“Ohmigosh! Mike, I don’t think she’s wearing any underwear!” Jen whispered.
And this statement had nothing to do with the fact that I was dancing with her later that evening.
When she first strutted into the room, heads turned. Male and female heads. (Women check out women just as much as men do, you know. Oh yea, you know it.)
The Girl With No Underwear was wearing a silky dress with a low back. Obviously no bra.
“That’s sooo wrong. I can’t believe she would wear something like that here.”
I nodded and smiled, not totally paying attention. The Girl With No Underwear looked vaguely familiar. Not in a I Think I’ve Seen Her No-Underwearing Ass In Maxim Magazine Somewhere kind of way. More like, Hey, I Think I’ve Met Her Before kind of way.
Jen leaned over to tell another friend her discovery. Her friend looked over and wrinkled her brow.
The Girl With No Underwear turned around and looked in our direction. I threw my eyes down to the ground. I didn’t want to be yet another pair of ogling eyes on her, and wasn’t quite sure where that fine line was between Looking At Her To Remember Who She Is and Looking At Her To Remember Her For The Spank Bank.
I made a mental note to myself: during dinner, find out where I know her from and talk to her.
So when dinner rolled around, obviously I chickened out. That, plus the fact that I couldn’t remember her name. I was pretty sure I knew where I had met her though. A mutual friend had introduced us a few months ago. But darn it to heck, her name totally escaped me.
Then fate strolled by. Or rather, our mutual friend strolled by.
“Hey Mike, remember her? She asked me why you weren’t going over to say Hi to her.”
“Oh, really?” I arched my brow.
Jen overheard and giggled. She silently mouthed the words “No Underwear.”
I got up and headed over to Jen. “Okay, I remember this girl now. There’s no way she’d come here without underwear. I don’t think she’d do that.”
“Maybe she wants a little nookie tonight.”
“Heh. Yea right. From what I remember of her, I don’t think she’s that type.”
“Oh yea? Then go find out, Big Boy.”
I grinned. Then, with a deep breath, I got up and walked over to The Girl With No Underwear.
“Hi, remember me?”
“Yea! I remember you! How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, how are you doing?”
“Oh, fine too…”
Thus ensued your general chit chat. What are you doing now, where are you working, how’s your summer so far. Blah blah blah blah blah.
Then a nice song came on. “Do you want to dance?” she asked me.
We got up and danced. I saw Jen wink at me. “No Underwear” she mouthed again.
So there I was, dancing with The Girl With No Underwear, because I had met her once before and not because there was nothing to separate her bare and supple nakedness from me besides a flimsy dress.
Really. I was.
Well… That thought perhaps did have a particular degree of grip on my mind, so to speak. Hey, it’s not the kind of thing a guy can dismiss lightly, you know.
If you ladies ever want to drive your men wild, keep those panties safely tucked away at home. I promise you’ll get quite a reaction from him.
I couldn’t quite tell whether The Girl With No Underwear justifiably deserved that title. Could she have been wearing a thong? (Insert chorus from “Thong Song” here.) I don’t know; I just couldn’t tell.
After the dance, we returned to our respective tables. Jen was too set in her beliefs to entertain the idea of a thong (‘Thong th-thong thong thong’), so I consulted another friend of mine.
“Did you see that girl I was dancing wth?”
“Yea. Are you going to get some tonight?”
I should let you know that this was a female friend I was consulting, not a guy. See? Women have just as many raunchy thoughts as guys do!
“What? Where did that come from? No, I was going to ask you if you think she’s wearing any underwear?”
“I noticed that. At first, I thought she was wearing a thong (‘All night long, let me see that thong’).”
“But you know what? I really don’t think she is. I think she’s Going Commando.”
(Note: “Commando” means No Underwear for you readers who don’t watch the sitcom Friends.)
“So are you going to get some tonight?”
“Well, hell, if she’s wearing a thong (‘Baby make that booty go’), she must be expected some nookie, right?” I smirked.
“Exactly. Now go over there and get some nookie.”
I can never tell when this friend is being sarcastic or serious.
“I’ve met this girl before, and a mutual friend had told me that she’s not the type who sleeps around.”
“You’re just making excuses.”
“She’s looking over here again. Go talk to her. Otherwise, she’ll never give you any nookie.”
“Damn girl. Talking to you is like talking to a horny guy.”
“And don’t come back until you find out whether she’s Going Commando or wearing a thong. (‘Baby I know you wanna show’)”
I smiled, gave my friend a thumbs up, and approached The Girl With No Underwear again.
So we chatted again. Blah blah blah blah blah. The conversation, I hate to admit it, was rather difficult to keep stimulating. You can only talk about the weather for so long, if you know what I mean.
Am I saying she was a boring girl? No, I’m saying she had no underwear, so I was willing to forgive the lack of conversational stimulation. But otherwise, yea, dull as a doornail.
“Do you want to dance?” she asked during a lull in the chit chat.
I nodded. She stood up and I took this opportunity to further my investigation. I watched her stand up and—holy shit, no panty lines anywhere! This girl WAS Going Commando!
Now the question was: Will this mission end like a James Bond thriller? Will the hero get some nookie?
Alas, art does not always imitate life. At least, it sure doesn’t imitate my life.
We danced up until the last dance. Then we parted ways amiably. I set out a few hooks but never got any bites. That cocktease.
So oh well. No nookie from The Girl With No Underwear.
Ever see a girl with no underwear?