Lingerie for Valentine’s Day

 Lingerie for HIM

A gift idea with good intentions that are anything but sexy. How does she really feel?

sex, valentine's day, February, Canada,
Valentine’s Day in Canada

It was Valentine’s Day, four years ago, when I stepped out of my powder room donning Victoria Secret’s newest super sexy show stopper. The evening was oh so romantic.

Lit only by the glow of our fireplace, my love handed me the suspiciously large gift bag with excitement and anticipation dancing in his eyes.  I tried to pull my libido from its hibernation to match his enthusiasm,

 …but I am a Canadian girl and it’s February.

This means I am still carrying my post holiday weight, nothing below my collar has seen the sun since September and I am sporting homegrown insulation.  In short, I am doughy, pasty and hairy.  Yes, I said it.

sex, valentine's day, lingerie, for him,

There I was under the harsh lighting of my bathroom unveiling the wonder that was my Valentine’s Day gift. You know the outfit; every man’s fantasy.  A lacy full-bodice number with tonnes of cleavage, thigh high stockings and garters of course.   By the time I presented myself, I was wild eyed, red faced and completely dishevelled.  One might be flattered that their husband bought a size too small. I, on the other hand, know my hubby all too well. In his mad dash to the store to meet Hallmark’s Valentine’s Day expectations, he picked the sales clerk who looked most like me or who was closest to him in the store and asked her her size.

Don’t get me wrong, the black ensemble was beautiful with its iron boning, 72 hook and eyes lining the back and impossibly tiny claps for the garter belt to be fastened just below the butt cheeks. I am sure it looked amazing on the porcelain manikin. The headless, armless figure also had the advantage of not having flash or fat to hinder the shape. More importantly, the manikin had assistance strapping the sucker on without the pesky inconvenience of having to breathe.

I am sorry, when Valentine’s day is on a Tuesday night, a school night,

…you are just happy to get the kids in bed early enough to share a bottle of wine before falling asleep on the couch.

Instead, there I was with my breasts up my nose, tugging and reefing on the least agreeable fabric known to man.  Imagine 72 tiny curls of wire that need to slip into loops of thread that run down your spine.  The only way to fasten every delicate hook was to put the corset on backwards.  I did mention that it was too small, right?  I remember looking in the mirror and seeing the elegantly laced breast cups sitting on my back as I wrestled and wiggled trying to twist it into place.  At one point, my husband asked if I was okay because I had spun myself into the vanity so violently that it was a wonder I didn’t wake the kids.  Once the death trap was facing the correct way, I was an enraged, unlikely contortionist, who still needed to fasten the garter straps. I was bound so tightly that my breaths were short and sharp. How the hell was I going to bend at the waist to located the tiny gold clasps, let alone secure my nylons to them?

Somehow I managed to get it on, not without sacrificing skin and my air supply – I got it on.  My gliding to the bed wasn’t exactly by choice as the stockings, again too small, limited my movement. I did reign in my frustration, discouragement and overall self-loathing for the sake of the occasion.  When my husband began to release me from my torture chamber I was mixed with relief and outrage.

What was it all for?  Better yet, who was it all for?

Afterwards, when he was still giddy with the memory of his gift, he started making birthday and anniversary requests. There must have been something in my expression that said divorce or homicide because he abruptly stopped talking.  I haven’t gotten lingerie for Valentine’s Day since.  There is a silent understanding that if he buys me a self-satisfying gift again, he will wind up with that cute leather bag I have been eyeing for his birthday.

I have nothing against lingerie or impractical underwear, in fact, I have a whole drawer dedicated to all such things.  It is just, that in my experience, the intimacy is much better when I feel sexy, beautiful, silky and smooth. There have been many nights when I have encouraged my husband to pick out something for me to wear as I slip into the shower before bed. Talk about a kid in a candy store. There is not a hockey game in the world that would stop him from bouncing out of bed to rummage through my collection. Once he has made his decision, he hangs it on the back of the bathroom door.  On occasion, I will pull back the shower curtain to find his selection without my prompting, which I am happy to display for him. Anything is better than receiving a self-serving gift.

This year my husband surprised me by placing a very generous Victoria Secret gift card in my stocking for Christmas.  When I reacted to the inordinate amount, he gently suggested that I consider him while doing my shopping.  I did. After buying for me, I bought for him, which he will gladly model for him this Valentine’s Day.

The point is,

sex is best when both parties feel desired and desirable.

And, if a gift is more for you than them, try again.

Happy Valentine’s Day

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