With guest arriving for lunch in less than two hours, me still in sweats and the house still in need of a good hoovering, I’m hard at work researching a story. I’m browsing the cotton granny knickers in the Sainsbury clothing department. As I try to decide whether white knickers will be best or if tiny pink flowers might be a nice touch, my brain is contemplating the sexiness of large cotton underpants. I decide on plain white and hurry to meet my husband near the checkout, where he glances impatiently at his watch.
The hoovering gets done, and I manage a shower and slap on some make-up. It’s a lovely lunch with good conversation and good friends. It’s great catching up and reminiscing. But as we talk about recipes and walking in Snowdonia, in the back of my mind I consider how loose granny panties would have to fit before one could tie the crotch in a knot.
I serve up pudding wondering how cotton knickers taste dripped in caramel sauce, or how one would feel if one received a pair under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up in gold paper, with a sexy note from a lover. Over coffee, I think about what a spanking might feel like through white cotton knickers, and as we say good-bye at the door, the story begins to form in my head.
Now the house is quiet, and I sit at the computer with a cup of tea, sucking on white chocolate willies – a gift from a friend, who somehow just intuited I would be the type to enjoy rude chocolate. I know I’m surrounded by lots of things that aren’t sexy, but as I think about granny knickers and the spark of a story I wonder just how many things, everyday things that I have yet to contemplate are sexy, or at least could be with a little imagination and enough rude chocolate.
The hoovering gets done, and I manage a shower and slap on some make-up. It’s a lovely lunch with good conversation and good friends. It’s great catching up and reminiscing. But as we talk about recipes and walking in Snowdonia, in the back of my mind I consider how loose granny panties would have to fit before one could tie the crotch in a knot.
I serve up pudding wondering how cotton knickers taste dripped in caramel sauce, or how one would feel if one received a pair under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up in gold paper, with a sexy note from a lover. Over coffee, I think about what a spanking might feel like through white cotton knickers, and as we say good-bye at the door, the story begins to form in my head.
Now the house is quiet, and I sit at the computer with a cup of tea, sucking on white chocolate willies – a gift from a friend, who somehow just intuited I would be the type to enjoy rude chocolate. I know I’m surrounded by lots of things that aren’t sexy, but as I think about granny knickers and the spark of a story I wonder just how many things, everyday things that I have yet to contemplate are sexy, or at least could be with a little imagination and enough rude chocolate.
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