I’ve got several drawers and half a closet full of sexy lingerie. They hold more secrets than Victoria could ever keep. They whisper sweet nothing into my ear. But then again, so does my sex life
They don’t call it a “dry spell” for nothing.
Back to the lingerie. Pure invention, I tell ya. Lingerie is the equivalent of a candy dish. Nobody wants either, but they are both often bought as gifts
by people who have no taste or concept of size. It’s something that gets displayed only when the person who purchased it comes over to visit. (I sew nametags into mine so as not to offend the wrong party.) Within minutes of said party's departure, it gets relegated to the laundry room or the dry cleaning pile. The candy dish gets regifted. Buyer’s remorse comes (and goes) with a hefty price tag.
During my last long-term relationship, my mother thought I should have a collection of peignoirs and high-heeled slippers with feathers on them to establish that I was the lady of the house. That’s so last century. But so was that relationship. When your chilly morning consists of cleaning out a barn and hauling the excrement of two Shetland ponies down a hill to the compost bin, a negligee doesn’t beg to be worn.
This is not me (or my pony)
In these circumstances, dangling the carrot does not require protruding nipples. Those horses knew how to bite the hand that fed them and the damn stable boy didn’t come until later on in the day. Come to think of it, now that I see that last sentence in writing, it makes me wonder what he was doing in that barn for so long on those winter afternoons. And why I didn’t go visit him more often.
From what I can remember, he was hung like a horse.
My first experiment and foray into lingerie was in the form of the dreaded “Teddy”. Why it was called a Teddy is beyond me. Was there once a longer or larger version that didn’t creep up the ass and divide a woman’s body into two piles of yeasty dough? Was it all the rage and called a “Theodore”? Theodore and Teddy belong on a Roosevelt, not on my body. There is no presidential pardon for what a Teddy did to the female figure. Crotches with snaps are fine for infant clothing but are not riveting in the bedroom. Thankfully, the Teddy suffered a deservingly quick demise and ended up in landfills along with Members Only jackets.
Where's the rest of it?
Next came slinky slips with straps that required a degree from MIT in order to adjust them properly. They were colorful and feminine looking but often ill fitting and tight in the wrong places. The darts never pointed anywhere near my nipples and at the time, mine were still doing an about face. Frankly, if a man requires darts to direct him to the bull’s eye, there’s a pretty decent chance that he should be looking for an optometrist and not sex.
Next came the anal floss of all underwear in the form of the thong. The skimpier and prettier it was, the more expensive it was to buy. This disastrous invention also propelled Brazilian waxing into the economic stratosphere. To the uninitiated man, getting a Brazilian wax is similar on the humiliation scale to having the proctologist’s hand up your butt for longer than necessary but with the added excitement of potentially suffering third degree burns. We pay for this. Dearly. And trust me guys, when a woman screams while having her pubes ripped out by their roots, she’s never faking it.
If you want to hear some real screaming, head over to Mona’s parlor
this Thursday at 3 when I have my next appointment. It’s not like we can get away with a once yearly visit if we plan on wearing that thong as an invitation to the garden of eatin’. I have a standing appointment that I take lying down.
Would you stand for this?
Since women are going for the bald look these days (what’s up with that?), that doesn’t leave much for men to graze on or to the imagination. Neither does lingerie. I like a man with a good appetite and appreciation for what a woman is supposed to really look like. Naked and well fed.
Which is why I've decided to get off the lingerie and waxing rollercoaster and save myself a small fortune.
I could give dreadlocks an entirely new meaning.
From this point forward, if a man wants to slip into something more comfortable, he should just try me. Without the lingerie.
"Eat Her More Often" by Patricia A. Smith
Other Images: Fabsugar.com, marshasvintage.com, metro.co.uk, ambush101blogspot.com, Shetland-pony.com