Saturday, March 6, 2010

sexuality: wondrous, mysterious ... ridiculous

Every now and then my mind returns me to the moment I still claim as my most embarrassing. The journey happened again recently and so I recreate it, here, for you.

"The moment" happened in winter, just after my 19th birthday.

It was just past Christmas. It may even have been Boxing Day. I was going to visit my boyfriend at the time, and I was wearing a new dress I'd received as a gift.

I was also wearing my first real stockings, the kind that require a garter belt.

I'd ordered the garter belt from the Sears Wish Book, so I hadn't had a chance to try it on before I wore it. I also didn't have much experience ordering from catalogues - I had lived a fairly shopping-sheltered life to that point - so I'd kind of made an educated guess about sizing. When I put the garter on I found it a little snug around my waist, but I figured I could tough out the slight discomfort for an hour or so (since I wasn't planning to wear it for long).

So off I went, a twisted yet naive version of Little Red Riding Hood, imagining myself quite sexy and sophisticated.

I honestly don't recall what happened when I got to my boyfriend's complex. He lived in a PMQ - Private Married Quarters - a kind of subdivision for military folks. The parking lot nearest his 'apartment' was mostly full, there was quite a lot of snow and someone was having difficulty getting parked but I can't remember whether the problem was mine or someone else's.

All I know is that at one point I was standing outside my vehicle and I was talking with a man and his very young son. One of us was trying to help the other.

As I stood, chatting gracefully with this man and his child, I felt the garter clasp snap gently apart. And very, very slowly, I felt the garter make its way past my hips and my knees.

Finally, the garter was at my feet. Between my cheap, black, high-heeled shoes, in fact. I saw it there, red lace, in the snow, and I knew it looked as though my panties had fallen off.

All I could do - to maintain the illusion of dignity, I suppose - was keep talking, pretending that nothing had happened.

The man, a gentleman, pretended with me. The child, miraculously, also maintained his silence, though his curiosity must have been intense.

To this day I have never felt more humbled. My sense of power and sexuality were vapor and I was small and flawed, a silly girl too clumsy to be a femme fatale.

Today, I can't deny that "the moment" was an embarrassing one, but it is not a source of shame. Instead, it reminds me that the most important sex toy in my collection is my generous sense of humour.

Without that, I'd never get naked again.

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