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I had this ingenious idea the other day to carry my MP3 player in my panties while I cleaned the house. I didn’t have any other place else to stick it—no pockets, no nothin’. This has led me to better understand and appreciate the male’s problem—and sometimes pleasure—of sporting that kind of equipment between his legs.
First off—no pun intended—having this kind of thing between your legs is constantly stimulating. It’s there, it feels good, it’s there, it’s cramped, oh yeah, there’s that seam I like about these pants.
Personally, I would have a hard time walking around with what seems like a foreign object between my legs…but maybe not so foreign. I would be in a quandary every day, probably many times a day, thinking, thatfeelsgoodfeelsgoodfeelsgoodworkworkworkfeelsgoodpeepeepeeputbackworkworkworkfeelsgoodImisswanther.
My MP3 player has a mind of its own. Duh. Wonder where it got that. It’s carrying the soundtrack of my life because I put it in there. You’d think I didn’t know how DNA works, but I’m new to this technology. It knows me better than I know it.
I was enjoying my little machine so much (music and movement wise) that I almost forgot about it when I went to the bathroom one of the fifty times I go every day. Instead of dropping into the toilet—like most everything else would, like most everything else does—it stayed in my panties. It just sat there, all blue and sparkly and fogged—still somehow connected to my brain.
Who knew a cord could stretch so long.
Love and pity and some kind of mercurial understanding of all men washed over me. Rock on, MP3 player.
And then I finished cleaning the bathroom.