In Praise of Panties

I like underwear.

My favorite lingerie store is Fredericks of Hollywood, where the array of undergarments range from sweet and romantic to downright sleazy. Their basic underwear is imaginative and serviceable and their specialty garments are fun and spicy. I browse through the racks of wispy fabrics and ribbons, slowly caressing the silks and satins with my palms. occasionally I will select a particularly fetching panty or bra from the rack and touch it with both hands.

I choose my panties and bras with as much consideration as some people choose their mates. They are both intimate partners, are they not? I consider how they will make me feel. Will they be confining, like a jealous lover trying to hold me too close? Will the undergarment appear attractive on the rack but pinch or scratch when close to my body? Each item is selected and escorted to the back of the store to be sampled, modeled and either placed carefully onto the seat or unceremoniously draped back over the hanger, forlorn and forgotten. I prefer panties that are somewhat unique. Perhaps they have a particularly charming t-strap at the back or the fabric is embroidered with a pretty design or the legs have a sweet little skirt fluttering around the opening. I adore the bright, rich colors of the satin bras, love the way the cool fabric cradles my breasts and accentuate my shoulders.

Did I say I liked underwear?

I like the way I look when I step from my dressing room to the mirror, wearing a lace bra and matching thong, a pair of garters gently pinching the tops of stockings. I think I look better with these sexy underpinings on than I do with nothing at all. The bra gives me cleavage and my small round breasts suddenly take on fullness. The panty accentuates my behind, framing it with lace. My skin, in contrast to the jewel tones of the fabric, looks supple and milky white. Clad in softly colored hose my legs appear long and shapely, sleek and smooth. I dress from the skin out, matching the colors, fabrics and textures of my bra and panties to the dress or slacks I have chosen for the day. I like knowing that I am color coordinated from head to toe. I finish dressing reluctantly, layering public clothes over my very private ones.

I walk, sit, stand and move through the day and with every twist of my body I feel a subtle tug from the garter which reminds me that under my oh-so-proper business suit I am wearing a garment that most men and women alike would consider incredibly alluring. It is my secret, and it makes me feel powerful. Occasionally, if my skirt hem is above the knee, I will cross my legs while seated. If you look just right, you may see the tops of the stocking creep down below the edge of the skirt. I know it is there, and yet I do nothing to hide it. I do not blush and tug my dress down to cover the exposed skin, I offer no apology. I pretend I do not know that I have just revealed to you something intimate about myself. I know I am sexy, and I feel that much more erotic for having given you an inkling to the surprises which lie just beneath the surface. I see the look on your face, the slight raise of the eyebrow, the stare that lingers a little too long. It is the same look whether from a man or a woman. Perhaps the meaning is different, but the awareness registers in your eyes for just a moment.

Did I mention I feel sexy when I wear pretty panties?

In the evenings, perhaps on a night out, I will be a little bolder with my display. Maybe I will unbutton my blouse a little lower so when I move my arms or turn a certain way I briefly flash a brightly colored, satin covered breast. I might wear high cut thongs with low cut slacks so that the tops of each share space on my hips. Pairing a push-up bra with a scoop necked tank top maximizes my bustline. I am fascinated with the way this looks from my vantage point - the neckline rests across the tops of my breasts and shows off the slight curves the bra creates. I wear thong or g-string panties under skirts and jeans, the eye taking in the landscape of my back down to my legs, the line smooth and unbroken.

I take pleasure in the look on my lovers face when he 'unwraps' me, stripping me first of my jacket, then blouse and finally my skirt, leaving them heaped on the floor. I see the delight playing at the corners of his mouth when he discovers the extra care I have taken to look beautiful. He knows that I have done this for both his benefit and my own. Sometimes he stops there, working around the soft, stretchy fabrics, enjoying the feel of the silk as it rubs against his skin. Indulging in some secret fantasy he may leave my stockings, garters and shoes on. It brings a small, icy-hot chill up my spine when he does this. I feel more than beautiful then, I feel wanton and naughty.

A drawer full of attractive panties and bras that are worn frequently, not just for special occasions, says I am a woman who is in touch with her sexuality. I wear them for me, for no other reason than I like how I look in them. If there were no lover to enjoy them with me I would still dress this way to remind myself that I am beautiful, I am sensual, and I deserve to be treated to these feelings not just on occasion, but every day. Sexy underwear says something about me that makes words unnecessary. They speak of boldness, of self assurance, of a woman who cares for her body and how she looks. This silent affirmation of who I am underneath carries me throughout my day and evening. It is subtly revealed with every breath I take.

Wearing attractive, flattering underwear gives me confidence. And confidence is very sexy, indeed.