Three Cheers For Plain White, Cotton Panties!
I’m a big fan of lingerie. And if it matches…all the better. I have a great circle of girlfriends who learned this hidden nugget of M.A. Ellis trivia early on. A lack of modesty and not enough dressing rooms at the local Marshall’s saw to that. The rest of our friends didn’t become privy to my matching bra and panties fetish until a holiday party a few years back for an activities group we all belong to. A small faction of revelers migrated from the clubhouse back to my place after the last chafing dish was cleaned and trampled sugar cookie swept up. Without thinking, I escorted everyone through my garage and into the laundry room on our way to the kitchen, inadvertently offering a enlightening glimpse of my drying rack.
Let’s stop and take a moment to bespeak the merits of hand drying. It’s a concept that seems to baffle most men. They don’t realize how blessed they are to be able to throw their underwear into the dryer and not have them suddenly shrink, even if said undies have been dried forty times before. I have often wondered if there is some mutant form of cotton used in women’s undergarments that allows for X number of drying cycles before the truth is revealed. The proof is in the panties, people. They go in fitting just fine and come out at least a size too small. Really, they’re beyond hip hugging at this point. They’ve morphed into a tourniquet.
It’s certainly a mystery of life and one that I refuse to believe has any correlation with water-weight gain, the local supermarket’s Buy One/Get One peanut butter ice cream specials or my personal quest to dispel every local Italian restaurant’s claims at having the best cannoli in southern Florida. But thanks to my dear friend, Kevin, (whose alter ego, Phil, makes his presence known when maximum inebriation is being approached) all in attendance were alerted to the fact I like nice panties. I was fairly un-phased. Truth doesn’t embarrass me. Seeing Kevin/Phil turn my latest Victoria’s Secret purchase into a hat…that caused a moment of hesitation. But in the end, because I’m not the most creative person I know, someone thought the undies looked like a montera and dubbed him “The Matador”. Good friends, good times.
Fast forward a few years and me having had the great fortune of find a partner who isn’t afraid to tell me exactly what he’s thinking on any subject that’s broached. Kelsey, the heroine of my latest release, KINK IT UP, was being tied to an ottoman and I was ready to get down to describing what she was wearing. It’s part of the Ellora’s Cave “Ball & Chain” theme. Stories that center on committed relationships that need a little something to spice them up. In this case, the “something” is an appearance and tutorial from everyone’s favorite bartender/Dom, Chris from WANT TO GO PRIVATE?
I was writing like a fiend, hurrying over Kelsey’s shirt because I knew it had to be easily rippable, a simple white tank top was the prudent choice. But when it came time for what was below her waist, I let my mind become a rolodex of sorts, anticipating how inviting her ass was going to look to my hero. Something so irresistible that he’d be daring enough to offer her the domination she secretly desired. Styles, colors, personal favorites that might actually hold a place of honor in my top drawer zipped through my thoughts. There were so many options available for my heroine who was determined that his role as a Dom might bring the spark back to their marriage.
I yelled from my favorite writing chair, “What color should her panties be? Black or red? Silk or lace?”
“White,” a firm, deep voice answered from the adjoining office. “Cotton.”
What? White? Cotton?
Could all those Men’s Health articles be right? That’s what guys found sexy?
“They’ve been married for years,” I yelled back, undaunted in my belief I knew what men liked. What about all those articles in the leading women’s magazines? What about wrapping your black silk panties around his wrist and binding him to you for life in one fell swoop? It’s my understanding the only thing you have to worry about is the level of difficulty in that move and if your health insurance covers chiropractic services. Also, if you’re a writer, you can’t claim that as a ‘work’ injury…not that I know that from personal experience, of course.
“Doesn’t matter. Plain white, cotton panties. They’re hot.”
I huffed. Loud enough that he could hear. I thought his suggestion was stupid. I may have said, “Thanks for nothing, Paris Hilton” under my breath. He’s got bat hearing…he heard me, but ignored my attempt at instigation.
“I don’t think I have any white cotton panties,” I offered, covering my heroine’s booty in nice, high-cut black lace.
“Yes, M.A.” I could hear the smile in his voice turn to challenge. “I know.”
Backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace. White cotton quickly replaced the black lace and once the manuscript was finished and off to my editor, I made a beeline to my favorite mecca of unmentionables. How had I bypassed the HUGE rectangle display stand of cotton on all my previous visits? Single mindedness and a love of bright colors, that’s how.
And as for that first-hand manly perspective of what’s hot? I’ve had more male comments about this book’s “awesome” cover then all the other covers combined. Obviously, some things just can’t be denied. So, myth dispelled; panties purchased. They seem to be growing on me, the new addition to my top drawer. Not literally, of course. I wasn’t foolish enough to toss them in the dryer.
Despite the fact manuscript revisions resulted in Kelsey being forced to wear a thong for easier accessibility, let’s hear it…Three cheers for never underestimating the power of the plain white, cotton panty!
Until next time,
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