About ten years ago, I lived in Southern California. One day, I was upstairs and my neighbor was trimming trees next to my house. I looked out and said, "Hello." I could see the top of bra cups under his partially unbuttoned shirt. About an hour later, I checked my mail and he was working in his front yard. I went over and spoke to him. I asked him what size bra he wore. He was embarrassed, but we talked a couple of minutes. We arranged to meet by the back fence at 10 p.m. when his wife would be asleep. I met him and he was wearing a matching blue bra and panty set. I was wearing a Speedo. We talked and he asked if he could kiss me. I let him. Every week after that, I saw him in his backyard with bra, panties, garter, and nylons on. I miss seeing him.
— Levi, 50