Lingerie For The Masses

Last weekend I was entertaining a guest, you know, the sort I was planning to have lots and lots of sex with in between ordering pizza and uncorking wine. I decided to be fancy. Like, maybe wear something under my jeans other than cotton panties with holes and such.

I charged into a shop after work; an average mid-market high street shop. I shoved the teenage girls aside and marched to the lingerie section, where there were decidedly more teenage girls. I growled until they went away. Then I started sifting through the mechandise.

And what did I find? Structureless padded push-up bras. Fine for the prepubescents I frightened away, I guess. No use to me. Cheap polyester knickers that rise to the lower hipbone, somewhere between my clitoris and ovaries. TRANSPARENT LEOPARD PRINT NIGHTIES.

Lingerie is getting more and more like a Hollywood executive’s idea of a Parisian brothel. If we’re expected to wear cheap synthetic scarlet panties with matching dressing gowns, then we should accurately represent our sisters (and brothers, of course) in the sex industry.

How to do this…hmmm…by being in a constant state of ill health due to poor working conditions? Frequently sporting bruises, abrasions, wounds and scars from the high proportion of violence experienced by sex workers?

Or, possibly, buy the undergarments that the thinking lover will appreciate. Something that reflects our personalities and won’t suffocate our ladybits.

Let’s go with out lingerie instincts, not the ones imposed on us.

Contact the author here: miriam@morningquickie.com