Oh, how I love your body! Your smooth, delicate curves, your soft skin, the grace of your movements... I fantasize about how you look in your underwear, or when you wear a swimsuit, how every gorgeous curve spins and slips underneath. Isn't it funny how my desperate longing for your body has me trying to emulate it?
I have this picture in my mind of you doing something mundane, like ironing or dusting, while wearing nothing but a smile and your undies. You are innocently stunning. You have no idea how ridiculously sexy you are. I could point it out to you, and you'd look down at your scantily clad body, maybe blush a little, and continue what you're doing, just a little more self-consciously, acutely aware of your femininity, amazed again at its powerful grasp on me, but still focused on the mundane task at hand.
As I write this, I want to look down at my own scantily clad body, slipped into the same slinky undergarments, and experience the same surprise upon discovering exactly what you did. I want to feel that faint surprise at realizing that I am a woman wearing nothing more than a bra and panties, and that I am sexy and beautiful; and I want to continue my tedious task, happy and proud, acutely aware of my femininity, and promise to take full advantage of it as soon as I'm done.
Notice that the first sentence of the second paragraph is intended to be ambiguous: who's wearing your underwear?
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