Sunday, 19 July 2009

Lust of the Flesh #2

Knickers - high cut, bikini, full, side-tied, French, briefs, not-so-briefs, boyshorts, hipster, tanga - the list is almost bottomless. Beautiful or practical confections of silk, satin, lace or cotton jersey. Knickers that make one smile enigmatically - M. Lisa was clearly wearing pants by Spank (who display their logo prominently) - or smile joyfully as one plucks a pair from the drawer. Monsoon design fabulously inventive knickers, printed with birds of paradise, cherries, Babushkas, cupcakes and more; good for grey days and dull clothes. (Though I'm not sure that Monsoon is the best name for a designer of knickers). Damaris and Agent Provocateur make one drip with lust - figuratively speaking, of course - and the bank statement tremble with exhaustion.

However, the thong or G-string (cheese string in some quarters) is a vile and uncomfortable invention that has neither the fabric content to mysteriously beguile, nor - well - anything much to recommend it at all. Pure nakedness would be more honest. Where is the silk to caress? The lace to finger? The satin side ribbons to drift gently against a plump, pale thigh? The cheeky burlesque-style ruffles rowed across a rear?

My illustration proves that even my perfect peach of a bottom looks lardy in a thong. Most women, not blessed with a bottom like mine, resemble trussed up joints of meat. I suggest going cold turkey, abandoning the thong and embracing the Directoire Knicker known in some circles - crudely and unfairly - as the Granny Pant. After a week, the standard bikini brief will feel like the flimsiest scrap of fabric. Thongs are wrong - and remember there are few sensations more thrilling than having your ruffles ruffled...

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