Nov. 1, 2012 tags:  loveland dating

The Panties

In the months following my divorce, I dated a wonderful woman from my new neighborhood. Let’s call her Bee. Bee was about my age and also divorced, with a son about the same age as mine. She was blond with bluish eyes, three inches shorter than me, and warm and compassionate. She volunteered for her church a lot, and she loved beer and dancing.

Sometimes, when both our boys were with their other parents, we’d spend the night together at one of our houses. Bee and I had a lot in common, and if I’d been a little further along in my grieving process, our relationship might have lasted longer than six months. But I was still looking for validation from other women, and eventually succumbed to the promiscuous lifestyle that so many recent divorcés experience. Though she was hurt by what happened, Bee and I parted amicably.

We never kept toothbrushes at each other’s house, but after we stopped dating, I did find a pair of the most beautiful, sexy panties I’d ever seen. The front was a triangle of see-through pink mesh with a delicate floral design bordered by fine black lace. The lace came together at the bottom, merged, and continued a single lace G-string up the back. The tiny panties were an intricate marvel of taste and design. They were delightful.

So delightful, in fact, that I couldn’t bring myself to return them or throw them away. As men do, I considered them both a memento and a trophy, and I kept them at the bottom of my underwear drawer. As laundry day approached each week and the drawer emptied, I would catch sight of them and smile in remembrance.

About a year later, Bee and I bumped into each other again. We had some drinks and discovered that we were both in between lovers. After a few more drinks, she ended up at my place.

In the morning, as we were dressing, I reached into the drawer for some boxers and saw The Panties. I pulled them out and held them up.

“You forgot these panties here a year ago.” I said quietly. “I’ve kept them because they reminded me of you; of how sexy you are but also your good taste and spirit. And of the good times we had together. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.”

I had been imagining this tender conversation with Bee for a year. I looked into her eyes expectantly. I wanted to see if there was a reaction that would tell her heart.

She said, “Those aren’t mine. I’ve never seen them before.”

I never did figure out who abandoned The Panties.

© 2016 David Holmes

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