Of Men & Panties, & Men In Panties

I’m sitting at the computer last Thursday night reading an email from a reader of this here blog when hubby asks what I’m doing. I tell him I’m trying to find a nice way to respond to a lovely email. He, as you likely are now, wonders how I can be having a problem with a lovely email.

Well, the email is from Mike who wonders if I have ever reviewed the Cosbella Infinity low rider thong (I haven’t) — and if not, would I. And along with my thoughts on the panties, what do I think of them for a guy’s first foray in the realm of panties?

There are a few problems with his sweet request.

A) I cannot afford to try every panty or lingerie item that folks request or ask about. I wish I could, for completely selfish reasons *wink* (and if you’d like to donate to the cause, let me know!)

However, money issues aside, lingerie reviews are tricky things because of the matter of fit. Sure I can gush on style, quality, value etc., but the fit that thrills me may be a disaster for you. Which brings us to Problem B): judging panties for a man to wear. Even if I ratted and teased my pubic hair, I doubt I get enough to compare to a penis *wink* (And, should you be tucking, what’s your build like? There are lots of questions here.)

So I am explaining this to hubby and ask him, “If the panties came here, would you try them on for fit?” — and then I remember the last time I discussed men wearing panties with him and how he was less than thrilled. I quickly turned to look at him to gauge his response as I gushed, “Sorry, you don’t have to–”

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, the last time I mentioned you wearing panties you gave me that look.”

“What look?”

“That look that’s part disapproval, part disgust,” I say.

“What are you talking about?” he says as he opens a pop and plops himself in the recliner, “I wore panties in college. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t some horrible disaster either.”

“When I was talking about seeing an erection inside panties you were so not interested!” I say. Then his statement hits me. “Wh-what? Back up — what did you just say?”

“Uh, I dunno… I wore panties in college?”

“Yeah. That.”

“I fixed a girl’s car and she gave me panties as a thank you–”

“As a thank you? What girl friend was this?”

“No girl friend — she was engaged. Just a friend.”

“And she thought panties were the perfect thank you gift?”

“Well, she was at K-Mart or whatever and spotted them in the bin and remembered a conversation we’d had and got them as a joke thank-you.”

“A joke thank-you. For fixing some engaged girl’s car. How come I’ve never heard of her before?”

“‘Cuz she was engaged–”

“Engaged, but she gives you panties.”

Now he’s looking less comfy-casual and starts babbling like he’s done something wrong. “Her name was Chris. She was like 200 pounds, 6 feet tall, with short hair and looked more like a male Chris than a girl Chris.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m not sure if I should defend poor Chris now or not…

But hubby interprets my silence as me waiting for him to continue explaining.

“She remembered a conversation we’d had where I was mentioning trying on girls’ panties and so when she saw them cheap at K-mart or whatever she grabbed them and gave them to me saying thanks for helping with the car. It was no big deal–”

“When did you have a conversation with this engaged more-like-a-male-Chris about wearing panties?” I ask.

“We were in theatre together–”

“You realize I’m gonna blog about this — and when I mention the ‘theatre defense’, maybe throw in your love of show tunes, well, you’re not gonna come out of this looking less gay,” I laughed.

“Everyone in theatre is weird,” he laughed back. “And I’m secure enough in my masculinity to admit to my love of show tunes,” he continued as he grabbed for a handful of my breast.

I slapped at him to wait for that and said, “So, what was the conversation like?”

“Just something about wondering what it was like to wear panties or something. I don’t recall specifics; it was just something said working tech one day or night or whatever.”

“OK, so you fix her car, she spots cheap panties and thinks it would be a funny way to say thank you… And you try them on…”

“Yeah, but I didn’t show her.”

“What do you mean you didn’t show her?”

“When she gave them to me, she said I had to show her.”

“Wait, the engaged girl wants to see you in the panties?”

“Yeah. She said I was supposed to show her. But I didn’t.”

I’m now wondering just how engaged this girl was — I mean where was her fiance to fix her car? Why is she asking to see him in the panties? But I know if I get us all side-tracked with this stuff (which really no longer matters), we’ll never get to the good stuff. So I skip ahead. “OK, so you try them on, and…”

“Well, they didn’t fit right at all.”

I just raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

Now it’s his turn to raise his eyebrows — in a completely different gesture. Tilting his head to the side and down to indicate his penis he says, “I am too big to fit inside…”

“Well, I could have told you that,” I laugh. “I bet Chris could have told you that, if she ever saw you naked.”

“Uh, no,” he says. But he does smile at my acknowledgement of his size. (Men never tire of hearing that, do they? I mean in all these years, he acts as he did the first time: pride mixed with surprise. But I digress.)

“So what did the panties look like?”

“Just little panties,” he says — forgetting who he’s talking to here.

“Like bikinis? Or briefs?”

“I guess bikinis.”

“Satin?”

“I don’t know… You’re everyday non-cotton panties.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

“Sheer?”

“No. Well, I guess under a certain light maybe…”

“But not really sheer; more like thin material.”

“Yeah.”

“What size?”

“I don’t know. I never looked,” he says, sounding a bit annoyed.

“‘Cuz you could have tried a larger size…”

“Yeah, I was really gonna ask her to get me a larger size,” he laughs.

“Why didn’t you just turn them around, see if they fit better that way?”

He is completely puzzled now. “Why would I?”

“Because there’s more material in the back.”

“But they would be backwards.”

“Yeah, so. It’s not like either side has that flap for peeing,” I giggle.

“Well then the leg holes wouldn’t fit right. Duh.”

“Duh. But just to see if the extra fabric would hold you in–”

“It never entered my mind.”

“But you could have seen if more fabric could hold you.”

“The leg holes–”

“Jeez, so the leg holes go up higher and show more butt — you said she wasn’t there, who was gonna see?”

“The leg openings had this lace and that would have been high up on my butt,” he says.

“So, it’s not like you had to wear them all day…”

“Scratchy,” was all he said. Now that I can understand. *wink*

“OK, so you didn’t fit. But you tried them. How come when I mention it, you’re all creeped out?”

“I’m not; I wasn’t.”

“Were too,” I say most maturely. “I saw your face…”

“If you saw anything on my face it was probably me wondering if you really wanted me to do it, and if I should stop and buy a pair one day to surprise you. Then me thinking about how the ones I did try didn’t fit, so what size should I buy, and then me wondering again if you really wanted me to.”

“You were really going to buy a pair and surprise me?”

“Yeah. But like what usually happens when I go to the store, if you don’t give me a list, I forget.”

“So I guess I’ll have to put ‘panties’ on the list,” I giggle.

“Well, then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he says, pulling me closer for a kiss.

“Well, seeing you in them still would be…” I say as I move in for the kiss — the kind of a kiss which is more than just a kiss…

So, we never did really get to the matter of panty reviews.

But I think hubby and I are both open to suggestions. *wink*

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>