‘Words fail to describe
what i feel anymore.
Let me be numb for a while,
let me be sore.’
– Anjum Choudhary
I love going commando. Going without underwear is the most delicious secret I know; the easiest everyday naughtiness, the simplest tease, the most fun! Just one decision but one that can really improve my day. I’ve written before about how I don’t like to wear underwear with jeans because the seams can rub in just the right place and I’ve written flash fiction about the cool thrill of the breeze playing across my cunt when I wear a skirt or dress having decided to leave my underwear at home. Fucking hot. So fucking hot. I love going commando for these and just so many other reasons.
This Kink of the Week prompt, however, has reminded me of a recent conversation with Exposing 40 that inspired a somewhat tangential way to interpret this topic. Because as much as I love going commando, there is one occasion where I just can’t. I think this may be almost the only time I won’t! I certainly can’t think of another occasion when I wouldn’t risk it. But I cannot run without underwear.
In the ultimate fit of laziness, I tried once. I was planning on running a quick mile around the block and was dressing from naked; knickers just felt like too much effort when I could barely be bothered to run at all. And, wow, did I regret it! Less than 10 minutes. Just one mile. But dear God, the chafing! I have rarely felt such discomfort and have literally never done it again. After all, who would run without knickers?!
Well, it turns out that lots of people do! E40 never wears knickers when running and she’s training for a marathon so running much, much more impressive distances than my uncomfortable and unrepeatable knickerless mile. I was absolutely astonished, particularly because this was not just an extension of a commando kink – this was recommended in a book about running! In ‘Running Like A Girl,’ Alexandra Heminsley quite accurately stated that runners spend a lot of money on running clothes made of complex technical moisture-wick fabrics that are designed specifically to draw away sweat and keep our skin fresh and cool. Why would you wear normal cotton pants under this fancy fabric? Why would you not take care of your cunt and instead let it get all sweaty when you’re running? Interesting. Very interesting…
But still impossible for me. Whatever the logic or benefit of these smart fabrics, I couldn’t run that way! As much as I might like the smooth lines of Lycra stretching across a bare arse, that is definitely just a pose and not practical for me.
And that was how I realised that my labia must be longer than average! I thought I knew my vulva very well – both through touch and sight. I like looking at my body. I often take a hand mirror to look at it more closely; the folds and clefts, the changes in pigment and the changes in texture. I know my vulva, but I had apparently never compared myself to others or thought about what is or isn’t average.
After realising this, I had another look. I got out my hand mirror and looked. And yes, my labia minora are on the longer side! Who knew?! It is no less beautiful and no less magical, but by this one realisation, I feel like I now I know my vulva even better because it has context.
So I love going commando. I love everything about it, and I especially love that going commando, admittedly unsuccessfully, has taught me something new about my body when I thought I’d already uncovered everything it could teach me.
I wonder what I will discover next…