Diary: Bikini Let-Down; Bonus Fantasy: Flouting Social Norms Regarding Gender

Strange things are happening to me.  

The bikini experience wasn't very fulfilling.  It was not entirely because of the bikini, either.  It was partly myself.  I wasn't very horny; hadn't been for a few days, in fact.  I've been struggling with a low sex drive.  And I had probably been wearing it for too long, and had gotten too accustomed to it.  Furthermore, I made a mistake in buying that one.

I acted too rashly.  I bought it at Sears, which, as I later discovered, has the most pathetic selection of bathing suits in the entire mall.  I wandered through Eaton's and the Bay, and each seemed to have a much larger selection.  Especially the Bay.  I was astounded to discover how large the Bay's swimwear section was.  
The problem is that the panty is too tall.  It's simply not the sexy dip-down type of panty that I had been fantasizing about.  Oh, sure, it does the job, but it's not the heavenly little piece of next-to-nothing that I had hoped for.  Although I must admit that the bra is fantastic.  One of the great pleasures of buying that bikini was the receipt, which read: "bra. . . $19,99. . . pantie [sic] $19,99."  It amazes me that I could own something like that.  That I could buy something like that.

A__ [my girlfriend] has been saying things lately that have stimulated my fetish.  She knows that I like her panties.  But she doesn't know how much I like her panties.  She teases me and says that one night she's going to surprise me by leaving her panties in my bed somewhere.  She has no idea what pleasure that will give me.  I have fantasized for a very long time about snuggling into her little cotton panties.  I can't wait.


But back to the bikini: I'm actually thinking about buying another one, one that better conforms to my ideal of bikinihood.  I already spent over $50, but I don't care.  I need a better bikini.  I made a mistake.  But then again, I felt the same way about my lingerie at first, but it turned out much better than I had expected.  The initial experience has been a letdown both those times.  We'll see if the bikini improves for me, too.


In my film textbook, I read about how David Cronenberg's films are often horrifying tales of transformation: a man slowly evolves or devolves into something else.  Like The Fly, in which the protagonist overcomes his initial horror at his transformation, and eventually becomes a fly.  This piqued my interest in that I fantasize about the slow, horrifying change into a woman, and becoming accustomed to it, and eventually revelling in it.  That's exactly what happened to me:


I was always experimenting with things.  I loved to challenge the conventions of society by openly flouting them.  I smoked pot.  I tried everything, or I tried to try everything.  The most insidious social norms are those that no one ever notices.  Such as gender roles.  Many people have deconstructed clothing: rock stars wear dresses to be outrageous.  I went somewhat further.

I was inspired to wear women's underwear when I saw how cliche it was becoming for male rock stars to wear dresses.  I thought that outer clothing was one thing, and inner clothing quite another.  Would such people really dare to dress up in a little string bikini or in some slinky lingerie with garter belt and fishnet stockings?  Somehow, I doubted it.  At best, they would pull off some kind of Rocky Horror not-quite-sexy outfit and pretend that they had gone the distance.  I would wear it all, including cotton panties, bras, lingerie, swimwear, pantihose, the whole bit.

It all started innocently enough.  I brazenly went into a lingerie store and bought all sorts of sexy underwear.  The clerk, a lovely little blonde, asked me if this was for my girlfriend or wife, and I told her straight out that no, it's for me.  That was the whole plan: to shock people into realizing how silly social norms really are.  I mean, why do we consider frilly, lacy, and/or silky underwear feminine?  She thought I was kidding, but I set her straight.  I explained the whole plan to her.  She seemed disgusted, but served me anyway.  I must have embarrassed her.

That was the first step.  It wasn't easy, not even for an extrovert like me.  The next step was wearing my new underwear.  That was much easier.  I slipped into it giddily, nervous from my new plan.  I slipped it on and looked at myself in the mirror.  I looked ridiculous.  But I convinced myself that that is all because of social norms.  There is no good reason why I should feel uncomfortable in frilly silk panties.  In fact, I found them quite snug and comfortable.  I tied on my bra and looked even more foolish.  This, I could understand.  But I had to maintain the experiment.  

I thought that this was harmless enough.  I would have to figure out a way to show people that I fearlessly wear women's underwear, without any nefarious effects to my masculinity.  Until I figured it out, I thought that I might as well get used to them.  I wore a different pair of women's underwear every day, and tried to think of how to exhibit that fact without being obscene.

That was my mistake.  I had no idea what I was getting into.