Urban

My Landlady Had Different Plans - Intro

Added 2025-07-10 13:50:22 +0000 UTC

"I see you've found my husband's panties."

Mrs. Johnson was at the door. Startled, I dropped the frilly underwear back into the dresser drawer I had opened.

"I, uh," I stammered.

"It's okay," she said, walking over to stand next to me. "They are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes," I agreed, "they are. These belonged to your husband?"

"My late husband." Mrs. Johnson put an arm around my waist, pulling our bodies close together.

Mrs. Johnson was beautiful. Just 55 years old, curvy, and vivacious with soft, wavy brunette hair and a bright, knowing smile.

"We had a 'wife-led marriage.' Do you know what that is?" She asked.

"I, I've heard the term." I was like a deer caught in the headlights.

"He was my dearest friend and the most devoted and doting husband anyone could hope to have."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." I moved to close the drawer.

"No, you misunderstand," she said, reaching out to hold my hand. "I'm not offended; I'm grateful! I've been keeping these clothes around, his pretty things, in the hope that someday I might find someone who would enjoy wearing them."

"Enjoy wearing them?" I tried to pull away, but Mrs. Johnson held me close.

"Why yes, of course! It's a shame that they lie here, unused, don't you think? All of these pretty clothes? My husband had such a large collection of beautiful things. They should be worn and enjoyed, rather than hidden away. Don't you agree?"

"I, I guess," I said.

"Have you ever worn women's clothing, Paul?" Mrs. Johnson looked me straight in the eye.

"I."

"Tell the truth now; I will know if you're fibbing."

Damn my inability to lie! I was never like other children who could make up a reasonable falsehood at the drop of a hat. Whenever I tried, I would stammer and sweat and look askance, and it would be obvious even to the most casual observer that I was not being truthful.

"Yes," I said, finally. "Yes, I have."

"Do tell!"

"I, my cousin. She spent a week at our house one summer. After she left, I found a pair of her panties under my bed."

"And you put them on?"

"Not at first, but yeah, eventually."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know." Mrs. Johnson moved her hand from my waist to my bottom. Suddenly, it was feeling hot in the bedroom.

"Pretty panties are a delight for women as well as men," she continued. "Certain types of men, anyway." She looked directly at me. "Men who are not afraid to well, let's say, to appreciate all that life has to offer. Here, let me give you a tour."

Mrs. Johnson opened up each drawer one by one.

"These were his bras. He loved wearing bras! They made him feel so feminine. Feel this fabric; doesn't it feel delicious?"

She held up a silky, padded bra. Tentatively, I stroked the inside of the bra cup.

"Nice," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Isn't it? Can you imagine having that next to your skin all day? Cupping your breasts? Now this is your foundation wear: girdles, corsets, swimsuits, shapewear, and so on. It made my husband feel so 'secure' and 'put together.' And naturally, it helps smooth out certain bulges."

She sighed.

"And here are slips, camisoles, and baby dolls. You know you should feel free to wear any of this. If you want to slip into something special before bed, please do!"

"Mrs. Johnson, I don't think--" I tried to protest.

"Now in the closet," she interrupted, pulling me by the hand into an enormous walk-in closet, "we have skirts, blouses, house dresses, formal dresses, and sweaters in those boxes up there."

"So many shoes!" I gasped. They were arranged in tiers, all neatly lined up.

"Yes, she loved wearing heels."

"She?"

"Yes, she. My husband. Naturally, she was a she when she was dressed up. Tch, tch—they're all getting so dusty. Would you be a dear and polish them for me?"

"I,"

"For me?" Mrs. Johnson held my hand and squeezed it warmly. "As a favor for me and to honor my late husband?"

"I, I have no idea how."

"Oh, I'll help! We can polish them together. I would be ever so grateful."

Polish her husband's high heels? Was this what she was really asking me?

"Yes," I said finally, giving in. "Of course."

"You're such a dear; thank you so much. Now this entire wall contains your aprons and maids' uniforms."

"My?"

