Posts Tagged sexiness
Wow, has it really been two weeks since I’ve written anything? Sorry about that, readers! Time got the better of me. As well as that, there’s not been an awful lot going on, really… well, not a lot that I’m inclined to blog about, at least, for the time being though I may tell you about it all at some stage. I do have two little stories for you though, so here’s the first!
My best friend from high school was given a new iPhone for Christmas, and I, having resisted technology for as long as I was able to, was dragged into the 21st century by being given his old one. It’s fairly old, by iPhone standards, and there are a lot of apps I can’t get due to the OS being out of date/me not being able to update it because the phone is unlocked and updating them would lock it rendering it unusable. One app I was surprised to be able to get though, is a fairly well-known app for males who like to have sex with other males to find each other, as far as I know it’s a Europe-wide app which I think is based in the UK. I’m not entirely sure how it works but it tells you how far away the other person is in metres. Orwell would die if he could see it.
Anyway, I got myself on this app and uploaded a picture and wrote the obligatory text – unfortunately not my standard text due to character restrictions – and soon enough the messages started appearing. As with any “dating” service like that there are a fair few creeps, but with the big red BLOCK button only a thumb swipe away there’s no need to be hassled by them too much.
I got a message from a guy whose profile name alluded to his being well endowed. Intrigued, I sent him a message asking for more information. What I got back stunned me. He had a nice body and an okay face but (the sensitive among you stop reading now) my God, I’ve never experienced a penis like it. He had pictures of it next to various things for scale – a remote control, his leg, etc, and every time, it was impressive. Easily 2o cm, probably more like 23 actually, and thick!! Even KittyMama – who often frequents Large Penis Support Group (yes, it is a thing) – was impressed when I sent her a picture. So the next day, I arranged to meet him.
He’s just had wrist surgery, so we limited ourselves to hands and faces, but still it was fun. Try as I might I couldn’t swallow the whole thing, though he said afterwards I did better than most (I’m wary about believing compliments like that when I’m still with the person, because few people are going to tell you honestly in that context what they thought of it if it’s a negative. If I get a call back, that’s when I know I’ve done well). He wasn’t too noisy and didn’t take a ridiculous length of time to cum, but it was long enough to have been worth the trip to his and long enough to get me heated up enough that it didn’t take me very long to finish off afterwards either. He was also a nice easygoing guy and even gave me a ride home afterwards, which is nice when it’s -2C outside and the buses aren’t running to their already erratic schedule. All in all, a refreshingly pleasant experience!
He’s texted to see if I’m around this week, which I am, though how free I am varies given that I have two exams (one today, which was awful, and one on Wednesday, which has to go better) and I leave on Thursday to go to visit Tigger for a few days.
This one comes from Ange, who has been reading this blog since the early days. By which I mean about January. Anyway. Enjoy!!
Ok, so I love reading about Dex’s casual sex meets because it takes me back to a time when casual sex was my favourite hobby. I’m not too old, but old enough to remember chatlines – before the introduction of a well-known website where you want people to paw your profile and a lazer-buzz could herald your next fuck. Those were trying times and I had to invoke the Trades Description Act on a number of occasions, but I digress. So, sex-meets revolutionized by t’internet, I started making my way through the huddled masses and experimenting with some different stuff to find out what I liked. Sometimes pleasantly surprised, sometimes repulsed and (on at least one occasion) quite alarmed – but that’s another post.
One evening after a few lazer-buzz messages I agreed for a reasonably good-looking guy to come over to mine. “One thing. I have a bit of a denim fetish.” says he while I’m giving him directions. Ok, fair enough, after the incident with the belt I think I can handle denim. “Do you have any tight jeans?” was the next question. I did indeed. I had a pair of Levi 501s that I’d had since I was 15 and, yes, I was prepared to squeeze myself into them for his arrival. Good.
He arrived about 20 minutes later and I was thinking “great, I’ll be able to get these jeans off before they permanently mark me” (I was a VERY skinny teenager). Bingo! He liked the jeans, they really turned him on and we started rolling around in my livingroom. It was actually very exciting… he was touching me up through the jeans, feeling every inch of my lower body right down to my ankles and back up again. Then, just as I thought I was going to be released from my denim prison, he tells me that he has brought a pair of jeans with him that he would like me to wear. Erm… ok then. He nips out to the car and comes back with a pair of denims that I can only guess were purchased from GapBaby. I had two options for getting into them – A) I could cut off my feet or B) I could get greased up and jump in from the top of the wardrobe.
