Thank-you for our frank conversation last night in which you encouraged me to be less bitter about celebrity dads and open up more about my own feminine side. I realise that I have been using my cynicism as a shield to protect the “real me” and your love has empowered me to be honest with you about something I feel you need to know.
Ive been wearing your underwear.
I think the seed may have been planted when I waxed my legs for charity last year but since you started working and I adopted many of the traditional mummy roles in our house I have begun to lose more and more of the distracting testosterone that had come to rule my life.
It all started innocently enough, just doing the washing and thinking, “I wonder”. I only wanted to try it, just once, but now its gripped me. The thrill of doing the school run and carrying on like normal is just intoxicating. I’m getting through about 5 pairs a day and the washing machine has started smoking. I know its wrong but the feel of satin against my mangina just feels so right. The net is closing in so its time to be honest.
This will probably change things between us but I think it could be positive. Perhaps this weekend we could go shopping together and buy me some of my own? Nothing slutty, I was thinking classy in white silk with plenty of frontal room for testicles? Afterwards we could get a tub of ice cream, watch titanic and have a good old cry together.
Please try not to be angry with me. I just need to be held.