Commando

So I’m at work, wearing a lovely sunflower yellow sundress.

I got three compliments within 15 minutes of arriving at work.

One person told me “You better have a date tonight. It’d be a shame to waste that dress.”

The truth is I LOVE this dress.

I’m going to wear it to the wedding I’m going to in September.

It’s simple and understated yet festive and bright.

But I discovered a design flaw.

There is no lining.

And HOW did I discover this, you might ask?

Well I turned sideways to look at my butt in the bathroom mirror at work and discovered. . .

. . that my blue lace underwear was TOTALLY SHOWING THROUGH MY YELLOW DRESS.

Now I understand why so many people were looking at me when I went to lunch.

It wasn’t (just because ) I looked pretty.

No, it’s because they could see my knickers!

The thing is, now I have to figure out what to do to get myself through the rest of my work day without flashing too many more people my undergarments.

And I think I’ve come up with a pretty good answer.

One that will make all my “unblunder” followers proud.

I’m going commando!

 

There’s no such thing as underwear in BRC

There’s no such thing as underwear in BRC.

At least, I’m assuming this, given the fact that pretty much every outfit I’ve seen that even remotely qualifies as clothing is tight, has a slit up the side, or is so short the world could be your gynecologist.

And it’s hot there in the Nevada desert. Who wants an extra layer of clothing?

I, for one, want to wear a pair. Just to keep the moisture where it belongs, you know.

My prediction, for myself, is that I will start out the week in my lovely Green Faerie costume, but that as the week goes by I will become more and more casual [read: more and more undressed].

It takes me a while to get accustomed to new surroundings. I’m guessing my modesty will last halfway into day 2 or whenever I get so frigging hot that clothes become a nuisance. Whichever come first.

And so, in order to accommodate my increasing nakedness and decreasing modesty, I am bringing a bathing suit with me. Just ‘cuz I might need to walk around in it.

And also, some funny hot pants, because I still have a great ass that deserves to be shown off in some smart assy way.

There may be no such thing as underwear in BRC but I’m not prepared to go Full Monty on the playa.

You might be an OMer if…

I know, I’ve only been OMing for two months, but I’ve noticed a few funny things about OMers so far.  Eccentricities, if you will.  Here are my top 50 reasons why you might be an OMer if…

  1. You take your lube with you everywhere you go.  Have lube, will travel.
  2. You don’t bother putting on underwear because it’s coming off in an hour.
  3. You feel a kinship with the Energizer Bunny.  You keep going, and going, and going…
  4. You call all your washcloths “pussy rags.”
  5. You keep latex gloves in your bedside table.
  6. You buy two different color washcloths – one for face and one for pussy.
  7. Every time someone says “thank you” you perk up like Pavlov’s dog.
  8. You’re so good at giving adjustments you can help a friend parallel park a car on a dime in SoHo between a moving van and a Porsche.
  9. You’ve ever sounded like you’re taking a shit when you’re climaxing. You beast!
  10. You wear skirts for easy access.
  11. Your right foot falls asleep on a regular basis.
  12. The sound of an ombu makes your pussy quiver or your left index finger twitch.
  13. You have a preset 15-minute timer on your smartphone that sees more activity than the actual phone.
  14. You start to use the phrase “there was a moment when…” in your daily life.
  15. You’ve ever used One-Stroke during sex.
  16. You’ve planned your wardrobe around how easy it is to take on and off.
  17. The words “hot seat” get you excitedly uncomfortable.
  18. You’ve ever fallen in love with a stroker/strokee without even knowing his/her name.
  19. You ask for “safe porting” whenever you’re doing something new.
  20. You find that sleeping with your legs butterflied open is incredibly comfortable and soothing.
  21. You refer to foreplay as “the lube stroke.”
  22. You’re flattered when someone calls you a beast.
  23. You’ve ever mistaken a squeal of joy for a woman climaxing IRL.
  24. Your left index finger has seen more pussy than Wilt Chamberlin.
  25. You ask people to describe what emotions feel like in their bodies.
  26. You’re closest friends have all stroked your pussy.
  27. You’ve stroked the pussies of all your closest friends.
  28. Your “little black book” includes frames.
  29. The concept of surrender is part of your daily mantra.
  30. You always write “turn on” as “TurnON.”
  31. You’ve ever thought you broke your clitoris.
  32. You refer to your yoga mat as a “nest.”
  33. You have pillows designed for “head” and “legs.”
  34. You own a zafu.
  35. You give noticings during sex.
  36. You talk about how good a man’s hands are with reverence and awe.
  37. Opening a jar of coconut oil gives you shivers.
  38. You’ve refused to kiss someone until the nest gets put away.
  39. You’ve made out in a nest.  Oops!
  40. You’re constantly correcting “on” to “OM” on your phone.  Damn autocorrect!
  41. You’ve ever asked someone to be your #1 or #2.
  42. You’ve ever said, “An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away” and meant it with every cell in your body.
  43. You love the word “stroke.”
  44. You’ve ever posted anything to your Facebook page that ends in “love, Your Orgasm.”
  45. Your neighbors think you get more pussy than Hugh Hefner.
  46. You’ve ever washed your pussy while sitting on a toilet.
  47. You’ve ever exchanged frames after sex.
  48. You’ve EVER used the phrase “burrito the nest.”
  49. You have a dedicated nest in your home.
  50. You’ve ever rearranged furniture in your room to make room for a nest.

