Nylons
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2026 by Mat Twassel
Flash Story: College senior Maya and her roommate Tessa discuss whether it's important for Maya to wear nylons for her job interview. Illustrated.
Caution: This Flash Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Fiction Oral Sex Illustrated AI Generated .
Note: On May 13, 2026 I posted a story, “Swan Song,” and attached a poll with the question, “If a woman is wearing but one thing, which of these items is sexiest? One reader noted nylons (not pantyhose) was not one of the eight choices. Having limited experience with nylons, I asked CoPilot to write a story about a pair of college roommates discussing nylons prior to one of them going to a job interview. I provided a few illustrations for the story, which, except for a perhaps significant adjustment at the end, is mostly CoPilot’s.
Maya was sitting cross‑legged on her bed, considering her wardrobe choices. “Okay,” she said, exhaling dramatically. “I think I’ve got everything. Except ... I don’t know. Do people still wear nylons for interviews?”
Across the room, her roommate Tessa looked up from brushing her teeth. “Nylons?”
“Yes, nylons,” Maya said, as if announcing a rare species. “My mom mailed me a pair. She said they’re ‘professional.’”
Tessa grinned. “Your mom also thinks texting ‘K’ is rude. She’s from a different era.”
Maya flopped backward onto the bed. “I know, but I’m panicking. What if the interviewer is from the nylons era? What if she judges my bare legs?”
Tessa set her toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink and wandered over to Maya’s dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and held up the unopened package. “These look like they belong in a museum exhibit titled Femininity: The Restrictive Years.”
Maya groaned. “You’re not helping.”
“Okay, okay.” Tessa sat beside her. “Let’s think. Do you want to wear them?”
“I mean ... not really. From what I hear, they’re itchy. And they make that weird swishing sound when you walk.”
“Then don’t wear them,” Tessa said simply. “You’re smart, you’re prepared, and you look great. No one’s going to reject you because your legs are free‑range.”
Maya laughed despite herself. “Free‑range legs. That sounds like a band name.”
“Or a feminist manifesto.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then Maya reached for the nylons, turning the package over in her hands.
“You know,” she said, “my mom told me she used to save up for these. Like, one pair had to last weeks. She’d wash them in the sink and hang them over the shower rod.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” Tessa said. “A whole generation of women balancing on one foot trying not to snag them on anything.”
“Exactly. It feels like ... I don’t know. A little piece of her world.”
Tessa nudged her shoulder. “Then keep them. But you don’t have to wear them to honor her. Just ace the interview.”
Maya smiled, gave the nylons a reassuring pat, and tucked them back into the drawer.
“Bare legs it is,” she said. “But I’ll tell her I brought them. She’ll be proud of that.”
“And I,” Tessa declared, “will be proud when you get the job and buy yourself a pair of celebratory leggings. The opposite of nylons.”
Maya laughed again, the tension finally breaking. “Deal.”
“On the other hand,” Tess said, “maybe retro will separate you from the herd. In a good way.”
A minute later Maya stood in the middle of their dorm room like someone preparing for a complicated magic trick. One foot was planted on the rug; the other hovered uncertainly above a pair of freshly opened nylons pooled on the floor like a defeated jellyfish.
“Aha!” Tessa exclaimed. “You’re attempting it.”
“If I fail, it’s Mom’s fault. Genes, you know—as opposed to jeans. And sometimes sacrifice is called for.”
“Just don’t fall over,” Tessa replied, leaning against the doorframe.
Maya gathered a nylon carefully, inch by inch, until it was a tiny, stretchy doughnut. “See? I’m being careful. This is a precision operation.”
She slipped her toes in. So far, so good. Then she began easing the fabric upward, concentrating fiercely.
“You look like you’re defusing a bomb,” Tessa said.
“It feels like I’m defusing a bomb,” Maya muttered. “One wrong move and—” She mimed an explosion with her free hand.
She got the nylon over her heel, then her ankle, then halfway up her calf. That was when the fabric twisted. Not dramatically — just enough to create a subtle spiral that promised future chaos.
“No, no, no,” Maya whispered, trying to rotate it back into alignment. “Don’t do this to me.”
Tessa stepped forward. “Do you need assistance?”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.