Girl on the Net

The other day you asked me “what’s so hot about men in fishnet tights?” and I don’t think I gave a good answer. I nodded when you asked if it was something to do with them being ‘femme’, implying that men in fishnets are hot purely because they’re fucking with gender norms. That’s part of it, but it’s not the whole truth because your question took me by surprise so I had no words. Forgive me, I was distracted by the fact that you were wearing them at the time: naked save for black net that clung to your thighs and cupped your junk in ways that trashed my attention. Today I want to try and give a much more accurate answer. What’s hot about men in fishnets? Let me count the ways…

I’ve been struggling to write lately – I have plenty of ideas but I’m failing to turn those snippets into posts. If I’m honest, it’s mostly because I’m trying not to write about you. I’m choking on things that I’m not yet ready to publish. Stories half told and emotions that seem fun to capture until the moment I sit down to try and articulate them… there’s a pile of abandoned garbage on my desktop and the more I add to that pile, the more panicky I get. Sometimes when I feel like this I retreat into ‘counting the ways.’ Zooming in on something I find hot, and examining it in detail like a treasure, counting the ways that particular thing makes me horny. So although it’s your fault I can’t write at the moment (I’m joking, it isn’t), it’s also thanks to you that I have today’s topic:

What’s so hot about men in fishnets?

When you asked me this, dressed in a pair of wide-gauge fishnets and my favourite high heeled shoes (the ones with an ankle strap that for some reason cry out ‘please bend me over and take me’), your guess was that I liked them for the genderfuck aspect. The fact that society tells us these clothes are ‘for women’ means they’re instantly guaranteed to be deeply sexy to me if a man I want to rail puts them on.

That’s part of it, of course. I do get hot for men who fuck with gender. Nail varnish and eyeliner for a start, lingerie if they’re feeling adventurous. I used to leave my knickers at an ex’s house on purpose because the first time I did it by accident, he put them on then sent me pics. A photo of the thickness of his shaft gripped tight through rose-pink satin, then afterwards a shot of that same shiny fabric, now stained dark with a load of his cum. Fucking beautiful.

I’ve swapped clothes with men before, even asked them to wear my yoga pants or t-shirts or what have you. Which shows that the clothes don’t even need to be particularly femme, I guess, just mine. Fuck with gender, dress like me, there’s something about mixing it up that massively turns me on. It doesn’t even need to be focused on clothes, to be honest: I once sent roses to a boyfriend’s work on Valentine’s Day, and the act of doing it got me surprisingly wet.

So what’s hot about men in fishnets? Part of it definitely is a genderfuck thing. Men who are willing to mess about with what society tells them they ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ do are hot. At the heart of it, you’re breaking rules. Nonsense rules, obviously, but still: there’s power to it. And that power is further emphasised by the bright red, five-inch, fuck-me heels.

There’s the look of it all too, of course. I don’t think much about aesthetics when I’m writing blog posts – usually I’m focused on the tone. But I love the aesthetics of fishnet tights on guys I fancy, the way they add defining shadow to the swell of your calves and your thighs. On you specifically, because you’re pale, I also love the contrast of your light skin through jet-black net.

I love that you are hyper-aware of the fact that you’re in them: wearing something ‘other’ than your normal clothes, something that makes you feel different. I feel more slutty when I’m dressed up in fishnets, and maybe I’m projecting here but I think you might feel this too.

And don’t get me started on the way that the fabric neatly cups your cock and balls. This works with any tights, of course, but fishnets are the best. It’s similar to the look when you put on a taut pair of my grey marl yoga pants, but way more obviously… what’s the right word?… ah yes: fucky. Far more than being ‘femme’, I think fisnets are just really fucky. They look like sex. They feel like fucking. They demand attention. And then channel that attention really efficiently to your cock.

It doesn’t matter whether your dick’s hard or soft, by the way – both states have numerous charms. Hard, the fabric net stretches against it, almost cutting into the skin. Highlighting the way that a trapped boner aches to be freed. I’ve always loved the idea that your dick is so hard it’s hurting for me, what better way to show off that hurt than with wide-gauge fishnet that sinks into the delicate skin of your shaft? When you’re soft, the fabric’s still trapping you, but this time far more casually. Holding you gently, cradling your junk the way I do sometimes with my hand, weighing it in my palm. I love to run my thumb over the softness of your dick, gathered neatly in the crotch of the tights.

I always think it’s sexier when you’re wearing something as opposed to nothing – cotton boxer shorts, stretchy yoga pants, fishnet tights – clothing that serves to emphasise, rather than hide, what sits beneath. The cage of the tights demands that I pay attention to what’s being caged: your cock is neither clothed nor naked, but emphatically and significantly there. The other night, too, I thoroughly enjoyed burying my face in it. Taking time to press my nose and cheeks against the warmth of your inner thigh, the velvet skin of your cock. Touching the head gently with soft lips that caught against the black net fabric.

Fishnets make me notice your dick. They demand my attention in ways your everyday clothes never could. One of the reasons I like you in fishnets is because when you’re wearing them, both of us exist in a constant state of knowing that this moment, right here, is sexy. While we’re hanging out, no matter what else we’re doing, the fishnets tell us that making out, touching, fingering, sucking and fucking are all on the cards. When when we’re having casual conversations, I can stroke your calves and know you’re amenable to me tracing further upwards with my fingertips. As you stand up to get us more drinks, the way the fishnet stretches over the perfect curves of your bum reminds me that – on this night, at least – I’ve been given carte blanche to bite it.

They’re tactile, too, fishnet tights. The sensation of them beneath my palms as I grab a handful of your arse. The slight pull of the net against my skin that reminds me just how easy they are to tear. Which brings me neatly onto the thing I find hottest about men wearing fishnet tights: it’s the accessibility of them. The flimsiness of them. Not since I was young and naive have I ever expected a pair of fishnet tights to last more than a single evening. They’re disposable, fishnets, aren’t they? They beg to be treated like trash.

So they’re femme, for sure, but they’re also tactile and fucky and visually appealing. But above all what’s hot about men in fishnets will always depend, at least a little bit, on the man who happens to be wearing them. And this is what’s hot about you:

The way you responded when I lay you on the bed, face down so I could grind against your arse as if we were fucking. The moans you exhaled into the pillow as I slipped a thigh between yours, parting your fishnet-clad legs and smacking your fishnet-clad arse and glancing down to see the way that your fishnet-clad feet twitched with desperate anticipation. The way you arched your back when I ripped those tights open to expose your naked arse, vulnerable and willing.

The hottest thing about you in fishnets… is the way you responded when I tore them apart.