There are loads of good reasons to go commando; it allows a better ventilation down there, avoids the trapping of moisture, it eliminates the dreary panty lines, and let’s face it, there are times when you really have no other option.
For me, however, although I can’t deny all the other benefits of ditching my undies, it’s really all about le naughtiness. I had never ever considered going commando, it was simply not a possibility that I was exposed to growing up. It all started with a skipped laundry day. I was running dangerously late for work and the pragmatic young professional in me thought: What the hell, I’m wearing a knee-length pencil skirt, who is going to notice? Well, I did. The moment I stepped out of my apartment and into the world, my mind could only focus on one thing: my bare, uncovered pussy. I was dumbfounded by the amount of arousal I was feeling; I had that sweet longing sensation in my chest and that delicious, unbearable throbbing in my punani. What the hell was going on? The subway ride was more than flesh and blood can stand; all I wanted to do was rub one out with everybody watching. By the time I got to work, I was a cat in heat and in an overly raunchy mood. I had been locking eyes and exchanging flirty smiles with a gorgeous boy from the architecture firm two floors above mine. Being a shy girl, I never had the balls to make the first move, and have always relied on being approached.
That day, in my flustered state, I rode the elevator two floors above my usual and told the receptionist that I had a meeting with Charles (I had heard his colleagues address him in the elevator). The look of surprise on his face when he arrived at the door sent goose bumps down my spine, as I mentally smirked: you don’t even know the half of it.
“He…llo”, he fumbled, with a curious and amused look.
I shook his hand and confidently asked: “Shall we go to your office?”
Who was this seductress trapped inside me?
To be continued.