Victoria's Secret: a non-pervs quest to buy his girlfriend underwear
I wrote this piece last year and read it for Annie before I gave her the gift I bought. It’s about the lengths we’ll go to buy a gift for loved ones. It’s about not being a perv. It’s about shopping for the most comfortable and non-sexy bra and panties in the World at Victoria’s Secret.
by Kelsey Timmerman
For most of my life I’ve pretended that Victoria didn’t exist and that her secret meant nothing to me.
Countless times I passed her store, without so much as a look. Even if I wasn’t shopping with my mom or my girlfriend Annie, I vowed not to scan her windows. Why? Because, I wasn’t a perve.
It’s surprising how developed ones peripheral vision can become. Through mine I saw a pink palace of plush carpet. Everything seemed as soft as a cloud – the lace, the fabric, the cleavage. Inside, leggy, buxom young ladies spoke with accents as they advised hot young co-eds on the wonders of the Wonder Bra. And, oh, the changing rooms. What delicate little rooms of privacy they must be.
With a little imagination my peripheral vision was at least 20/20. Damn near X-ray.
It’s the Wednesday afternoon before Christmas. It happens fast, like a decision to itch your elbow. One moment I’m feigning interest in the candle store across the hall while and now I’m walking towards her. Face to face with Victoria.
I’m going in.
Table after table of underwear. Walls lined with bras. If I had died at the age of 13, this is where I would have gone. And, in turn, if I would have gone here at the age of 13, I would have died. My chest is tight and rises and falls with a shudder, each breath shorter than the last. I need help. I need to get in and get out as quickly as possible.
I find her folding underwear. She’s wearing an earpiece to get updates on urgent stock issues regarding nighties. She has dark hair, dark eyes, and an air of holiday retail disgust. She’s a little heavy, and not very leggy or buxom. I picture her in her underwear. I picture the guy who just walked in with the Yankees cap turned backwards in his underwear. In an underwater store it’s hard not to picture everybody in their underwear.
“I need help,” I say.
“What can I do for you?” She stops folding.
“I want to buy my girlfriend the most comfortable underwear you have,” I say. To be honest, I feel a little stupid saying underwear in public to a complete stranger. I ponder using undergarment or skivvies or anything that sounds more prudish.
“Here are some of our more comfortable bras.” She says as she motions to the wall of bras. Cupped and hanging perfectly as if being modeled by some invisible babes.
“Does she wear these?” She points. Then she motions to her own chest. “They cup higher. Or these that are a little lower?”
“Whatever is the most comfortable.” I emphasize comfort too inform her that I’m not like those other guys that come in looking for a little nylon and spandex to sculpt their ladies and leave their secret treasures secret, but just barely so. The perverts.
“What size is she?”
I stare at her searching. I’ve snuck a peak or two at Annie’s bras lying on the bathroom floor. Most are faded and worn to the point where the tags are unreadable. But just yesterday I saw one of her newer ones, no less than five years old. Every guy wants to know his ladies digits.
“White.” White is not sexy. It’s everyday. Red or black would be selfish – like I was dressing her up for me. This isn’t about me. She buys her underwear in packs of 5 at Wal-Mart. I want to treat her to something special that she wouldn’t buy for herself.
“How much is it?” I say.
I act like I’m not doing any conversions. That $45 dollars does not equal hours’ worth of work. That $45 couldn’t buy me enough underwear to last three years or enough pizza to last a week. $45 Dollars!
“Okay.” I say.
She hands me the bra.
I’m holding a bra. I’ve never held a bra in the privacy of my own home and now here I am at the mall holding one.
“How about panties to match?”
“Sure.” Panties! Panties! Aren’t panties underwear. I wish she would call them underwear.
“What kind does she wear?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess something like those.” I point with the hand not holding the bra. The bra holding hand isn’t going anywhere. It is frozen.
“Well unless your girlfriend is an 85-year-old grandma she doesn’t wear those,” she says.