Ok, ok, it’s just jeans I thought. So there I was in my livingroom squeezing into these ridiculously small jeans will he sits on the sofa watching and moaning (not touching himself or anything). Then, as I held my breath and did up the last button, he shot his load. Right there and then. No wanking, no touching, no nothing. I didn’t know whether I was more impressed or angry, given the fact that I had yet to be satisfied. He seemed quite embarrassed, crow-barred the jeans off me and left. I have never just came by looking at something, no matter how erotic (which obviously, I am). I wonder if any of you have?
So there we have it!! If you’ve got a story or rant of your own and feel like helping a blogger out, drop me a line at firstname.lastname@example.org and you may well see yourself here in a couple of weeks’ time!
I arrived at University in the September, and moved into student dorms/halls of residence (depending on where you live) which were at the edge of the city. The halls I was in were quite small, there were only maybe 250 students there, spread out into blocks. I got there on the Friday, and on the Saturday my best friend from school came to spend the night at mine for some fun. We were hanging out before we had dinner at the reception area where some people were still arriving and getting their keys, and a girl I later learned was called M arrived with her suitcase and parents in toe. It turned out (I learned by eavesdropping on her conversation with the receptionist) that she was from central Europe, sparking off what I’ve called my central European fetish and lending itself well to my friends’ calling her The Slov, which somehow sounds insulting even though it’s not really a word.
A few weeks later – it must only have been the beginning of November, if that, that by some string of events I’d found myself in her room one Friday night with a bottle of Bacardi (it was a present from my grandmother, of all people. She gave me it before I left, along with a hardback black notebook, “for your special addresses”. She clearly saw the writing on the wall). I knew she had a boyfriend, back in her home country, and I’d even seen him once when he’d come over to visit her, but clearly my 17-year-old brain didn’t care. We talked ourselves in circles for hours culminating in me eventually asking outright whether I could kiss her. “You can try,” she said. I did.
We ended up on her bed, not naked but topless at first, and I was confronted with boobs for the first time in a sexual context which baffled me. What the fuck do I do with these? I thought. It turns out they’re actually quite good fun when you get the hang of them though. That night we only had oral (which I was later told on no uncertain terms that I was abysmal at, it being the first time I’d gone down on a girl), but we were up for hours having fun in just about every other way we could think of too. I think in the end I was awake for a day and a half and then had to go and sleep until Monday.
That lead into what can only reasonably be described as a tempestuous relationship for the rest of that academic year, the following summer, and a full semester-and-a-half of the academic year which followed it. For most of that time we were actually a couple, which looking back on it is weird because she was insufferable a lot of the time as was I, and we weren’t very compatible personalities either. Still, it was what it was; she was the first person I ever said “I love you” to in a romantic way, and at the time I meant it. The first time we had sex in the traditional understanding of the word must have been in either the January or February following that first encounter, after she’d definitively split up with her ex and we’d become a couple. I think the only thing that was normal and healthy about our relationship long-term might actually have been the sex, come to think of it.
Three years after the first night we spent together I was at a party not far from where I live now, and who should turn out to be there by sheer coincidence but a girl that M went to school with in her home country and her boyfriend, who was – you’ve guessed it – M’s ex from that same time. After we worked that out we had quite a good laugh for the first while until either he worked out which of M’s exes I was or got drunk enough to do what he’d wanted to do in the beginning, and he jumped me from behind and punched me in the face a few times. It was a bit scary at the time but looking back on it now just seems a bit ridiculous; firstly, that he was even there in the first place, and secondly, that three years on he still cared enough about it. Masculine pride, eh?
Three guesses where this person lives!!
Last summer I was outside camping with some friends. We were almost in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by big trees right next to our tent and next to an open field. Somehow I ended up in my friend’s tent (which is a whole other story to write about) and we had barely fallen asleep when the wind started kicking in. Normally I’m not afraid of thunderstorms but this one was right over us. The lightning came right along with some earth shattering thunder.
