Fashion Designer

By Alice Barry

Welcome to my world! I am a pantyboy and proud of it. I was not always sure where I was going in life but always knew I was a pantyboy.

My name used to be Martin Maneater, son of George and Rain Maneater. My older brother is Marcus and my sister is Storm. My mother’s parents, Ray and Sonya Storm were hippies and named their kids accordingly. Mom has a brother Snow and a sister, Thunder.

Uncle Snow said he thought about changing his name until the first time he extended his hand in greeting and said, “Hi, I’m Snow Storm.” He said it really broke the ice; no pun intended.

Anyway, back to me. My mother always said that if you think you have a “calling” in life, you should try to follow it. My brother displayed an early affinity for working with his hands. When the other boys were building birdhouses, he was building chairs. He now designs furniture for a major company.

Storm wanted to be a famous chef and go to the Culinary Institute. Along the way, she developed an interest in karate and earned her black belt at age 14. After college, she got a call from the other CIA and left for Quantico.

My Dad said we were Cleveland Indians but were so removed, that all we had left was the name. Since I never could separate fact from fiction with my dad, the name could have come from anywhere. But the name was a cause for a lot of trouble for me when I was young.

In school, the bigger boys (and they were all bigger than me), thought my name, Maneater meant that I would like to eat men, or would like to suck their dicks. Since Marcus was older and much bigger than most of the boys in his class, he would just tell them wild stories of the Maneaters. He told the guys that we were cannibals and ripped hearts from beating chests. Marcus was almost 6 feet tall when he started high school and before he got his growth spurt.

I figured out that I was a pantyboy when I was about 6. There was not a term for it but I liked to be the mommy when I played with the neighborhood kids.

When I was in junior high and high school, while the other boys were drawing pictures of fast cars, I was designing fabulous gowns that I would like to wear. Of course, I had to keep them secret; even the girls don’t like femmy little boys.


Doug was the big deal around the neighborhood. All the parents thought he was a good influence on the younger buys. He was an Eagle Scout and valedictorian of his high school class.

Doug was a big deal to me. He taught me how to jerk off. He taught me lots of other cool things; but I’ll tell you more about that later.

I was about 15 and nerdy as they come. I was at Doug’s house for something and it turned out that none of the rest of the family was home. Doug asked if I had ever jerked off and I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said he would show me.

In the locker room, I always used the private shower because I was afraid of showing my body to the other boys. Perhaps I was really afraid of my reaction to seeing their bodies. Whatever the case, I had never seen a dick outside of my family.

Doug dropped his pants and a monster jumped out. It was long and fat and red. Doug spat on his hand and ran it up and down the length a couple times. His dick glistened.

“Why don’t you lose your pants and show me what you’ve got,” he said.

I just watched him in wonder and stepped back.

“Are you afraid? You know I won’t hurt you.”

“But, Doug, I am no where close to the size of yours.” By this time, I was beginning to shake.

“Aw, Marty. Mine was small before I started jerking it. Show me what you’ve got and I will show you how to make it grow.”

Reluctantly, I dropped my pants and undies. I had to stand on a stool so that Doug and my waists were near the same level. Doug was lovingly caressing my tiny peanuts and little pricklet. “Marty, your skin is so soft and downy; it’s like a little girl.”

“I don’t want to play any more if you are going to pick on my size, too.”

“No, no, no,” he said, as he cupped my balls in his right hand, “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. You just seem so pretty and cuddly to me. You are not hard like many boys.”

I tried to put my hand around his manly dick, but my hand was too small. He was so hot and it was bouncing around like it had a mind of its own.

After a few minutes of pumping I still had not gotten any harder. Doug had a new idea. Doug found a book for me to stand on to bring my equipment up to his level. Then he stood behind me and pushed his baby-maker between my legs. He grabbed both our dicks in one hand and began to pump. It was the first time that stuff came out and I got that cool feeling, deep in my stomach. We both shot at the same time; my little squirt and Doug’s gallon.

Doug and I never played that game again. He shortly left for college and I became more of a pantyboy. I began to secretly wear panties and sometimes the odd dress that I found in the laundry.


One day when I was in the bookstore picking up the latest Wonder Woman comic, I spied a copy of Pantyboy Magazine. I had never seen anything quite like this. There was a picture of the fabulous Cheryl on the cover in all her finery displaying her considerable charms. Nonchalantly, I opened the magazine and there was an ad for Timmy’s Girlish Secret. Like a thunderbolt, I knew what my life’s calling was going to be – I would design fashions for pantyboys.

Who but another pantyboy would know what a pantyboy would enjoy. Who else understands the special problems that pantyboys have in finding things that fit properly?


I began to research colleges in my junior year of high school. I had it narrowed down to schools with an outstanding CompFem program, a design school, and a warm climate. My ACT scores were high enough that I could pick my school.

How Fromage, Wisconsin had become the pantyboy capital of the world, defied logic. Why would a pantyboy want to live in a place where she would freeze her nuggies off half the year? There is a reason that XX girls wear flannel in sub-zero weather.

I narrowed my list down to the Peach Pantyboys of Peach College in Georgia and the Middlesex Tech Transvestias in Tennessee. When I heard that my old friend Doug was in Tennessee that sealed the deal for me. Maybe I could hook up with him again.

Middlesex Tech has been turning out pantyboys since before the Civil War (sometimes called the War of Northern Aggression) and many have gone on to fame and fortune. I was told that students in the fashion design program were encouraged to wear what they designed and I planned to follow the letter of the law. No more hiding in male drag; Martin was gone, Marti was here to stay. I dropped all my ugly boy clothes at Goodwill on the way.

For the first day of class, I wore a white silk dress of my own design. The underwear consisted of a garter belt dripping with lace, white sheer stockings, the briefest SmartPanies, and three and a half inch white pumps. I chose a minimalist bra that barely covered my nipples. I didn’t have titties but who cared, all they saw was inches of shapely leg. When I sat down in the art design lecture hall it sounded like all the air was sucked from the room. I think even the instructor, who has surely seen his share of pantyboys; was moved by my presence.

At the end of the first class, I was swarmed by lusty freshman boys. From the pantyboys and XXs in the class, I got stares that could cripple. The instructor, Professor Longbottom, who I found was my faculty advisor; hustled me from the classroom to his office.

“I got you out of there so you could get to your next class,” Professor Longbottom said as we walked down the hall. As we turned the next corner, I could see his nameplate on the office door.

I breathed, “how can I thank you properly?” I thought about dropping to my knees but that may be a bit presumputous.



 © 2010 Alice Barry