Disclaimer: Right off the bat; this blog respects its readers and thus wouldn’t want to offend them. But having said that, don’t forget – dear reader – that this blog is largely about art and art is borderless in terms of how far you can push its creativity. Today’s post is a bit risqué. If you are easily put off by sexual innuendos please, don’t read this post because it will get a bit down and dirty. This post is flagged as PG.
There comes a point in a man’s life when he has to remove a woman’s knicker. It’s inevitable. It’s a point of gravitas. It’s a definitive point. It’s the icing of a flirt. It’s the last horn blown to the game of attraction. It’s the last stanza to the love song. A cul-de-sac of the road trod by lovers. Whatever rings your bell.
A woman’s knicker is a cloak that enshrouds her respect. A woman’s knicker is a metaphor of preservation. And because a woman’s knicker is indeed the custodian of her womanhood, it then becomes a symbol of power. A symbol of her power. And for a man to fully be conscious of this power he has to be in that frame where he appreciates the woman’s worth. He has to acknowledge her potential, her insurmountable role. And that’s why men don’t remove prostitute’s knickers…if they wear any.
I lost my virginity in my early teens. I lost it at the back of an old blue Volkswagen Beetle. A little hot contraption with bald tires. She was older. I was wet behind the ears but very enthusiastic and eager as only a 17yr old faced with the prospect of a lifetime can be. She dragged me into this car that sat behind their house, and there she had her way with me. Not that I resisted!
But I didn’t have the pleasure of removing her knickers.
I felt short changed because to fully appreciate a woman’s nakedness you have to remove her knicker. The process of removing a woman’s knickers is sacred. It’s poignant than the first kiss because it’s an endorsement of sort, an endorsement of you as the man of the moment. The very action of removing a woman’s knicker is a powerful moment, an avatar of supremacy. The very exploit of removing her knicker is defining to the moment as it is for the man. It says – rather childishly because indeed aren’t we all children gentlemen? – that we have triumphed. But largely it means success, and success is a tongue that men seek to learn and muster.
Here is an irony: Whilst men might feel like removing a woman’s knicker is a fruition of their own sly effort, the truth is a tad shocking. The sobering truth is that it’s not us who remove women’s knickers; it’s the woman who “removes” her own knicker. In essence, no woman lets you remove her knicker if she isn’t ready for you. She dictates when you remove her knicker and she dictates where you remove her knicker. Hell, she even dictates which knicker you remove. The true power still remains with her.
But still, it’s a moment of beauty to pull down the woman’s knicker, you know? Yank it over her legs and toss it away because for that moment, that moment when she lies there without her knicker she becomes helplessly yours. The moment becomes more than just about sex. It’s naked power to finally expose the real woman because a woman without her knicker is not the same anymore. She can never be the same anymore because her nakedness was her veil of intrigue, and now that that cloak hangs from the lampshade she becomes bare, stripped down to her elements. She becomes vulnerable in your eyes. And she becomes truly yours for the few hours after the departure of the knicker…or for the next one minute for some men. I’m just saying guys.
There are women who walk about without knickers. The wind blows through them. It’s sexy, yes. But it robs a man off that power to “dominate” the proceedings. It makes a mockery of the sanctity of eroticism. It snuffs the heart of sex. But the knicker has also gone through a metamorphosis; it used to be the mother’s union and then came the g-strings. The message is the less the better, either that or it’s about global warming; when it grows hotter less makes sense.
But hold up for a second. Let’s talk about mothers union as a form of knicker. The only thing uglier than Mother’s union is a Mohawk hairstyle. I can’t understand why any woman who respects herself would wear a mother’s union. It looks like a deflated parachute. It looks like something a woman would wear in a big hurry when her house was burning in the middle of the night. I think a woman who wears a mother union is not respectful of herself or her man. If a woman wore a mother’s union and she didn’t get an orgasm I would blame it on the damned parachute. I hate the Mother’s Union as much as I hate the tax man. I will quit now.
The art of intercourse goes beyond a man being in a woman; it’s about removing her knicker. Removing a woman’s knicker should be done the same way you would eat a good plate of prawns. It’s delicate, it’s an art. I always secretly imagine that for a woman to permit a man to remove her knicker she then allows herself to be his canvas where he can express his artistic prowess, a chance for any man not to squander. Women should wear knickers. It really helps if they are clean, but not always because as some men would submit the true essence of a woman’s smell is not her Channel no.5 but the scent of her knickers.
Tonight many knickers will be shed; small knickers the size of handkerchiefs, big knickers the size of hot air balloons, knickers with holes, black knickers, red knickers, white knickers, borrowed knickers…All these knickers will be shed by amorous men. Some will take their time while others will rush through it. If you are a man and you are reading this, today is your day to take off that knicker like it’s made of delicate china. Take your time taking it off her and look into her eyes while you do it, I swear you will see (apart from ugly lust) a haunting weakness in her eyes. Isn’t that what sex is about guys? To conquer? To make vulnerable? To mark your territory?
Gentlemen, let’s do this.