Tom loved my nylons. The smooth, shiny fabric consumed him in a way he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t just drawn to them—he needed them. Every time I wore them, he’d find an excuse to be close, to touch them, to inhale their scent. His obsession deepened. He would do anything for my nylons. Pay, beg, steal—nothing was off-limits. They were his escape, his comfort, his addiction. He couldn’t stop, and he wouldn’t. For my nylons, he’d do it all.