I would say I have a unique style. I’m more of a dress/skirt kind of gal than a jean/short kind of gal. It’s somewhere lost in translation from modern to retro and vintage. Basically my closet is a disastrous combination of awesome. Any who, I wear these radical vintage like, high waisted and full booty panties…these fuckers are amazing and I just adore them. I feel like this sassy yet classy lady. Plus, really convenient on the off hand chance we have a wind gust and my dress blows up, my sacred area is fully covered and my goods aren’t just exposed to everyone. Lets face it, if I wanted to show the world my goods I would be a stripper or a porn star but I don’t…so big girl panties it is.
So picture this. I meet a tall, good looking 6’10 black man out one night. I’m in a navy dress that is tight around the waist and boob area with a little flare in the skirt, I paired it with red knee heel boots and my large hair is in full swing. I mean, not to pat my own back but I look good. As I was saying, I meet this man, we have a few drinks and I kindly ask him what he does (I don’t actually care), he states his plays basketball (everyone in this town does something…most females are models now), I nod my head and continue to drink. Who gives a shit what he does as long as the mother fucker is nice.
Cocktails and small gossip are over. We walk around the casino more and everyone is stopping to talk to this damn man (who is this guy and why is he famous). After 8 million people stop us he finally asked me if I want to continue the drinks at his house. Usually, I am not that girl that goes to strange men’s houses in the middle of the night but I figured I’m 25 and why the hell not live a little.
We hop in a taxi and proceed to go to his very nice home. The outside was no jaw dropper but the inside was…just shocking…seriously, beautiful wood floors, amazing furniture and great decor. I looked more at this mans house than him. He even had a pool and a hot tub (seriously who the fuck was I with)! He gives me the grand tour and as we are walking up the stairs in a large frame is a NBA jersey and a picture with him playing against a very famous basketball player. I swivel around and pick my jaw up from the floor and kindly say, “No fucking shit, you weren’t kidding”. He gives me a full belly laugh and in that moment he realized that I may be the only girl in the city that doesn’t know who is he.
I seem to be terrified now as he gives me the rest of the tour and a cocktail. Yes, terrified. This man is huge, in height and in life and I am this 5’2 white girl obsessed with home decor…WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT WITH ME! I clam up. Sweaty plams and all. I can’t even get comfortable because I sink into his couch and the coffee table where my drink is, is about a mile away from the damn couch. Fail.
It’s late now, I have no car and I don’t exactly know where I am. He offers a sleep over and I die. DEAD. Whatever, he has been nothing but a gentleman so I oblige but I kindly told him I will not be sleeping with him. He smiles and told me it’s fine. WHEW, I didn’t want to see what his penis looked like anyways. I’m sure it would murder my vagina (gross).
As we reach his bedroom, he throws me a giant sleeping shirt and walks away so I can change. I pull off my dress and am mortified on what I have failed to notice this entire time…BIG GIRL PANTIES. Dear Baby Jesus, what the fuck am I going to do. My palms are sweating (again) and I’m running out of time. Fuck it. I take a ginormous leap on to his bed (largest and tallest bed I’ve ever seen in my life, I ran and jumped) and wait patiently for him.
The massively large man returns and sits down and cuddles up next to me. I have to do it, rip the bandaid off and be strong. I sit up and look him dead in the eye and start with, “So, I wasn’t planning on going home with a strange man I just met this evening and I have…(pause,breathe) high wasted, vintage full booty panties on right now”. I choke the last part. He roars to life with laughter and he tells me he doesn’t quite understand what I mean (how the hell don’t you get it…I’m wearing grandma panties).
Now, I can’t explain them anymore than I just did. I hop off the bed, do a little dance while I lift up my shirt and spin around. Embracing my fashion panties, I loose my terror and hop back in bed. I wait patiently before he asked me if I was wearing somebody else panties since I said the word “vintage”. He just made my night because he wasn’t concerned with the look of my underwear but if they were already worn by someone else. I inform him that they aren’t authentic and I would never wear already used panties.
You would think I would have never heard from the 6’10 man after the pantie debacle but I did. I was shocked that my large choice of undergarments can reel in a man. We joked about it more and we hung out frequently until he went to play in the Euro League.
Bottom line and lesson I learned here was, don’t be frightened of your pantie choice, embrace your inner dork and being real isn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be. Oh, and that I can score any man I want because I’m basically adorable (kidding, it’s confidence and acceptance).