It was like Noah’s perfect day to take his new ark out for a ride – Armageddon LIVE! – and I think for the first time in my life I was really aware that nature is so much more powerful than we humans and that if we don’t take good care of ourselves we could end up dead…
“But I don’t want to die!!”, I thought to myself followed by the first next thought that came to my mind….”I need to have more sex!!!”. I don’t know if you ever had the feeling that this might be IT. But I figured that the “I need to have more sex” thing was definitely something that needed to be realized ASAP!
So obviously we all didn’t die, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to write this story but I didn’t forget about my “God’s given ‘vision’ ”
Since I am so not into the whole “let’s go out dancing, get drunk and find someone to have sex with”-thing and I am also not really into having sex as a straight woman – I was hunting around for places where my queer self would be much appreciated AND I could have sex (also, there is a slightly higher chance of running into men in woman’s underwear at queer sex parties than in an ordinary club ;-))
Luckily I live in one the the world’s most artsy and colourful cities, so there are countless possibilities to find a good sex party: straight, lesbian, gay, queer, BDSM, trans*, role play, with and without playing dirty (maybe the term “golden shower” rings a bell) leather fetish….we even have several locations which offer special “playgrounds”, meaning you find cages, crosses, stretching banks as well as whips, riding crops and bondage gear. As I always say: we live in paradise. It’s right there in front of your eyes, you just have to look around and view it. (As Willy Wonka likes to sing….I have a chocolate fetish by the way, but then who doesn’t ;-))
Off I went to my first sex party which luckily somehow was almost right next to my place, so even as I wanted to chicken out there were no excuses like “but it’s too far, I’m too tired, it’s raining”. I decided to go for a “no underwear, nylons, mini-skirt and minor-see-through shirt along some with heels” – outfit.
It was a party for women, lesbians and trans* which also offered a short bondage workshop in the beginning – something that I always have been curious about.
The place itself looked like a “playground for adults”. As I walked down the stairs I found myself in the arousing world of leather swings, cages and gynaecologist chairs – so hot! Very happy about this newly found universe in the city, I was literally gliding upstairs, flying by the bar straight into another room in the backside of the club.
Comfy, wide imitation leather couches were waiting for their horny guests.
The woman who was offering the bondage workshop gave the female crowd an overview about the basic rules for tying someone up nicely and even more important: safely! (Note: always have a pair of scissors handy.) I was so excited about learning about different ropes and knots to fiercely dominate and tie up the next person who would be remotely submissive, but after several demonstrations of different knots (and a very long working day) my brain was one big knot itself and couldn’t remember anything that it just had been taught. So there went my fantasy…
So I bravely volunteered to play the submissive part as we got to practise on each other. In walks – as I like to call her – Bondage Girl. Tall, athletic body, short blond hair (and a very stylish haircut! I am a sucker for stylish haircuts!), green eyes…”So…you want to be tied up?!”…rope in her hands…
I huddled up in my short skirt and nylons thinking: “I’m not wearing a thong…now everyone is gonna see my…ah…right! Sex Party…! Exhibtionist mode on…!” (not that it’s ever off)-
Bondage Girl straightens out the rope… it gently glides around my ankles winding its way up my each leg like a snail… smoothly moving the soft nylon on my skin…
“Shall I go on and tie you up even more? I am in the mood to experiment…” Experiment away!
The rope continues its journey around my hands which are now safely secured in a praying position in front of my chest. Each time she makes a knot she pulls the rope gently but firmly, leaving no doubt that she’s in control. She takes my shackled hands, puts them behind my head and starts sliding the rope around my chest…there is no way to move my hand from the back of my head. She loops the rope around each breast continuing making smaller knots on my sternum…then she pulls the whole art work on my sternum towards her…It’s like 10 pairs of hands touching you everywhere of your body, luring you with the sweet gentle touch of a lover and leaving you with the feeling of being someone’s prey…
I never thought I would enjoy receiving bondage, leaving me wanting more. In my personal life and in my life as woman who runs her own business I am quite the doer. So of course it first felt like the obvious and natural thing to be the one to “do” (give) bondage to a play partner. WRONG! It was somehow not only arousing but also very relaxing to for one moment NOT be the one to “pull the strings”.
Guess you never know until you try 😉
After this night I ran into the woman who was offering the bondage workshop during a female porn award party (GOD! I love my colourful artsy hometown!) and I kind of started seeing her. Since she obviously is into giving bondage it naturally led to being “tied up” during another sex party where I also had a fierce “foreplay” with a gorgeous trans* in woman’s underwear, suspenders, nylons and high heels…but that’s another story…
In case you are getting curious yourself about going to a sex party – here are some tips.
