One day in summer, I pulled on my fancy pants and headed to school ready for a morning of swimming lessons. When I got undressed in the changing rooms I happily flashed my undies at all the other little girls and pointed out my pretty new knickers. I was met with wondrous sounds of envy and amazement, and some squinting eyes of jealousy. One particular eye squinter was so jealous, that after I'd removed my fancy pants, popped them nicely on top of my clothing pile and headed out to the pool, she remained behind. No she didn't steal my undies, which would have made more sense, she simply picked them up and threw them over the concrete wall into the boys changing room.
It was only after the lesson, wet and shivery that I realised they were gone. Though foolishly, the villain had bragged about her crime to her lackies who deceptively, ratted her out. Pantiless and wrapped in a towel, I had to run to the teacher in tears and ask her to please retrieve my fancy pants from the boys changing room. The villain got in trouble.
When I was 11 my mother bought me some black undies with a matching black sports bra. I felt so very grown up. Gone were the days of light coloured cotton undies adorned with a fairytale creature. Oh no, I was mature now. My Best Friend at the time was not impressed as her mother, perhaps clinging to her daughter's childhood, had just gone and re-purchased her a whole bunch of light coloured fairytale creature adorned undies. But instead of admitting that she was jealous of my new black undies, she told me they were skanky. She told me I was trying to act older than I was. Was I? I didn't know. All I knew was that these new black undies had made me much more aware of my changing bodily fluids and a little icked out by them. Who knew that white showed up so vividly on black underwear?
When I was 13, my grandma got me some nice frilly pink undies for Christmas. They were pretty. In the summer of that year I started highshool clad my my tartan uniform skirt. Mariana and I and our group of young girl misfits spent our luchtimes on the feild harassing a group of boys from our class. It was all fun and games. Silly name calling, throwing chestnuts at each other, you know, flirting. Somewhere along the way though, a new fad started. The idea was to sneak up behind someone who was standing up, bag on their back, and give their bag a good hard yank by the top handle. It was intended to give them a fright, take them by surprise, make them stumble. Thing is, I have always had terrible balance, so when a fool boy by the name of Matthew played this trick on me, I did not just stumble. Oh no! I flew backwards, my legs kicking high in the air, my head hitting the ground first, I then seemed to pause, stuck there for seconds, head and bag resting on the ground, legs spread eagle, right up high in the air, my fancy pink panties on full show for the entire field to see. I couldn't get up. I couldn't seem to roll off of my back, I was stuck like a beetle, kicking my legs in the air. And my friends? They were all too busy laughing hysterically to help me up. From that day on, for quite sometime, I was known simply as "Pink". A few weeks later a went up behind Matthew with a large toadstool in my hand and mashed it into his open mouth.
When I was 15 my friend and I bought ourselves some leopard print undies from The Warehouse. They were velvety smooth. We thought they were sexy. They were also on special. We thought we'd struck a bargain. That was until we put them on. They felt all right at first, but then we tried to walk. As soon as we dared take a step, the fancy velvety fabric would start sliding. After only a few paces our butt cheeks had completely consumed the undies. We tried and tried to rectify the problem. We tried pulling them down low, we tried walking differently, but all to no avail. We developed a system where one of of us would flank the other as we went in to dig the undies out of our butts. But after a few hours of this, we both called it quits. Life is too short for undies that crawl up your ass. We headed to a public toilet, both removed our undies and threw them in the sanitary bins. We walked home free and breezy.
When I was 16, I planned a big night. It was to be the first of firsts. I bought a black sheer G-string and procured a bottle of vodka and a single condom from a friend. Under a halo of booze and lust, in the darkness, upon an air mattress I discovered that A) when it's dark you can't see fancy underwear or how to put on a condom B) A girl should never buy underwear to impress a boy because boys are ignorant to such things and C) waiting too long for things only makes them very disappointing.
When I was 19, I bought the tiniest pair of undies I could find. I wanted a special pair to perfectly frame my spotless bikini wax. They were a thong, bright red and sheer. They screamed sex and they aroused me just to look at them. When I took them to the counter, the 60 year old woman at the till winked at me and asked, "Big night planned huh?"
I wore my dirty panties hidden under a pair of conservative black trousers. No one but me knew just how bad I was.
When I was 22, I travelled through Europe in a van with the Lover-Man. During the first month we were very good about doing our laundry. We made regular stops at camp grounds so we could wash a whole bunch of smalls. It was amazing just how quick we seemed to go through underwear. After a while we started swimming in our underwear as that way at least they would get washed. At one camp ground stop and wash I got a little too carried away with the washing powder. I also apparently failed to adequately wash the powder out. There is nothing more painful than wearing undies that have been steeped in far too much washing detergent and then left to dry, especially in the 45 degree Spanish heat, when your ass pores are open wide. It itches and burns! It's even worse when the burning starts when you're driving cross country on a busy highway. At one point the burning got so bad that Lover-man and I poured bottled water all over our neather-regions to relieve the pain. After this experience, I spent the rest of the journey going comando. I discovered it's actually quite nice.
Before I got pregnant, I told myself I wouldn't let myself go. I was determined to wear nice clothes, keep fit, try and retain my figure. I even told myself I would continue to wear sexy pants. Then I got pregnant. I felt like vomiting for 15 weeks straight. I could not stand the sight of food. All I could mange to eat was hot chips. My back gave out. I could barely walk. I could not fit into any of my clothes. My underwear stared to try and attack me. It dug into my fleshy bits. One day I picked up a thong and laughed. Just looking at it made me wince. Perhaps it was because if I dared to put one on I may never find it again! It could easily have gotten lost in all of my new found folds and lumps. I went to The Warehouse and bought a jumbo pack of elasticated undies in size jumbo, (almost big enough to use to cover the potato patch in a frost). And when I put them on, I sighed with the purest feeling of relief!
These days I like my undies in stretch cotton. I like them in bright colours with pretty lace trims. I like them snug fitting but never hugging or pinching. I like them to feel like a second skin. These days I like my undies seamless, over sexy.