And just for laughs and giggles, here are a bonus five reasons why you might be an OMer…

  1. You’re comfortable taking off your pants in a room full of people.
  2. You’ve ever asked for “more grounding” and it has nothing to do with electricity.
  3. You own a shirt with the word “orgasm” on it.
  4. Someone has to stroke your pussy first before you’ll decide if you want to make out.
  5. You like being handled.

There you have it, my short list of what might make you an OMer.  How many of these things have you done?  Do you have any additions to this list?  Email me at michelle@unblunder.com.

List Additions:

  1. Danielle from San Jose:  The words “one o’clock” always make you think of a clit.

Knickers

Now it may come as no surprise to all you you, but I have a bit of an obsession with lingerie.

I have 7 drawers full of the stuff.

And that’s not counting pjs, tanks and camis, robes, and other boring night wear.

No, I’m taking lace teddies, corsets, cheetah print chemises, black lace garter belts, and genuinely tiny knickers.

Now when I use the word “tiny,” I use it loosely.  Because as all my boyfriends know, I like sexy underthings but I do not wear thongs or g-strings.

They are simply NOT COMFORTABLE for me.

My cousin Jennifer loves thongs and g-strings and I am obsessed with her teeny tiny knickers.  I’m also obsessed with her little skirts, impressive rack (it runs in the family), bikinis, and genuine love of nudity (especially her own).

I heart my cousin.

So it may seem natural to her, given my obsession, that today I shared MY NEW FAVORITE PAIR OF KNICKERS with a guy friend.

Black with a red lace heart and garter belt.  Beauty!

There’s very little I can actually say to capture my enthusiasm for a) buying these knickers and b) sharing them with a man.

Woo hoo!

Yes, you can color me tickled!

It’s turquoise string bikini underwear day!

It’s been a long running joke between my friend Brian and myself that we call eachother and say, “So what are you wearing?”

Thursday, I did my part when I phoned him.

“Hi Brian! It’s Michelle. So… what are you wearing?”

“Jeans and a t-shirt.”Anticlimatic. It’s okay, though. He could be naked in bed for all I care. Not my type.

“What’re you wearing?” he asks me.

“Jeans, sweater, and a push up bra, ” I sass back.

“What kind of underwear?” he asks.

I’m slightly uncomfortable talking about this lest I seem to lead him on. In two short months Brian has gone from turning me down with a “Come on, Michelle. We’ve been friends too long” to calling me three times a day and trying to sneak kisses.

“Pink lace.” I tell him. It’s the truth.

“Not a black thong?” he asks, “You have a great a** for thongs. You shouldn’t wear that granny stuff.”

I IMMEDATELY bristle at his suggestion I wear granny panties. My lingerie collection is exceptional. I have bras that require a PhD in Mechanical Engineering to get in to. My collection is exotic, erotic, and colorful. There’s lingerie I can wear to suit every one of my moods ranging from playful and happy to smoldering temptress.

bra1 bra2

I set him straight and tell him “They’re low rise boyshorts.”

He digs his grave a little deeper, “That WORSE!”

I resist the urge to describe for him how I look in them. I’m on the verge of telling him my cheeks peek out under my panties on the backside every so perfectly – one of my most provocative poses is laying in bed on my stomach, wearing these panties and a soft Hanes t-shirt. Men melt. And in front, there’s barely enough fabric to cover my bare brazilian wax. The lace is semi-transparent and you can see though it just enough to know that I’m an anti-bush kinda gal.

Instead I tell him, “Clearly you don’t get laid enough or you would have a more refined appreciation of lingerie.”

His response, “WHATEVER.”

Seriously, this man has no women skills whatsoever!

Then, he sends a picture to my phone. A black thong….

thong1

… only it’s not a picture like the one here. It’s on a hanger. He’s in a lingerie shop taking pictures.

“Black is sexy. You’d look good in black. Come on. Make tomorrow sexy black thong day,” he says to me.

“You’re sick. Wandering around lingerie shops. Taking pictures of women’s underwear,” I tell him.

“‘I’m horny. So tell me, will you wear a sexy black thong tomorrow?” he asks.

I call him a brat and a goober. “You’re creeping me out!”

Perhaps sensing my anger and repulsion of him at this moment, he changes the subject. Asks to see a picture of my new haircut. The one I referred to as my sexy “Victoria’s Secret haircut”.

vshair

“If I email you a picture, will you promise me you won’t masterbate to it?” I ask.

“I won’t. I promise. I need video for that,” he tells me.

And. I. Hung. Up. The. Phone.

So…. have I been friends with a creep for 20 years or was he just trying to get under my skin?

Thoughts?

So today I’m wearing turquoise string bikini underwear and not a black thong in protest for having my lingerie collection called “Whatever!”