Things you want to check before going to a sex party and while you are there:
– Check with people who already have been there if it is a safe place for you to be there – what were their experiences like? (I did ask the owner and well known sex-positive activist in my favourite sex shop for women and trans* as well as people from the queer community)
– Know what you like or would like to experience and were your borders are. Being tiet up might be a lot of pleasure for one person but sheer horror for another.
– ALWAYS PLAY SAFE!!!!! If you are going to a sex party there should be free access to condoms, dental dams and gloves as well as lubricant. If you have small hands like I do it might be a good idea to bring your own gloves in a smaller size since I mostly find gloves starting at a medium size at these parties. Of course this works, too, but if you are finger fucking someone – especially guys – the gloves tend to wrinkle up which can be a bit unpleasant for the other person. Also for fisting it’s important that the gloves fit perfectly well.
– For sanitary purposes there should be disinfection spray and wipes. All surfaces at the party should be able to be cleaned and disinfected. The playground should look and be left clean.
– The rules of the sex party should be printed out and visible to everyone. Read them! Normally the door men or woman or someone who has already been there will explain these rules to you and give you a tour through the location.
– Always check if it is ok to watch a sex scene. Of course you don’t just walk up to someone and ask during their play but normally people give hand signs or let you know if they don’t want you to watch. It’s always good to ask when you arrive at a party what the rules about watching a scene are.
– If you are hearing the words “Help me, please help me!!!” it’s not necessarily a reason to rush over and “free” the other person. Especially at BDSM parties this can be part of the play. However each party has code words to ensure the safety. I mostly find the code words: green, yellow and red. Red usually is the term for “stop”. Make sure to know what the code words are BEFORE becoming intimate with someone. Talk to the other person about your code word for “stop” and know theirs.
– Get to know the person(s) you will have sex with BEFORE the actions starts. A good and healthy minded play partner will ask for your borders (“is there anything that you don’t want me to do?”) and might even check with you during the action when unsure. Since I am not of the quiet kind I had a very cute play partner ask “Is it ok what I am doing?” couple of times during our night of fun before s/he knew for sure I was (very!!!) fine 😉 For example: I like to be tied up and spanked but you don’t want the person to grab my feet – Might seem illogical, but it gives you an idea.
– If the person wants you to do something you haven’t tried before and you are curious but inexperienced: Let them know! They might be fine with it and teach you something new and exciting! However if you are not up for this particular new practise, just say “no”.
– The most important thing someone taught me at a sex party was: “You have to learn to say NO.” If someone wants to have sex with you but you don’t, it doesn’t mean that you have to say YES because you are at a sex party. NO it is! Also, if they are into something that crosses your healthy borders and you don’t feel comfortable with: NO!
Having sex is very intimate and you open yourself up to someone because you trust them. Always make sure you are and feel safe otherwise you will be left with some scars (not only physically but mentally) and you might end up paying a lot of money for a good therapist.
– Stay clean! Sex parties are definitely not the place to get drunk or take drugs of any kind. You want to be your sober self who is aware of what you are doing and what you are receiving. Though there are quite some drugs out there that can intensify the pleasures of sex I certainly would not take them with someone I don’t know.
– Be yourself! Be open about what you like. Dress like you feel like. One of the questions I get the most is: What to people wear during a sex party. Well, that depends on the party. If it’s a BDSM party I see a lot of leather gear. At a party for woman/lesbian I found a lot of tank tops and jeans, at a queer party I found people dressing from casual to half-naked-pink-butterfly-elf with glitter. Some are standing by the bar in their underwear, others have see-through tops, I like to go for short dresses and skirts without underwear and nylons…so it really depends on what you like! Don’t dress as someone you are not, try to find a way to express yourself through your outfit.
COME as you are 😉
This is quite a long post, but it spans what would be several smaller posts had I been writing this blog at the time. Stories from the past are going to be a regular feature, starting at the end of this week with my first Flashback Friday. There’s a competition at the bottom too. Enjoy!
Since I couldn’t in all honesty call this blog a full account of my sex life – and also because I’ve not actually had sex in about a month, as some of you may have noticed – I’ve decided to go back to the top of my list (I’ve kept a list for years) and tell you some, actually almost all, the tales from my past, in chronological order. So where better to start than the very beginning?
