Locktober: that magical time of year when many of us willingly spend weeks locked in a chastity cage. It’s a brilliant little reminder from our Dommes who exert physical authority over us, enforce absolute denial, and give us plenty of quiet time to reflect on our total servitude and devotion. Of course, being locked up also sends the sexual imagination completely off the rails. You start dreaming of the world outside that cage, embellishing every detail until you’re plunging headfirst into your wildest fantasies.

My colorful imagination takes me straight to Nirvana, to the intersection of Shangri-La Boulevard and Heaven Avenue.

There are luxury lingerie stores on three of the corners, their windows dressed in the latest spring colors from top European designers: Scandale, Agent Provocateur, Lise Charmel, La Perla, Aubade, Ritratti Milano, Codabella, Gianfranco Ferré, Chantal Thomas… you get the picture. On the fourth corner sits a classic French bakery shop  and a European café spilling out onto the sidewalk.

That’s where I sit at a small table savoring a glass of Chianti, made from the finest Sangiovese grapes in Tuscany, admiring the scenery.

Gorgeous women glide in and out of the boutiques in high heels, above-the-knee skirts, and deep-plunging blouses that accentuate their bosoms, their long hair catching the breeze like they’re walking down a runway. In my highly cooperative imagination, I catch a faint, intoxicating whiff of expensive French perfume. I manage to peek straight into a fitting room where a stunning blonde slowly rolls a sheer, skin-tone stocking up her endless leg, the crisp rustle of silk whispering in the air as she smooths the  fabric high up on her thigh, before latching it to the front and back garter clips.

Yes, I admit it: I am a total sucker for garter belts and stockings. Sure, strings, tongas,  boy shorts, balconettes, silhouettes and demi-bras are wonderful couture in their own right, but a stocking and a garter belt cries “sex” louder than anything else in the sartorial universe.

Now, before you assume I’m just chronicling a lockdown wet dream, let’s shift gears to a surprisingly enlightening conversation I had with an experienced Domme, a classically trained psychologist who had actually studied the pantyhose fetish.

“In childhood, most boys form strong attachments to their mothers even before they are sexually aware,” she began. “We think she is the prettiest woman in the world. We observe how she dresses; how she smells, how she feels, maybe we brush up against her legs and feel the softness of her pantyhose. Later as we grow up, we explore her clothes—it is very common for boys to try on their mom’s clothes,” she continued. “Maybe we like how soft it feels, maybe it’s the look, the smell, maybe it’s the comfort. But boys get imprinted.”

“As we go through puberty and develop a sexual conscience, we may feel a strong attachment to the stocking or the pantyhose. It makes us feel safe. We like the softness of it,” she explained. “I have full-grown clients who wear pantyhose in secret almost every day.”

“So what about the image that mass media gives us about what’s sexy, isn’t that where this attraction comes from?” I asked.

She smiled. “You have it backwards. Mass media is trying to elicit an emotional reaction. They are selling you comfort and safety.”

“Culture and fashion do have an effect.” She continued, “Nylons were introduced in the 1940s and women wore stockings. Think of those classic war movies where women drew seams on the backs of their bare legs because nylons were in short supply. Then, in the 1960s, pantyhose arrived on the scene. While stockings and garter belts continue to be marketed as luxury fashion, they aren’t really everyday wear anymore. Women nowadays go for comfort and function, meaning young men today might not share that exact same sexual imprint.”

It took a minute to sink in. Yes, I was definitely attracted to a classically dressed Domme. I would wonder during a session what she might be wearing under that skirt, and I’d get wildly excited when she undressed to step into the harness and pull it up over her stockings. When I was being feminized, being dressed in a garter belt and stockings was part of being a proper slut. Clearly, I am a sucker for the classics.

“Another myth about the male ego debunked! Another illusion pulverized. We men sure are pretty primitive and easy to manage by smart Dommes.” I thought. The weird part, however, is that we’re always the last ones to figure it out…

So, where was I? Ah yes, sitting at the café in Nirvana. Wait… what’s this sudden, aggressive strain? My super cock is trying to bench-press its way sout of the cage. But wait—is this cage forged out of Kryptonite?! Oh no, foiled again by the universe’s cruelest design.

And just like that, the spell snaps: all the gorgeous ladies evaporate into thin air, the luxury boutiques vanish, and the sidewalk café dissolves. Suddenly, I’m sitting all alone, completely naked in my cage, clutching a pathetic little mug of hot chocolate… another lingering echo of childhood conditioning I’m sure, or maybe just an aggressively overactive imagination running wild during Locktober?