Tits and Ask: Edible Underwear

panties
DEAR KEN & ARIEL: The other day, I walked out of the bathroom to find my boyfriend actually tonguing a pair of panties that he pulled from my laundry bag. I’m all for heavy lust, but that’s just fucking sick. Am I wrong?

ARIEL SAYS: Clearly, your man is reverting back to his evolutionary roots, when mammals crawled around on all fours and sniffed each others’ crotches to determine if they were compatible. Nowadays, astrology has replaced this elegant ritual, as evidenced by the popularity of the phrase, “hey baby, what’s your sign?”

Your little Neanderthal isn’t all bad; he obviously digs your musk. Which is better than a guy who thinks you smell like a sweaty monkey, right? Whether or not you can de-evolve to his level is entirely up to you.

If you still think it’s “fucking sick,” I wouldn’t necessarily phrase it in that manner to him, but perhaps just pat him gently on his enlarged frontal lobe and tell him, “naughty cave man, leave woman loincloth alone.”

KEN SAYS: While it is completely understandable for guys to become obsessed with objects that have been dangerously close to their loved one’s skin, such enticement can lead to some pretty bizarre behavior.

Case in point: My old college roomie had a serious jones for a girl in his History of Bipolar Economics class. He was a baseball-cap wearin’, Ford truck drivin’ werewolf and she was a Eurotrash goddess who wouldn’t look in his direction if they were showing the director’s cut of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita on his ass. So without any hope of a connection (at least one not involving roofies and probable jail time), he began collecting various scraps of memorabilia. Once, after a class, he watched her casually loogie her gum into a wastebasket, then dove in to retrieve it. Back at the dorm, he secured the gum in an airtight sandwich bag and began examining the teeth marks as I called the campus counseling center to inquire about finding a new roommate.

A few weeks later, while propping my head up in class, I glanced out the window into the quad and noticed his Eurodream sitting under a tree, flipping through a copy of Turn of the Screw, and puffing madly on a cigarette. As she got up to leave, flicking her spent cig to the ground, my trusty roomie emerged from the shadows, picked up the butt, stared longingly at the lipstick traces swirled around it, and placed it in his chest pocket.

This sort of behavior went on for weeks, over which time our room became littered with her cigarette butts, chewed gum, discarded corn chip bags, old soft drink tins and browning apple cores. Every time I asked him what he hoped to gain by all of this, he’d just chuckle and begin tracing his fingers along the opening of an empty Pepsi bottle. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted something more.

About a month later, news of a dorm room break-in began to spread across campus, and with an ounce of trepidation, I asked about to find whose room had been burgled. Sure enough, it was our Eurotrash queen, who was happy to report that no money or credit cards had been pilfered—just a pair of old jeans she’d bought in France.

Now the crazy bastard has done it, I thought. He’s finally crossed the line. I confronted him, but he denied any knowledge of the crime, serving up a darn good alibi involving a sick family member, a long car ride, and a visit to a wax museum.

So all was well and good, until about two weeks later, when I found my Gorillas of the Fifteenth Century class cancelled and returned to our room an hour ahead of the norm. I walked in and, to my horror, found my roomie huddled in the corner, his hands all over the backside of a pair of French jeans, which had been stuffed with old shirts and pillowcases to somehow resemble an actual ass and legs. He laughed nervously, broke down in tears, then moved away to Zurich the very next day, where he is now a successful commodities broker.

What’s the moral of the story? Hell, I don’t know. But whatever your boyfriend is doing sounds pretty fucked up to me, so tell him to knock it off.

Leave a Reply