I had just begun what would turn out to be my final year at high school, though I didn’t know that at the time, and although I ostensibly had a heavy academic workload with which to contend, that was also the year I began to really have a decent social life. One of my many cousins (Catholic family, lots of relatives) was playing in a band who had a “gig” one Sunday evening in the church hall of the town next to the village I’m from. Being the good and loyal relative I was before I realised that I have little in common with these people and don’t even like most of them, I went along to watch some of our local talent embarrass themselves on stage. While there I ran into some people from the year above me at school, who were there with friends from other towns and villages in the area.
One of these people, a pretty boy called KD, I recognised from MySpace (remember the days before facebook?) and I was utterly fascinated by him. For one thing, everyone knew him as Gay K – he was out to everyone, including his family, which to me at the time was unthinkable. Anyway, some of that group were sat outside on the church steps, drinking cider. At one point one of the girls from school, A, came over to where I was sitting and I could already tell from the look in her eye exactly what she was about to ask. “Dexxx,” she began, “would you ever pull a boy?” (I was barely out to anyone at that point), swiftly followed by “Would you pull K?”
Despite being fucking terrified as well as completely baffled (this was well before I ever had any sort of self-confidence) I agreed, and off the three off us fucked, around the back of the church. Here I would write “don’t judge me” but then if you’re the sort of person who is overly concerned with the sanctity of religious buildings you’re probably judging me anyway based on the rest of the blog, so whatever. K and I were sat on some other steps talking to A, and someone else who I have a feeling I knew at the time but now can’t remember. Anyway, my heart was beating so, so fast and I was so nervous, but A pushed on, kissing whoever the fourth person was before declaring, “Right, your turn!” So K and I turned towards each other and, well, it happened. I was still really nervous and I’m sure I was a terrible kisser because of that as well as a severe lack of experience.
I got really into it though, and A and whoever her mysterious fourth person was had long since vanished, so as hands began to wander K came up for air and grabbed my hand, leading me yet further round the back before pushing me up against a wall. Breathlessly he asked, “Can I give you head?” and I don’t think I could even answer verbally by that point, but my belt came off and he was on his knees going for it. I had no idea what to expect and don’t know how long he was down there for before I dragged him up and told him it was my turn. Once again I didn’t have a clue what I was doing but it seemed to be going alright until we heard footsteps on the gravel behind us and had to cover ourselves up pretty sharpish. I assume I got his number because we were texting later on, but at any rate I went back home.
At school the next morning everyone in A’s year, some of whom were in the same history class as me, already knew all about it (I have a feeling my teacher even knew) and by the end of second period the story had grown and changed in that way that rumours will, to the point where it was widely believed that rather than blowjobs in a church we’d fucked in a graveyard. I was the talk of the school, all of a sudden. It was like being in Easy A, except that wasn’t out yet and while Olive totally hadn’t, I kind of had.
The next weekend K and I met up and took a train from his town to the capital, which I suppose in retrospect was a date; on the way were talking mostly about our hopes and plans for the future, which when you’re 16 and from a mining village in northern Europe is probably all you really have to talk about. (He wanted to study either music or psychology (remember that, it’s important), I wanted to become an interpreter. I still do). Once in the city we found a quiet spot off the path on a hill and went to finish what we had started the weekend before – imagine waiting a week to cum – and I somehow managed to get cum, presumably his, all over my shirt and had to buy a new one to wear before I went home. He came buckets, come to think of it. Anyway.
After that I chickened out – I stopped replying to his texts and though I only saw him in public a couple of times after that, I ignored him both times. I’m not particularly proud of it but I don’t beat myself up over it any more either. Shortly before I moved to the city I now live in I sent him a message apologising for it (this was still MySpace), and were briefly in touch with each other for a while. I never really expected to see him again, but that was really naive of me given how small this country is.
