I never used to fantasise about sniffing underwear. Even during my horniest moments, when I was in the early stages of learning what turned me on, and discovering the answer was ‘everything’, it never occurred to me to try and get hold of a guy’s underwear and hold it over my face, breathing in the heady scent of his cock. Until one day, a boy I was in love with came to visit, and left his underwear behind when he departed…

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“I want to wear your knickers,” he tells me, and I’m instantly turned on – I love it when guys wear my knickers. I’m running simulations in my head: what he’ll look like in my knickers, and which pair might best show off his cock. But then he hits me with the next part… “and I want you to treat me like a silly little slut.”

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“Remember how you used to sniff my knickers while you had a wank?”

“Yep.”

“Do you still do that?”

“Nope.”

And thus my heart was broken.

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The first time someone put their face in my crotch and grinned at the strong, heady, end-of-the-day scent of my cunt, it was a bit of a revelation. I’d always assumed that the best state for a cunt to be in was clean as a whistle – and by clean I mean utterly stripped of character, cleansed, perfumed, and presented so perfectly that you wouldn’t be able to tell one neat one from another.

Uniformity and cleanliness: as if novelty and natural scent can never be as sexy as something personal.

Obviously that’s not true, and what’s more it’s a bit upsetting that we’re so often told to eradicate any hint of scent from our personal bits, lest our lovers should get their faces close and get to do that sexy *sniff* *sigh* thing that shows just how erotic our cunt smell can be.

Today I’m going to talk about knicker-sniffing, and I should warn you that this blog’s going to go into a fair bit of detail about dirty pants, as well as contain minor plot-based spoilers for Orange Is The New Black. Which is, umm, quite the combination.

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I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that sexy lingerie is for other people. The kind of people who can smile coquettishly and raise a solitary eyebrow, who sashay through a room rather than stomp across it, and who lounge sexily on a bedspread rather than throw themselves onto it in exhaustion after a long day.

When I smile coquettishly I just look smug, and although I’d love to do the saucy eyebrow-raise, when I attempt it I just look like I’m trying (and failing) to remember pi.

Lace knickers, half-cup bras, suspender belts and thongs and camis and silky, see-through dressing gowns that press against my tits to show the colour contrast of nipples and skin… ah, I’d love to be able to wear this stuff like the ladies in the lingerie catalogues. But even though I can’t pull this stuff off, there’s one kind of outfit that I find even sexier…

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