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Can't You Just Slut Up?

It’s that one thing every single girl must have tucked somewhere in her closet. That very private thing — the slight contact of which to the skin would send tingling sensations of sensual and erotic ecstasy...

Lingerie.

Not a vibrator, idiot! Those come in second!


I remember the first time I bought myself real lingerie.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I had just finished working on my coverage as a medical representative. I agreed to meet up with a college friend at the Shangrila Edsa mall, which was just on the way home from Makati City. From meeting up over coffee to strolling around aimlessly, my friend and I spoke about 'men and relationships'. (Like single women have anything else to talk about, really.) Oh! And Channing Tatum’s killer-abs. (Wait, that still falls under 'men'.)

So we found ourselves in a decent clothing store, and it was after placing a shimmery black top back on the rack when I saw it inviting me towards the corner: Sexy intimate apparel.

Boom-chika-bow-wow!

Carefully clipped to a plastic hanger was a dark, uber-flirtatious brassiere with pink lace trimmings. This was complimented by a matching, lacy thong that hung just behind it. I picked it up and gazed at it; admiring the details, then thinking all of a sudden—

“MY GOD! What’s that gunna’ cover down there?!” my friend’s voice from behind me read my mind.

I was immensely amused with her telepathic skills. “Might as well just go bare, right?”

She took the underwear set from my hands and held the scanty garments in front of my body, as if to picture how I’d look in them. “This’ll look good on you. You should get this!”

I feigned pleasant surprise, “Hey mom! Look at me! I’m slutting it up!” And like every normal girl making a big fuzz about her weight, I added "Plus, I gained a few pounds! What size is that anyway? Size 5'3"-and-anorexic?"

“Come on. Just ‘cause you’re single doesn’t mean you can’t own one!” She fished the rack for a slightly bigger size then started waving it around my face, half-laughing. “Buy it! I dare you!”

A good dose of immature giggling and elbowing later, my 5'6"-and-normal-eating-self finally agreed to buy it. But only because it was on sale.

I seriously felt my cheeks flush the moment I took three solid steps towards the counter with the undergarments in my hand. Then my hyper mind started talking: Act cool... Oh no. That lady at the corner holding the yellow shirt is looking at you. And she’s secretly laughing at you. She knows you're not used to buying shit like this. Oh God, this is so embarrassing!

Okay, there's a lady clerk at the counter! Good! A fellow female. Handing this over to her won’t be so bad. She's probably tried buying her own pair before.


Shit! Someone’s still paying. Must wait till the coast is clear!

I followed my friend around first with the lingerie tucked under my arm, stealing glances of the counter from time to time. I noticed people were buying REAL clothing: jeans, shirts and... ...jeans.

Five minutes later, the coast was finally clear. I half-ran to the counter, my eyes fixed on the cashier lady who was now stapling several receipts together. Still clutching the undergarments tightly by my side, I faked a smile.

And then the craziest shit happened.

(Picture this in slow motion). Smiling back at me, the lady moved to the side and motioned for a male attendant to join her at the counter. A cute male attendant! (Approximately 5’10”, athletic, with perfectly coiffed hair, and a ridiculously cute smile.)

Fuuuuuuuck!

I shot my friend a panicked look. She just laughed at me from the distance like a really good friend. Jesus, I felt like a 14-year-old virginal boy trying to buy a condom at some convenience store.

Slowly meeting the gaze of the cute male attendant, I bashfully placed the lingerie in front of him.

It was awkward.

I heard him clear his throat before unclipping the bra and thong from their respective hangers. He didn’t know whether to fold them or not. Shit. He’s thinking I’m buying this for myself. And I’m in my business attire now! He knows my two ass cheeks will be sandwiching a string behind my slacks starting today!

He was now looking for a paper bag. He switched from small to an extra small. Jaysus! Hurry up!

I paid him, not making eye contact. Then I saw him smiling. Wait – No! He was smirking! He thinks it's funny! 'Cause maybe I’m the first customer this year to buy from their slutfits. Oh my God! NO WONDER IT'S ON SALE! NO ONE BUYS THIS SHIT!

He held the paper bag out to me. I snatched it, snatched my really good friend, and ran off to the nearest escalator.

Juvenile, I know.

But even 20-year olds grow up; and of course, I got used to wearing it. (TMI, I know. Sorry.) My mom got used to seeing it when I explained white-lied it was a birthday gift. (Asian moms.) Then I started liking it – really liking it. I enjoyed thinking: "Oh he's going to love this!" ...and... "God forbid if anything bad happens to me tonight, paramedics will at least have something nice to look at when they cut my shirt open!" among... well, other... thoughts...

Lingeries are nice. They give you a great sense of empowerment. You can be wearing bleach-stained house clothes with mud under your fingernails, yet still feel sexy when you have these babies strapped on you. It does not take a Victoria's Secret model to enjoy the experience of slutting it up with some lace and garter. Every single woman out there should have the opportunity to feel confident and sexy about their bodies; and these just might help.

So the lesson in this story? Try not to approach a cashier lady when you see she’s busy stapling something.

And too bad this isn't really my face. Haha!















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