Almost exactly five years later, last Autumn, Bruga and I had gone to the capital to take part in a psychology experiment not many people were qualified to do, so found ourselves then in the foyer of the University’s psychology department waiting for a researcher to show up when who should walk in and stop dead in front of us ut K. As he stood there I started gabbering away to Bruga in a language I knew K didn’t understand; “you remember that hill I showed you on the way here and the story about the guy I was with up there? That’s him! That’s the guy!!” I don’t know why I was so surprised; like I say it’s a small country and weird shit like this happens to me constantly. He was much shorter than I remembered but actually still cute, I still would. Or rather, I would again. After a few seconds he recognised me, looked baffled (what was I doing in his department, speaking a foreign language, when I don’t have anything to do with psychology and live at the other side of the country?), blanked me and walked off. I’m going to be in the capital again tomorrow afternoon, visiting schoolfriends. I wonder if I can manage to run into him again?
Anyway, now it’s competition time!! If you feel so inclined I’d love to get some of your feedback and your own stories; email me at tripleXdexxx@gmail.com telling me about your first time in 500 words or less, and I’ll post the top three stories next Thursday (12/04/2012), either anonymously or with a link to your blog, just let me know how you prefer it!
I’m quite liking plagiarising from songs to get my blog titles. I assume this one needs no introduction since if you’ve listened to the radio or been to a club anywhere in the Western world you probably know it.
Sparkles mentioned something recently about wearing sexy underwear every day and it set the old wheels (in my head) in motion about the whole concept of sexiness and how often we get it wrong. Feeling sexy is, in my opinion, vital to not only a good sex life (not that I’m one to talk about that at the minute – been a while) but also a healthy self-image in general.
Sexiness means different things to different people – just like having preferences for blonds, brunettes, tall people, people in glasses etc., it varies from person to person, though we can recognise broad trends; by looking at magazine covers we can see that for the majority of heterosexual men, thin blond women with big boobs are sexy. But we can’t often apply the criteria we have for the opposite sex on ourselves to judge our own sexiness (since the vast majority of people are seemingly attracted only to the opposite sex and the people that buy Nuts magazine more than likely don’t want to look like the people whose photos they’re paying for). I think that ultimately, sexiness stems from how you feel about yourself. If you believe yourself to be desirable, attractive, and, well, sexy, and act accordingly, people will take notice. You begin to exude a certain sexiness that comes only from self-confidence (not to be confused with arrogance, though sometimes it’s a fine line and one which we’re all guilty of crossing at times), which is something that no amount of good genes can do for you.I’m speaking from experience here; until perhaps a year ago I had a horrendously bad body image, and whenever someone paid attention to me in that way it baffled me more than anything. A shift in perceptions can work wonders.
How do you go about developing this strong self-confident image of yourself? It’s not always easy. I’m going to assume that all of us, at some point in our lives, have felt desirable, sexy. Think back to these times – what were the circumstances? What did you notice about yourself that made you feel especially pleased? Or what did you notice someone else noticing about you? Focus on these things as a basis, and once you have a strong foundation in these things you can build from there. Personally, one part of my body that I’m particularly fond of is my chest and belly area. I’m not buff by any stretch of the imagination, more slim and fairly smooth, but I like the way my body looks. So that’s what I focus on when I look in the mirror. When I look down in the shower, I take a moment to appreciate that part of myself. In my most recent sexcapade I caught sight of my legs from a particularly flattering position – over someone else’s shoulders while they were going down on me, hard to see how anyone could have low self-confidence in that situation really – and since then I’ve been giving my legs a bit more attention too. That may have gone slightly awry when I tried to use hair-removal cream on them which had, er, patchy results at best, but it’s a work in progress.
On the topic of one night stands, external validation is also a brilliant tool to building your self-image. I know we hear a lot that “you shouldn’t need someone else’s approval” to feel good or whatever, and that if you feel confident in yourself then that’s fine; and if you do, then it is. But what if you don’t? There’s nothing wrong with enjoying being checked out or flirted with or taken home by someone; some of the times in my life when I’ve felt sexiest and most self-confident is during the walk of shame (misnomer if ever there was one).
So, the bottom line here, is to work out what it is that makes you feel sexy, and focus on that. Blow it up to ridiculous proportions if you have to. Focus on it so much that it’s all you can see, if you have to. Just try not to get big-headed about it. And be consistent – to go back to my friend’s comment about sexy underwear, if wearing sexy underwear is a part of feeling sexy for you (or no underwear at all, whatever works) as it is for me, do that and do it consistently. ONLY wear sexy underwear. I only ever wear underwear that I feel sexy in; there’s no reason you shouldn’t feel as sexy in Tesco or Barnes and Noble or Fnac as you do in a club or bar. After all, you never know who you might bump into!!