wonderful goodies. He smiled to himself as he heard the click of high heels upon the tile, what a musical sound that was to his ears. He whistled some tune to himself and continued working, always watching the foot traffic from the corner of his eye...