Hold the pants, please.

Saturday night is upon us again.  As usual, my apartment was the launching pad for an evening out on the town. My cousin / BFF Melissa, Dr. Normy, Kober, and the lovely, newly single Stephanie, congregated at my place for drinks and some chit chat.  As I was getting ready to roll out, I contemplated my attire for the evening…. the question that plagues men all across the globe descended upon me:

Pants, or no pants?

man wearing pantyhose and heels

I’ll have a saturday night, dressing on the side, some extra napkins, and no pants, please. I’m allergic to them.

One can generally count on me wearing pants Sun – Wed night. Thurs, Fri, and Sat, however… I often rock the heels, hosiery, and skirt.  I began my hosting duties wearing some jeans. As our departure for dinner became eminent, I decided that it would be disingenuous of me to wear pants out on a Saturday night.

NO PANTS!

I descended into my bedroom for a moment. Located my favorite black mini skirt. Slipped into my favorite nude pantyhose (read about them here, if you are that interested) (and for those of you not yet in-the-know, you can read about this awesome hobby of mine here) , put on some black patent leather heels,  and situated my inside-waist-band-holster so that I could carry a loaded .45 in the small of my back underneath that skirt.  Being prepared for trouble has a way of allowing one to relax and enjoy the evening. When I came up stairs, I got applause from Melissa and Stephanie. Cade knows this is how I roll on the weekend. Kober had never seen anything like this before: “Are you serious?  You are seriously going out like that? I think I need another drink…”

Dinner was delicious and uneventful.  We then went to Gracie’s and met up with some of Melissa’s friends.  I introduced myself and found a seat next to someone we will call Susan.  She was *gorgeous*… long, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, a happy countenance, she definitely had my attention.  After a few minutes of chit chat, she looked down at my legs and said, “What’s this about? I want to know”.   I said, “It’s a long story, I’ll try to make it nice and short for you.”   I took her hand, rubbed it on my hosiery clad leg, and said in her ear, “THAT – feels very damn good”.  ( For the uninitiated – there are certain kinds of pantyhose / tights that feel truly amazing on your skin. Most American hosiery brands feel like shitty burlap on your skin, and it’s no wonder that women hate wearing them. I was wearing a nice pair imported from the UK. Much like cars,  the Europeans have better taste and manufacturing techniques when it comes to hosiery. They do it better. MUCH better.  I digress. )

Susan: “Oh, that’s it? You just like how it feels?  That is so hot!”

Me: “Yep. That’s it. It’s just a sensual indulgence”.

Susan: “I really like that…  you obviously have huge balls to do that. Okay, now I need to hear the whole story…”

I proceeded to tell her the tale of how I discovered this hobby / fetish / fascination.  She listened intently and seemed to totally understand.

Me: “…of course, it was my best kept secret growing up and in my 20′s…I was terrified of what people would think of me. At some point I realized that life is too short to live according to anyone else’s agenda.”

Susan: “That is so cool, I love that you do it”

Me: “Okay, now it’s your turn. Tell me something dangerously true about you.”

For a moment I thought I had lost her.  Her attention receded, her eyes wandered, and I thought that this was the point at which she would “have a call to make” or “need to use the bathroom”.   She refocused and leaned in:

Susan: “Okay. I will tell you something but you have to promise not to tell anyone. My friends give me so much shit about this…”

Me: “Of course. It’s between us.”

“Susan: “Okay, so, for my job, I travel a lot…. I’m in a new city every week, I meet new people all the time… and I just like to fuck.”

She looked at me with a semi surprised look on her face, as if she was bracing herself for my negative reaction. I just looked at her matter of factly, and motioned for her to continue.

Susan: “After being married and couped up, I’m divorced and now I just like to have fun. I like to fuck and not get any feelings involved. Is that bad??!  My friends are always telling me ‘ Susan, stop being such a whore!’   They give me so much shit about it”

Me: “Do you think they might be jealous?”

Susan: “I don’t know. I have no idea. They just always rag on me about how much sex I have.  Is that bad of me?  I just love sex! I love to just fuck ‘em and leave ‘em.  Some people like to have sex and then cuddle and get all emotional – not me.  I just like to fuck their brains out and then kick them out of my hotel room,  and I like them gone before my breakfast shows up in the morning.”

I was super attracted to this girl to begin with – and now she’s telling me about how she loves to fuck for sport.  I was not sure how to interpret this.  She could have told me a hundred different things about herself. She could have made up something stupid, but this is what she chose to share with me.  Was this a door opening up for me to have sex with her?  Part of me was thinking “Yeah man – this is a green light to proceed forward”.  Another part of me – that insecure, awkward geeky kid – simply cannot accept a reality in which I show up to a bar dressed up in heels, hosiery, and skirt, and have the one of the most beautiful girls in the bar express interest in fucking me.  As I write this, I still don’t really know what the deal was. I also realize that by blogging about this, I run the chance of her reading it and having THAT truly destroy any chance with her.  That’s okay. My creative process is far more important to me than any pussy.

I have been around the failure block enough times to know, however, that this degree of uncertainty is probably why I did not end up fucking her brains out last night.  Women – particularly high value women like this – can sniff that insecurity out 7 miles away, and it is known to cement panties onto the hips of women, making them highly unlikely to drop.

She got up to use the bathroom, and offered to buy me a drink.  She returned a few minutes later with a bud light for me. When she sat back down, we talked a little bit about work (we work in related fields). She is interested in having some boudoir photos done; she loved my work.  That might happen.  As we were talking, she was playing with her hair a lot.  My experience in the seduction / pick up artist community has taught me that there are certain behaviors that women subconsciously do when they are experiencing attraction – and she was doing one of them: playing with her hair a lot. Next time you are at a club, watch couples talk. The girls who are interested in the guys they are chatting with will almost always play with their own hair as they talk.  It’s interesting.  She was doing it. My inner dialogue starts up again: “She’s doing it.  Really?  Should I be pushing forward here? Maybe her hair is just bugging her…. ”   I decided to at least make an effort – I invited her and her similarly gorgeous friend to join us at my place after the club for some wine. Though they said they would be coming over, it never materialized.

And that’s ok.

Susan is very interesting… I’m not super interested in being  a disposab

le 1 night stand for her anyway.  I’m more interested in 10 or 15 night stands.

* * * * * *
Addendum: As is usually the case, toward the end of the night, some guy came up and introduced himself. As we were leaving, he said, “you’ve got great legs. I think I’m going to try that look out, too.”

There’s one at every party.

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