"Well, for as long as you're renting this room, the clothes are yours to wear whenever you like. It would be such a pleasure to see someone getting some use out of all these lovely things. You would be doing me, and my husband, an honor; you truly would."

"Mrs. Johnson, I hope I haven't given you the wrong idea about me."

"I'm not saying you have to wear them; just think about it. And some day, if you want to see what it feels like, you know, to feel your body encased in something so soft and feminine." She held me around the waist in a light hug, looking directly into my eyes. "Well then, you should. I want you to think of this house as a sanctuary. A sanctuary where you should feel free to explore and express yourself without fear or judgment. Okay?"

I shifted uncomfortably as Mrs. Johnson pulled us closer together, her face now inches from mine. Damn it, I realized, I'm hard! Can she feel it? I felt a blush suffuse over my face.

"Okay?" she asked again, looking at me, calm and steady. Her arms were around me, her hands resting gently but firmly at the top of my ass. If she had noticed my erection, she wasn't showing it. The smell of perfume and clothing and feminine lotions and powders was thick in the air and made me fuzzy-headed.

"Yes," I said finally, my eyes heavy-lidded.

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson," she prompted.

What??

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry," I apologized. "Yes, Mrs. Johnson," I repeated.

"That's a good girl," she said, pulling me close and giving me a light kiss on the cheek, leaving a faint shadow of lipstick. "Dinner's in an hour, at 7:30. I expect you to be prompt."

And with that, Mrs. Johnson left me in the closet, staring after her, mouth open.

I sat on the bed. What was I going to do? My landlady was, well, wildly eccentric and inappropriately forward at best. She was a nice lady, and I found her attractive, almost intoxicating. So her attentions were not entirely unwelcome, but what was I going to do?

I looked around. The room was feminine all over, from the rose-patterned wallpaper to the ornate, cream-colored French provincial furniture and the ruffled, lace-trimmed bedspread and pillow covers.

With luck, I wouldn't be here that often or for very long. I had taken a temporary job as an educator at the local industrial museum (museum jobs are so hard to get), and this was the closest room for rent. I could walk to work, the rent was reasonable, and, as it came with two meals a day (room and board), it was impossible to turn down.

"At least I'll know you're getting healthy, home-cooked meals," my mom had said.

But now here I was with a crazy lady.

I didn't have a car. She had picked me up at the bus station. We were close to the old mill where I would be working, but otherwise pretty much out in the boondocks. If I moved out, I would have to find someplace else to stay and then probably get a car or at least a scooter or bicycle, or something, and then get a cab to the new place.

The dollar signs started multiplying in my head.

Was it really so bad, after all? I reasoned to myself. A good-looking older lady, being extra friendly. Was that really so horrible? All I had to do was say 'no,' right? Just toe the line and keep things on a professional level. A strictly landlady/renter relationship. That shouldn't be so hard, right?

I got up and unpacked my suitcase. Mrs. Johnson had cleared out the bottom drawer of the dresser for me to use.

Jessica's cell phone rang.

"Mom?"

"Hello, Dear. I just called to let you know that the new renter has arrived! He's unpacking upstairs. I think you'll like him," Mrs. Johnson said, with a sing-song in her voice.

"Mom, please," Jessica rolled her eyes comically, causing her boyfriend Randy to snort.

"Hey, Mrs. Johnson," Randy said loudly into the phone, eliciting a glare from Jessica.

"Is that Randall? Is he in your bedroom?? Jessica, how many times have I told you"

"Mom! I'm a grown woman now. I’m 28, okay? Almost 30. I can have Randy over if I want."

"He won't make you happy. I just know he won't. Why don't you come over here and let me introduce you to Paul?"

"Paul?"

"Who the fuck is Paul?" Randy asked.

"My mom's new renter," Jessica hissed, handing over the receiver.

"Yes, his name is Paul," Mrs. Johnson responded, perturbed. She really didn't like Randy at all. "I put him in Dad's room."

"You put him in DAD'S ROOM?" Jessica said, choking. "Are you kidding me? And he didn't run screaming?"

"What's wrong with Dad's room?" asked Randy.

"Nothing. Shut up." Jessica whispered.