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I was watching my wife brush her teeth this morning. I like the sway sway of her hips as she swished swished the toothbrush. During intermission, when she switched from brushing to flossing, a noticed a difference in the usual floor show. Maybe it was the vertical motion of the flossing that caused the gravity to move things differently, but I thought where did she get those god awful baggy panties? Stunned at myself for having such a thought, I looked away for a moment, but my eyes drifted back to the matter. I watched, a little disconcerted, as folds of cotton swayed in time with the rhythemic flossing. Geez, did Goodwill accidently drop off a bundle of these on the way to the dump? Did the baggy panty fairy leave those in her bureau?
The size of the object they covered had not changed. It was still curvy and petite. Nope, those undies hung off her like the skin off a Chapie puppy. Maybe she had stepped into a parachute that somehow had fallen in the the bathroom, and thought, wow, these are roomy! And they have a rip cord. I quickly checked my own backside in the mirror. I had to jump up a little, as the counter was above my waist, but nope, no baggy there. Gripping like gorilla glue. Had my undies somehow shrunk, and in doing so, caused hers to enlarge? Conservation of mass at work?
Somehow she managed to cram the circus tent she was wearing into her jeans and she headed outside to work in her flowers. Maybe that’s what they are for – to pad her pookie in case she sits down to hard in the peonies.
I was being too critical. Maybe she thought I liked them. Sort of a droopy, floopy chic fashion. Room enough for two to play. Hmmm.
Curious, I opened up the top drawer of her dresser. Wrong side, this was the bra department, all neatly cupped inside each other, arranged by color, from white to beige to black, with the odd green guys lining the sides.
I carefully pulled open the drawer beside it. There they were. I think. My God, what a hideous mess. It looked like a tent convention.
I started digging through the undies. It was like an archealological dig, mapping out the different periods of our time together. Carefully removing the layer of huge and droopy, I reached the land of the large and floppy. A little more color there, with a few tints of beige dotting the landscape. I continued the research, digging deeper. Comfortable and crinkly layer, with a few dashes of pink peeking out. Deeper and deeper I dug through the cotton timescape. Mildly clingy, with a hint of mauve.
Finally, just as I was about to abandon all hope, pressed in a tiny corner, crushed under layers of panty poundage, there were the ones I remembered seeing when we first met. The Ooh La La collection. The ones that fit like a second skin, needing an occasional adjustment. Lacey, intoxicating, erotic, colorful, and most of all small.
I pulled a pair out and laid them on the bed.
"Hey guys," I found myself saying. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Hey stud," I imagined they said. "Glad you dug us up, we were suffocating in there."
"What happened to you guys? I miss seeing you around, " I said mischievously. I pictured them in past, peeking out a of pair chinos.
"Things change, stud. Passion dies. We hear the same excuses. Too uncomfortable. They don't stay on for long. We get abandoned."
"Oh," I said. I thought about "the passion". What used to last for hours, now seemed to take only a few minutes. Everything routine, quick, over, and done.
"That's pretty sad," I finally said.
"Well, don't beat yourself up. Happens to a lot of people. Seems we only get whipped out again when someone new gets to see them," he suggested.
I let them lay there for a moment, then lifting them up to put them back in the chest, I said, "Miss you guys."
"So long stud. See you in your dreams."
I had them almost back in place, when I realized someone was watching me quietly from the door way.
"Were you talking to my underwear?" she asked with a disgusted look on her face.
'I, I, uh" I stammered. I looked at the silky traitor in my hand. It was useless to try to explain. I dropped the undies, and headed outside.
My case was pretty embarrassing. My attorney had a hard time looking me in the eyes when he asked me questions. In court, the judge listened to her attorney, glancing at me from time to time. He cleared his throat and had to be excused. There ws uncontrolled giggling in the spectator seats.
She got almost everything. My attorney asked me, "Do you want a pair of the panties?" trying to be funny. "She can buy all she wants now." I didn't like the way that phrase sounded.
I spend a lot of time at work, getting some extra money to pay attorney bills, and trying to forget. I fill up the night listening to music, surfing the net, and reading. There isn't a lot of support forums for guys who think that ladies undies are talking to them.
One week-end I was strolling in the mall. I passed Victoria Secrets. They were having a "Two for one" panty sale. I glanced at the manikins in the store front as I passed.
"Hey! Miss us," I thought I heard a pair say.
I dashed for the nearest exit.
Although, as I was running, I did wonder, did they sell extra large super baggy panties at Victoria Secrets?