Wednesday, 2 October 2013


For myself, shopping for underwear isn't just about buying a necessary item to keep my womanly parts in check, it's more an addiction to a taste of luxury, a one stocking footed dip into the pool of confidence. Underwear gives me a thrill. For a lot of women I guess it's shoes? I hear that a lot, but I'm five foot, nine. I wear heals and I worry I'll be mistaken for being a transvestite, so my little drag on the cigarette chain of addictions is lingerie. Lingerie (a French word, and any historian knows the French have always been hyped up on sex. a bit like me at the moment )

Obviously it's not impossible to find a cheap set that's worth while, if you dig around and choose carefully a good looking ensemble can be achieved with a tenner. However...this doesn't quite give me the same kick. I like underwear shops. Stores dedicated to, and exclusively for what's worn behind closed doors. Gentle lighting, impeccable service that only comes in the shadow of money, sweet smelling essence of luxury.

It's the draws that really get my skin tingling, I like the soft sliding draws labelled with golden plates of numbers that hold each bra so conveniently. I've been measured half a dozen times, hell just for the fun of it! and I'm an odd size of 32 D. D sounds huge but no really, 32 is small around the underneath. Anywhere but a good quality store struggles to meet my size requirement. Underwear stores are the only shops I enjoy the 'fitting room' experience. Long sweeping mirrors, soft luscious curtains, glittering lights, and assistants that help pluck and slip any loose straps and wayward lace into place.

Scarlet red, ebony black lace, lipstick pink satin, slippery smooth nighties and see through almost not there chiffon. Push up balcony's, daring plunge, sweet miss daisy cotton. corsets, bodices, negligees, sheer body suits and transparent knickers. Crotchless.

I generally avoid where I can the formidable air filled padded push up. I just think it looks silly, more silly than dealing with what you've got. Look amazing, take your bra off and oh shit! your tits went with the bra onto the floor. I like bras that encase my breasts like a mans hands, I want them to embrace them and gently expose the real plumpness of being young. I prefer French panties to thongs but I'm not adverse to anything, I have a selection in my underwear cupboard (oh yes, that right, a cupboard, not a draw or a shelf, a full blown cupboard...I did say this was an addiction)

It's so rare that I feel confident in myself, in my looks, but when I buy good luxury underwear I feel good, I feel great! I stand in my stockings (I don't do tights) and whatever get up I have slipped myself into and I feel good, I have a good pair of tits and long legs have to be used for something. This is all I've got, my experience in the bedroom limited as its been and selected to Mr Jones, means that the underwear thing is my best asset as a woman. I'll wear anything. Cute cotton picking girl next door, to high class call girl.

I love the way that when you purchase something divine, as I have today, you have a naughty giggle and gossip with the counter girl as she lovingly wraps your items in pink tissue paper and seals it with a trademark, the scented sachet is sweet and womanly, a sprinkle of white flower petals in the bag, the swipe of a card and it's mine. My bank must find it curious on my statements when they read Asda own baked beans, and underneath that £50 Boux Avenue Lingerie, almost a double life that me and my undergarments share sometimes.

I leave my secret in its wrapping, I have a scorching hot bath and with the precision of a surgeon I shave everything-a new habit of mine, very Egyptian. Coat myself in bath oil, dry and curl and tousle my hair which has been coloured red and conditioned to a point of mirror shine quality (I'm a tad over indulgent on the health condition and cleanliness of my hair), I go through the makeup routine, matching my face to whatever I have waiting in that bag. Then its a Belle De Jour moment for me in the most flattering, and gorgeous items I own. I don't understand why someone would feel more confident with their clothes off than with them on but I do. I can walk around all day and feel insignificant and self conscious. Let me shake up a head of curls, strip off and slip some perfume down the valley of my breasts and suddenly I'm confident and I'm ready and by this point I've built it up so much all day that I'm desperate and raring to go. Standing in my underwear I like the way I look, probably because the focus is on my tits and everything else instead of my face. Its the feeling I'm addicted to, and the trail of events that follow. I only developed this habit of mine six or so months ago. The same time I discovered sex. The two go hand in hand. This is your fault Jones. You acquired a sex crazed girlfriend and I acquired an expensive addiction. Hmmm.

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