I walked into the room looking for more evidence. One more piece of clothing, it was Garret’s shirt. I figured they had stripped him and left him somewhere in the house. I searched his room, the bathroom and the kitchen. We had a small apartment and not to many places to hide a body. It was a mystery that had me fully awake and alert. I was on the hunt for any mistakes they had made, overlooked clues that would indicate what happened. Alas, I found it, the dead bolt on the door was unlocked. Garret never left that unlocked if I was home. Such a sweetie, but what did that mean?I went to the door and cracked it open. The cool night air brushed past me, I had found Garret. They had put lip prints all over his body and sat him there, in a chair, in front of our place, for all the world to see. It was still dark so not many could have gotten a good look, but I am sure the pictures would hit Facebook soon.“Shit Garret, you finally passed out.” I nudged him. “Garret!”Nothing was working. I. This was the common custom in the laundry room. Checking out the load’s contents, as long as no one else was around, I would look for her panties. No harm, right? Well, then it progressed. Even if the drier was still running, I would open it up and look inside, particularly if I knew the owner of the clothes was a cute girl. Finally, I did it: I removed and stole a woman’s panties. Back in my dorm room, I would look at them, play with them, and even wear them and masturbate even more. I loved the feel of the nylon lace, and I kind of liked feeling feminine. It was a scary sensation. I wasn’t interested in men, so I wasn’t “gay”, but I sure liked fantasizing as a woman. Not being enough, I stole several pair over a couple of months. Not enough to get noticed, very subtle, but it kept me happy.Sometimes, I would jerk off in them, watching my sperm load fill the cotton crotch of the panties. I would then allow these panties to dry, leaving a stain and smelling of sex. I could sniff one.
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