SAM SHARPE

**Where does the time go? I can’t believe more than two years have passed since I stepped on my soapbox to discuss the evils of…….granny panties.**

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I was young. So was she. But my relationship with Joanne was the first ‘grown up’ connection I’d ever had with a woman. By grown up, I refer not only to our respective ages, but also to our respective life circumstance. I had recently graduated and was living on my own in Toronto for the first time. Joanne was still in school, but had also recently escaped the clutches of her parents.We did everything together. Groceries. Made meals. Went dancing. Played music. Entertained friends. F***ed like there was no tomorrow. Her family loved me. My family adored her. She was the first woman who really took a piece of my heart. She was also the first woman I dated who loved to swallow (or at least pretended she did).  It was love indeed.

Then things changed. It wasn’t any one thing, just an accumulation of little things. She started showing up at my place in track pants. What you have to understand is that Joanne was usually immaculately dressed. If I happened to catch her after class, or drop by the retail outlet where she worked, she looked as put together as ever. But we increasingly spent more and more time in my living room, me in my uniform (jeans and a t-shirt) and Joanne in bleach stained sweat pants and a “comfy” t-shirt or sweatshirt with more holes than O.J. Simpson’s alibi.

The blowjob routine also changed. When the going was good, she often woke me in the morning with a little slurp ‘n burp. After a while I started to receive a kiss on the cheek and a mumbled “have a good day”. Where she once used to reach for my junk with gusto, she now made only perfunctory gestures and complained of sore wrists and tired fingers. But the love was still there.

Then it happened. Like many women, Joanne had different underwear for different occasions. She had panties to squeeze her petite frame into that were for her, that made her feel sexy. She had panties to seduce me, reduce me to testosterone infused mush. She had underwear for working out. And she had specific panties for when Aunt Flo came calling.

I think you all know where I’m going here. Soon, the Aunt Flo panties started to come out even when Aunt Flo was nowhere to be found. Soon she saved the “seduce me, reduce me” models for anniversaries and such. And though we all know how infrequently anniversaries come, they were coming more often than me.

You might be thinking to yourself that I was overreacting, but you really have no idea how huuuuuge these panties were. See, Joanne had what would generously be called an ample backside. And these period panties seemed to wash over her, it was like she was wearing a diaper (which may have been cool had I been into diaper play. We should have covered that during Fringe month). It was a huge bummer.

Our relationship eventually petered out and we decided to go our separate ways. The break up was amicable, maybe even inevitable. I know I wasn’t faultless. In hindsight I realize that I probably neglected a lot of things in our relationship. But I can’t help but think what if.

What if her track pants only came out when she was running? What if I had stopped to think about what I was doing or not doing that contributed to our malaise? What if the early morning head continued to be a regular feature of our life? What if the granny panties were seen only when necessary?

What if?