About Those Underpants You're Packing

About Those Underpants You're Packing

Look at these dope novelty boxers I found on the internet.

(dope boxers are from the Oatmeal and I totally bought these for my friend one time.)

Can you imagine lustfully throwing your partner onto your bed, after having successfully lured him home for some, say, sweaty summertime booty; and after struggling, inevitably, awkwardly, to peel his soggy jeans off his sweat moistened legs, (being careful to whisk away his socks in the process), you finally, (finally!) get access to the goodies, and find something like this Hot Cock in your face? 

I can.

Except they were Simpsons underroos.

AHhahahahahaha

A long time ago when I was living in another country entirely, I dated a dude who chose to adorn his undercarriage in Simpsons boxer-briefs, which I suspected were actually underroos meant for a child to wear, cause homeboy's tackle was all squished up in an uncomfortable looking way, and also there was some serious crack attack happening in the rear.

I must confess that when I unbuttoned the pants of the sexy, Spanish speaking paramour in question (did I mention he was also a painter? Whoo boy was he SMOKING hot), pointing my face, for the first time, eagerly towards his genital region, and found myself staring deeply into the face of one Bart Simpson, imploring me to "Eat his shorts", I laughed my twenty year old ass off.

Sputtering out a group of sounds that translate loosely to "what the fuck is this?" is probably not the nicest reaction to have the first time you get near a new Eggplant's, well. Eggplant. But, I mean, it wasn't all bad: after we both had a nice giggle, Painter Eggplant rolled over, took my face in his hands, and proceeded to wipe the tears from my eyes with the most appealing smoulder, and immediately refocused my attention, by murmuring deliciously filthy things into my ear and inviting me to partake in them, with him. 

So let's consider the benefits:

Stupid underwear makes room for consent

It can be hard sometimes to derail the freight train of horniness barrelling its way towards pound town in order to check-in on whether everyone has had their ticket duly punched. What better way to ensure a pause in the action than to clothe your loins in some sort of garment that will make your partner exclaim,

"Wait a minute, what?"

Prove yourself to be a whimsical, playful, yet thoughtful, and sex positive person with one single sartorial choice! Open an opportunity to confirm consent by letting your undies do the hard work for you! Quelle joie de vivre!

Sexy Secrets, not just for Victoria

On the flip side, perhaps you feel like spending the day with a cartoon 8 year old's yellow viságe pressed against your parts is squicky. Or, perhaps you long to feel not like the inept victim of arrested development you suspect yourself, on the inside, to be; but rather the powerful, bad-ass bitch the motivational posters on your walls all insist you are.

May I recommend, then, you post up for some Secret Lingerie.

In a similar, but opposite, capacity to the novelty socks I cannot prevent myself from wearing to work, as a nod to myself that though I am outwardly acquiescing to your dour corporate dress code, my artist heart survives inside my shoes, where tiny pink dinosaurs sing a knitted, RAWR!; I make sure I have matching undies on me when I need to feel like a boss ass bitch, but like on the low.

In the movies all the powerful, sexy, leading ladies and femme fatales (hell, even the ingenues) would always strip down to reveal perfectly matched swatches of fabric protecting their cash and prizes when prepping to get down with their leading love interest. Invest in at least one pair of matching tops and bottoms, and immediately feel like one of them!

I continue to be confused by most lingerie, as I cannot grasp the purpose of spending money on something you put on specifically in order to take off two seconds later, but a matching bra and panty you can wear all damn day. Thus, the presence of your sexy undergarments becomes a secret only you know, a secret which you may choose to reveal - or not! - depending on how the day develops. This makes you powerful! It makes you a movie star!

Minimum it makes you feel like a grown ass woman, ready to grind the fools and fuckboys to dust beneath your heel, as you stomp serenely over them on your way to greatness. I personally can note a difference in the way I move and feel when I know underneath my purely professional attire there lurks a stripper-level sexiness, just out of sight. Feeling sexy can make you feel confident, and confidence is power.

Always.

People will always make assumptions based on the way you look. Clothes are also a code and communication, and people are surprisingly deft at reading it, even if they don't know they're doing it.

But not you. You are an enigma. They think they know you? They think they can pigeonhole you? They don't know shit. Just like they don't know today you've gone straight up commando and are sporting TacoCat on your socks. 

You just a rebel like that. You amazing, incandescent, sexy rockstar, you.

Freegans...I just cannot.

Freegans...I just cannot.

Pity Fucks - A Field Guide

Pity Fucks - A Field Guide