This is a little ridiculous, but I had a life-changing experience while reading a silly supernatural romance novel. Yes, I read that stuff sometimes. And I’m an adult male. I also pee sitting down on occasion just because I feel like it. On the other hand, I can start a fire without a match, bench press my own body weight, and I have sex with a real live woman on a regular basis. So I feel okay.
Anyway, the book was Industrial Magic by Kelley Armstrong, and it tells the story of a witch named Paige who is the legal guardian of a young fourteen-year-old orphan and dating a cute guy and blah blah blah. You get the idea. On to what changed my life…
In this scene, the young girl had picked out a suitcase full of clothes for Paige and is now helping her unpack in a hotel room…
When I unpacked my bag, I saw that lack of undergarments wouldn’t be a problem for me.
“What did you do, empty my entire lingerie drawer into the bag?” I said, untangling a web of bras.
“Course not. I don’t think they make suitcases that big.” She tugged a pair of garter straps from the bra-knot. “Do you actually wear these? Or are they just for sex?”
I grabbed the garters. “I wear them.”
Of course, when I did wear them it was only because they improved a certain sexual advantage of wearing skirts, one that was very awkward to accomplish with full nylons. That, however, wasn’t a tidbit I was sharing with anyone — well other than [my boyfriend], but he already knew.
After reading this, a tumbler clicked into position in my head and suddenly the universe made a little more sense.
Ten seconds earlier, I found myself ignorant like the story’s young girl. I didn’t get garters. I knew a lot of men were into them, but for the life of me I couldn’t see why. I hadn’t made that particular connection before. They seemed ungainly and held no attraction for me whatsoever.
Then, in a matter of moments, it all came together like an unfocused 3D puzzle, and I became an instant convert. Suddenly, I loved garter belts and straps and the whole look as much as or more than the next guy. Instantly, I couldn’t get the image of my wife out of my head: she wore a loose, short wraparound skirt with stockings, and when she unwrapped it, she revealed underwear with straps and all the rest. And I loved this image.
I didn’t get garters. I knew a lot of men were into them, but for the life of me I couldn’t see why. I hadn’t made that particular connection before. They seemed ungainly and held no attraction for me whatsoever.
What seemed superfluous before was now utilitarian, and the difference was night and day.
I’m ashamed it took a love story about witches and werewolves and vampires and such to get me to think like a man. So incredibly ashamed. I just have to remind myself that I can build things using power tools and can identify most domestic military aircraft. My mantra: I’m still a guy. I’m still a guy.
Ashamed or not, I love the look of my wife’s legs in tights, but like Paige, I found them to get in the way. Particularly when I find myself looking at her legs in tights a lot and things progress from there. Now that a cheesy (though admittedly entertaining) supernatural romance novel has spelled it out for me, I’m all about this staple of the lingerie drawer, both under a skirt and even on its own.
Thank you, Kelley Armstrong. We might not see eye to eye on some things, but you write an entertaining story and God has used you to open my eyes to a whole new aspect of the undefiled marriage bed.