I sold a pair of my used panties for $100.

It’s true! I really did! Admittedly, this isn’t something I do on a regular basis (so don’t ask), and the money was a donation to a good cause (not the “Marianne Wants More Sex Toys” fund). Still, I surprised even myself this time.

It started when PF emailed me after seeing a picture of my ass in white lace panties on my blog. Apparently, he likes white panties (understatement of the century). A few more emails followed: from him discussing intimate details of my anatomy and what could be done to them, and a few responses from me explaining that I was highly flattered but was not interested in establishing another intimate relationship at this time. Persistence pays off, though, as does flattery and a generally sweet nature. We fell into a pattern of him writing me incredibly, graphically kinky missives, and me accepting such missives with some degree of arousal. We began chatting online, and getting to know each other outside of the highly charged kinkiness of our first exchanges. It turns out that he is a very nice, intelligent man…. with a very dirty mind.

And then, one day, as we talked about the ins and outs of raising funds online, he graciously offered to contribute to the cause, and I jokingly suggested that he’d likely donate more if I sent him my panties. The next time he emailed, he asked with both caution and enthusiasm whether I was serious. I thought about it. I thought about it some more. Could this be handled logistically without compromising my or his privacy? Did I really want to be the kind of girl who mails used panties to men? Would it feel weird to know what he was doing with my panties hundreds of miles away from my daily existence? How much would I expect him to contribute?

Needless to say, I did it. I wore them. I even became aroused in them, adding a little to their essence. Then I sealed them in a ziplock bag, put them in an envelope, and mailed them from a city at some distance from me. He donated $100.

And now, a lovely kinky man living far away from me has my panties (and my DNA, incidentally) in a baggy in his desk drawer. He has taken them out of his drawer, brought them to the men’s room in his office, and masturbated into them a number of times, writing in detail each time in an email to me. By now, I suspect that they are… um, more highly scented and perhaps a little… crustier… than when they arrived. He fantasizes about me visiting his city, and meeting him in a public venue, where we can greet each other as acquaintances, so that he can surreptitiously show me the results of his fetish, still residing in the little plastic bag.

Will that happen? Who knows? In the meantime, my sweet, kinky, Panty Fiend has allowed me to test another of my boundaries, and push my limits just a few inches further.