fashion

SEALED SECTION: 'How one pair of undies made my date extremely erotic.'

I always thought, when it came to formal occasions, that underwear was for the weak or the menstruating. Running bareback, going commando, being an Eve in the garden of Eden – whatever you wanted to call it – gave me the excitement of exposure.

It was the breeze you felt in every step that made me feel so sexy, that look you got when you whispered in your partners ear to inform them – and of course, the fear of pulling a “Britney” every time I stepped out of the car.

It quickly turned into a euphoria I’d become intoxicated by.

That was until an evening in crotchless panties.

Don’t get me wrong – despite the tendency to leave the lingerie at home, there was always something intimidating about crotchless underwear. I mean, my knickers already were so scant, I couldn’t bear to think of what I’d do with even less fabric?! I had an all or nothing mentality. There was no in between – I could rock a thong, do the booty cut, but essentially, my undergarment ethos had been limited to a strict granny panties, or G.I.JOE commando philosophy.

As I dangled a pair of black lace underwear before me, I was struck with the curiosity of what ‘crotchless’ really meant.

Porn had conditioned me to believe they were a series of strings, engineered to connect in a way as intricate as it was ‘easy access’. I thought so much detail would be poured into making something for women that simply screamed to men ‘enter me HERE’. But how mistaken I was.

The silky flexible folds on the crotch of the underwear concealed an almost trap door like opening – one that had to be teased open, guided, pushed, encouraged to let anything enter it. I felt like a black widow about to ensnare her man in a web of love, or a Russian spy who could conceal any one of her gadgets within these mysterious panties.

All this intrigue tantalised me, and engorged my thoughts with an unquenchable sexual wanderlust that inevitably led me to try them.

I also couldn’t resist satisfying a constant need to culture my wardrobe.

Cue: a candlelit dinner with plenty of red wine.

crotchless undies
Cue: a candlelit dinner with plenty of red wine. Image via Getty.
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Sporting a pair of Cosabella crotchless hip huggers – because only Italian lingerie labels know how to make pieces that caress a woman’s pasta loving curves – I matched black lace with a black sheath dress and stepped into the night.

He held out his hand to me, and as I clutched his arm and leaned in for a customary kiss just below his temple, I refrained from letting him know what was waiting for him under my outfit. It was my secret weapon for the evening, and it felt good to conceal the excitement for once.

I felt unbelievably sexy, instantly. From the first few steps, the breeze blowing between my legs snatched moments of titillation, as the cool wind licked between the curved cut-outs of my knickers. It was like I was sporting the most discreet sex toy on the planet, with the soft fabric gently draped around my derriere, and textured design brushing across me in all the finest ways.

We stepped into a musky scented, permanently dusk-lit restaurant and sat opposite one another. Crossing my legs, I felt the folds constrict and nibble at me. These crotchless panties were exciting enough to distract me from the bread basket.

Somewhere between dinner and dessert, I was over-flowing with so much internalised excitement, he soon caught the hint that something was going on beneath the surface and between these legs. He clapsed the top of my knee, as he always did and slowly ran his fingers inwards, and up my thighs.

Feeling his stifled breath between his husky laugh on my neck, I pulled my legs together abruptly, holding his hand a finger-digits length away from touching tonight’s entertainment. It was my turn to be in control, and the resistance worked wonders to tease him.

His doe-eyed smirk turned into a puppy dog plea. His soft lips curled into a helpless but intrigued smile, that begged to know why I was refraining from his touch. I could almost see in his arrogant, beautiful eyes ‘but you love it when I do this!’.

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I leant in, keeping his hand rigidly in place, and pressing my breasts on either side of his arm.

As I whispered what I had on beneath this dress, he quickly pulled his hand away, and wrapped it around his drink.

The thought that he could reach between my legs under the table at any moment and be able to pleasure me discreetly had him knocking back cocktails to quench his parched, parted lips.

The thought that he would have to struggle through the resistant folds of lace crossed across my crotch, had him looking for any opportunity to grab the check and race home.

An expert advises on the best way to bring your sex drive back from the dead, on our Sealed Section podcast.

These panties provided their own kind of foreplay. Stripping down for him was met with an unparalleled kind of sexual intricacy. As I peeled off the sheath dress, standing before him in nothing but the strappy heels and hip-hugging panties, I felt as though I was leaving a last line of lingerie defence on before getting intimate. I maintained control so long as these stayed on, and every stroke, touch and kiss he was granted was met with an unquenchable desire I’d never seen before.

Bout time he bloody appreciated all of this.

Without having to strip entirely, standing there in enticing and accessible underwear felt like I was wearing body armour into our silk sheet sex battlefield. Had I finally achieved my dreams of being Gal Gadot in Wonder Woman? If only I had sterling silver cuffs. And a lasso.

This internalised monologue sparked an idea. As he inched closer, sitting himself on the edge on the bed, I traced my fingers along the entry points of the underwear, like an air hostess points out the exits to airplane passengers and bathrooms to mile high club members. I held his lust-filled gaze, and he licked his lips, leaning back on one hand and stroking his stubble with the other.

Pulling the knickers off my hips, down my legs and into my hands, I used the cut-out folds to bind his wrists together, and pushed him back. Flipping my hair back, I straddled him, grazing the spike in my heels either side of hips, pressing closer and deeper into me. This really was my Wonder Woman moment.

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