What's Left Behind - Sex~Kitten.net

So a few weeks ago, we go to the junk yard to get replacement back doors for our van, Ookla. I was utterly fascinated with the junk yard itself and almost disappointed when we found the right doors.

I sat down inside the van, to get out of the hot sun, while Derek went about the business of removing the doors. I looked about. Clearly the van had not been cleared out of the last owner's belongings. Mostly paper and trash, but then there it was, a retro Playboy magazine -- waterdamaged and smelling of mildew -- right there, next to a bottle of Axe body spray. Does it get any more kitsch than that?!

Now, before I go any further, you should know a bit more about when we went to purchase Ookla. When the salesman unlocked the vehicle and showed us the spiffy airline lights which ran along the floor and the ceiling, the first thing I said was, "Hey, was porn made in this van?" Both the salesman and Derek blushed, but I figured it was a sign that this was 'our van.' So I'm no prude and I'm not surprised that the previous owner of this van which was providing donor van doors was also marked with smut -- again, it just seemed to be another sign that along with make, model and year, these doors were the right match for dear old Ookla.

But before I could reach for that Playboy, my eye spotted something else...

Yup, that there is a used tampon, folks.

This should give you some indication of the level of 'not cleared out' this van really had.

I carefully reached for the Playboy. It was only the cover and badly damaged. But where there's a cover... So I kept looking about. (Very careful where I put any part of myself, least I find another tampon.)

Next, I spotted a notebook, with a fancy silver cover. Only the first page was written on -- a cheap attempt at fantasy fiction, with the main character discovering a magical notebook with a silver cover. (Yeah, I took that home for giggles later.)

I then found a bill for the van's last oil change, paid for in 2005. Been sitting here awhile, I guess.

I eventually found the insides of the Playboy, and put them inside the covers of the magical silver notebook -- then Derek called for my help. He needed me to hold the door while he took out the last bolt.

I got out of the van, headed to the back. Standing there, just holding the doors, I scanned the insides of the van from this new angle. Immediately I note the Star Wars light saber boxes -- not one, but two of them. If the amateur sci-fi-slash-fantasy-fiction and Axe wasn't proof enough of an under-sexed goober, the Star Wars weaponry was. This van was owned by a nerd. A nerd who, according to the oil change bill, had the first name of Jim.

Then I spy something else...

"Hey, Derek, what's that by your foot?"

"What's that black thing by your foot?"

"I dunno. Let's get this door off..."

We set the door down and I go to get a closer look at the black thing which was by his foot. It's a bit of fabric... After the tampon, I should be more cautious, but you know what they say about the curiosity of a sex kitten... So I picked it up.

One very small pair of black nylon panties, bikini style -- with lots of lace. I should drop them like they're on fire, but they are very, very clean looking. I start laughing.

Derek turns around and seeing me laughing holding panties he just raises his eyebrows at me.

"Oh my God, I wondered if he bought these just to masturbate in -- but with the fake tampon, it looks like Jimmy got himself a woman. A light-saber-playing, small-black-panty-wearing, Playboy-accepting woman who could tolerate the smell of Axe."

Hubby's not so impressed by my deductive reasoning -- or maybe it's that he's been thrown by something I said.

"Panties to masturbate in?"

"What?" he says with such a sweet, simple face that I have to take pity on him.

"You know, panties purchased just so you can come in them..."

He's so shocked, I have to laugh. Then, I'll admit, I started feeling bad for the Jimmys and others in the world who do such things; so I had to defend them all.

"Hey, why come in your hand and wipe it off on a spooge-towel when you can use a pair of panties."

"Why on earth would anyone use panties for that?"

I can see where he'd headed: Nylon panties are not an absorbant material. Hubby's such a geek that he's thinking about the technical probabilities and he doesn't get what real role the panties play.

"Babe, the panties are part of the fantasy; not just the clean-up tool."

His expression makes it clear that he doesn't quite get it.

"Don't panties turn you on?" I ask him.

"Well, I like to see them on a woman -- but it's not the panties, it's the woman..."

"Yeah, but if you don't have a woman, wouldn't the panties help with the fantasy that she -- some woman -- is really there?"

"Never mind. It's hot here, let's get the other door off and skip how some guys get off," I say, more than a bit perturbed at how thick he can be sometimes.

Like a good husband, he knows what I am thinking but also (and more importantly, in this case) knows it's best to drop it.