Today I went underwear shopping. Not for male underwear. Female underwear.
My girlfriend gave me very simple directions: nude colored underwear; that's it. Get in, get out, you'll be fine.
Katie has this white dress that she bought and that she wants to wear but, in order to do that, she needs underwear that's not going to stick out. So, she jokingly asked me if I would be willing to run out and pick her up a pair of underwear that's flesh-toned. And I, being the nice guy that I am and not really having anything to do today, decided "what the hell, I'm gonna go buy some goddamn panties."
I had these momentary flights of underwear fancy on my way to the store. Thoughts of lace and leopard print ran through my head. Yeah, I was going to get her the flesh toned underwear she asked for so that she could wear the talky-talky whatever. But in return, I was going to get her something pink and skimpy and lacy, and that would be her penance for making me run her underwear chores. We were going to live out my Playboy fantasies. It was going to be awesome.
In I walked into the Victoria's Secret store near my house, fully intent on buying something degrading and nasty, and I took my first few proud steps into the store before I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. And I froze up. There I was, standing completely alone and by myself in the middle of a lingerie store, suddenly confronted with the complete awkwardness of being a dude in a lingerie store.
You wouldn't think that a bunch of fabric would cause you to halt in your tracks, but, for my part, the moment that I stepped into that store I was paralyzed by the miles and miles of soft, colorful fabric that stretched out seemingly for miles before me. I was no longer in my element. I was overwhelmed. I was awkard. I was alone.
After a good creepy five minutes, one of the sales reps came over. "Do you need help finding something?" she asked, an unspoken "perv?" implied by the leery upturned pronunciation of the question mark.
I said something. I can't remember exactly what, but it must have been pathetic and unintelligeble. The words "flesh toned" must have come out. Thank God she understood. Off we went to a corner of the store, and she managed to find what I needed in order to fullfill my quest. She pointed me in the direction of the checkout desk. God bless her; I thanked her profusely.
On my way to the checkout, I passed by a couple of negligees and bustiers and various other French pieces of clothing in a myriad of different animal prints. I had a moment where I thought that maybe I might pick something out but thought better of it. Just the panties today, thanks.
Hats off to you transvestites out there. I don't know how you do it.
My girlfriend gave me very simple directions: nude colored underwear; that's it. Get in, get out, you'll be fine.
Katie has this white dress that she bought and that she wants to wear but, in order to do that, she needs underwear that's not going to stick out. So, she jokingly asked me if I would be willing to run out and pick her up a pair of underwear that's flesh-toned. And I, being the nice guy that I am and not really having anything to do today, decided "what the hell, I'm gonna go buy some goddamn panties."
I had these momentary flights of underwear fancy on my way to the store. Thoughts of lace and leopard print ran through my head. Yeah, I was going to get her the flesh toned underwear she asked for so that she could wear the talky-talky whatever. But in return, I was going to get her something pink and skimpy and lacy, and that would be her penance for making me run her underwear chores. We were going to live out my Playboy fantasies. It was going to be awesome.
In I walked into the Victoria's Secret store near my house, fully intent on buying something degrading and nasty, and I took my first few proud steps into the store before I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. And I froze up. There I was, standing completely alone and by myself in the middle of a lingerie store, suddenly confronted with the complete awkwardness of being a dude in a lingerie store.
You wouldn't think that a bunch of fabric would cause you to halt in your tracks, but, for my part, the moment that I stepped into that store I was paralyzed by the miles and miles of soft, colorful fabric that stretched out seemingly for miles before me. I was no longer in my element. I was overwhelmed. I was awkard. I was alone.
After a good creepy five minutes, one of the sales reps came over. "Do you need help finding something?" she asked, an unspoken "perv?" implied by the leery upturned pronunciation of the question mark.
I said something. I can't remember exactly what, but it must have been pathetic and unintelligeble. The words "flesh toned" must have come out. Thank God she understood. Off we went to a corner of the store, and she managed to find what I needed in order to fullfill my quest. She pointed me in the direction of the checkout desk. God bless her; I thanked her profusely.
On my way to the checkout, I passed by a couple of negligees and bustiers and various other French pieces of clothing in a myriad of different animal prints. I had a moment where I thought that maybe I might pick something out but thought better of it. Just the panties today, thanks.
Hats off to you transvestites out there. I don't know how you do it.
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