Underwear That’s None To Wear

Posted by admin - 29/08/12 at 06:08 am

An odd discussion with a friend the other day brought me back to an old memory, and a hopefully-universal question.

Once upon a time growing up, I was in a band. Actually, many times, I was in a band. But only one of those times need concern us now.

See this? This only exists in the memory of we, the ancient ones.

My band was in the process of relocating to Denton, Texas, which was where North Texas State University is located. NTSU is one of the top music schools in the nation, and I was accepted into the music program there twice, which is a separate story for another day when we’re all better prepared for the depressing hilarity that is my life.

By the way, NTSU is now the University of North Texas and has been for about two decades, making my memories not only old but also comically outdated. I feel like I should be talking about my horseless buggy and calling movies “the talkies.”

Anyway, my singer and bass player were heading to NTSU the semester before I finished up at Panola College, so they went up to find a new drummer, start school, and everything else to get established in a new town.

For purposes of discussion, please note the names have been omitted to protect the guilty, the innocent, and the terminally sexy.

My singer’s dad let them use a small house trailer, and towed it to Denton so they could live in it. Did I say small? I meant “comically tiny.” It was a travel trailer, with a bedroom exactly six inches bigger around than the bed, and a hose for a shower. If ever there is a time in your life that you could get away with squatting in a trailer the size of a refrigerator box, though, it’s early college, so they took it and gladly headed off.

The father had only two rules for the free trailer, and they were quite simple. No girls. No alcohol. While those are easy things to ask for and quite easy for  me to type, for these guys at this point in their lives it was like asking them to give up  oxygen and gravity. It just wasn’t going to happen.

After the first semester of college, they came back to our hometown for the holidays. A cold snap hit, and since the boys didn’t leave any water dripping in the trailer, the father drove back up to Denton to make sure there was some kind of flow so the water pipes wouldn’t freeze and burst.

What did he find when he opened the door of the trailer? A decor consisting almost entirely of alcohol bottles, and women’s underwear. Both heavily used.

Needless to say, that was pretty much the end of that band. The father wasn’t footing the bill for a sex farm for two guys pulling John Blutarsky-like-GPAs. Although I will say this, the fact that those two guys could talk that many women into that much sex in a travel trailer says a lot about their persuasive abilities. It wasn’t like trying to get a girl back to a nice apartment, it was more like trying to get them to give it up in an abandoned half-full storage unit. Bravo to them on their fine work.

The place was decorated with these, except probably not as clean.

That brings me to the question that didn’t come up until much later in my life, after I had a wife and a daughter.

Why would girls leave their underwear with some guy after sex?

For starters, I would think it would be awkward to get sort-of dressed afterwards and drag ass to IHOP while missing a few pieces of your ensemble. And it may seem unromantic to say this, but unlike the encounters, that underwear ain’t cheap. After having to purchase them for my family, I know this would get pretty expensive after a while as well.

If you’re willing to get naughty with a bass player in a travel trailer and leave your bra behind as a souvenir, I would postulate that’s not an unusual occurrence for you, and your monthly underwear bill would probably be somewhere in the low hundreds. Who’s got the money for that, not to mention the time to shop?

And this was some pretty nice underwear, too. Even if perhaps the girls weren’t making the wisest choices, the trophies they left behind were certainly of good quality. It was like they all shopped at Victoria’s Secret, if that secret was something they needed a Valtrex prescription for.

For guys, the opposite is true. We could easily leave our underwear behind, but really, who wants that? Even after the best sex of her life, I doubt a woman is going to want to frame the sweaty boxer briefs as a memento. Our underwear is far more weapon than trophy.

Idle thought, I wonder if gay guys ever exchange underwear after really good sex. You know, like sometimes soccer players swap jerseys with someone on the other team who played a good game against them.

Respect, yo.

— Reid Kerr wears boxer briefs, but only the kind with spandex. He could give details, but probably shouldn’t.

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