The washing machine had started vibrating badly. Now I know that that might have been a bonus for you, Dear Female Reader, but when the banging gets loud enough to wake the neighbours, and the outlet is leaking onto the floor, it really is time to climb down, put your knickers back on and buy another washing machine.

In the meantime, the laundry wasn’t getting done.

The biggest impact for me was a lack of clean socks, but by yesterday I had also worked through all my summer underwear. All that was left in my smalls drawer were the warmer, longer cut trunks I prefer in the colder months … and of course the numerous pairs of thongs and G-strings and all manner of un-manly manties, secreted away at the back of the drawer, hidden from scrutiny by a couple of pairs of hiking socks.

Normally, there are enough pairs of regular pantsuk to stop the socks falling forward and revealing the tiny treasures buried behind them …

… but with the laundry basket filling up, there wasn’t so much support and … oh dear, they seem to have fallen forward … and my purple rubber thong has worked it’s way into view. Ooops!

I’m not saying I moved the socks forward to reveal the stash, though they might have been nudged forward when I got dressed in the morning.
Nor did I actually unfold the rubber thong, as much as check it wasn’t going to snag on anything when the drawer was closed.
And your absolutely right, Helpful Reader, I could have tucked the latex up, and pushed the socks back into place so there was less chance of my Wife stumbling on the dirty little iceberg tip of my fetishwear collection when She put the clean laundry away. But She made no comment the last time I gave Her the opportunity to challenge me on the presence of kinky undies, so I doubt She’ll even notice this time.
Anyway, it’s usually me that deals with laundry.
I’m sure I’ll get round to it first this time too.
Before She gets to that part of the housework.
And opens my carelessly filled drawer.
And notices something … well …
No, I’m sure I’ll get to the laundry first!

But you know what, Dear Reader? I actually do want to get caught with my hand in my rubber pants … at least metaphorically speaking. I’m not sure which says more about our marriage – that rather than saying Honey, I love wearing rubber, I’ve tried to pull this stunt before, or that when I did She said nothing. But seeing as nothing has catalysed that conversation before, I probably will, from time to time, try to drop an Alka-Seltza in the cola.

Lets see what happens.


PS Purely as a point of interest, while we wait for a new washing machine to be delivered, we have both been running low on undies. Obviously with my borderline obsession for buying pantsuk , She has come a lot closer to running out of dailies … which meant the usual boring basic black boy briefs are all waiting to be washed. Leaving a mass of red lacy panties in the middle of the drawer, which, I think it’s safe to say, are quite hard to ignore. But somehow … yes, you guessed it … they’re still not getting worn.


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