“Here, she probably wears something like this – the string bikini bottoms.”
Pardon me for not knowing my undergarments, but for a moment I think that string bikini equals thong. I am on the verge of hanging myself with the bra. And then she holds up non-thong underwear. Thank God.
“Yeah, something like that would work,” I say, hoping she will hand them to me so I can run for the counter.
She doesn’t. “Now, seamed or seamless?”
“I guess seamless. They sound more comfortable. Besides,” I point to the table of seamed bottoms, “those look like the ones she gets in Wal-Mart by the bundle. Really, is there any difference…?” I continue on down this path completely and unintentionally devaluing this woman’s position as an undergarment salesperson before I finally realize that I should just shut it.
“This table is all seamless,” she says.
She starts to look through the neatly folded piles of panties, when she is interrupted, “Excuse me. I’m about a size 6. What would that be?” The woman is in her 40’s and appears to be calm as can be, as if she spent everyday searching out the perfect pair of underwear while 27-year-old me looks on.
I picture her in her underwear. I can’t help myself. I’m completely not attracted to this lady. Actually, she’s pissing me off. Who does she think she is trying to steal my sales rep (whatever her name is – I won’t read the name tag for fear that she thinks I’m trying to check out her chest)?
They continue on to talk about sizes and cuts.
I don’t hear them. I’ve got bigger problems. The realization has set in: I have to touch panties. The search for a medium begins. Ever so gently I pick through the stack.
Minutes or days go by, when the sales rep says, “You may want to consider these boy cut panties.”
Miss Size Six says, “I always wanted to try a pair of those.”
“Are they comfortable?” I ask.
“Yep, just like the bikinis. You can barely tell they are there. The main difference is that a little bit of butt cheek hangs out the bottom.”
She motions with her hand to where they hit her butt cheek. I picture her in boy cut panties. I picture Miss Size Six in boy cut panties. Hell, I picture me in boy cut panties.
“The boys,” she nods at me, “really like that.”
“Well which ones are more comfortable?” I ask.
“They’re the same. It all depends if you want to buy them for you or her.”
The torture! Deep down I hope that the pink of my surroundings disguises the flush in my face.
“I’ll just go with those.” I point to the bikinis.
I hem-haw around as if it doesn’t really matter to me. Color doesn’t really matter to us guys who just want to treat their ladies to overpriced seamless undergarments. Why would we care? Only pervs care.
“Here’s a white pair to match the top.”
Now I’m holding panties and a bra. I leave the two women talking about butt-check-hanging-outage and how much is sexy and how much is just too much.
If I wanted, I could crush up both garments and shove them into my pocket. They would take up next to no room, yet the check out girl feels the need to put them in a stiff pink bag with “Victoria’s Secret” written in big, sexy cursive. As quick as I can, I stuff the bag into another bag.
I bound out of the store. I don’t look back. Once again, I pretend Victoria’s Secret doesn’t exist.
I can almost guarantee you my experience in a Victoria’s Secret would be vastly, vastly different.
The word “comfortable” would never have crossed my mind.
“Restraining order” would be more like it. You’d probably be banned for life.
Although, with your amazing talent for guessing a lady’s bra size, you might be able to get a job.
That’s the two scenarios I imagine for you: gainful employment or incarceration.
I am soo tickled, lol. Even as a woman, I had a hard time venturing into Victoria Secret. At least, you found comfortable underwear, I didn’t. Or maybe I was too busy trying to bolt before I could sift through the mesh of stringy underwear that I was sure would cut me where I would rather not be cut. Good luck with your up-coming book!
I’m glad to hear that some ladies are a little uncomfortable about the palace of pink, too. May you always be blessed with comfortable undies. Because really, wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone wore comfortable underwear?
Sounds like you have serious issues about wanting to put the panties on yourself. People who shop at VS are not perverts, they’re self confident.
That’s right, when I go into VS I’m not confident that I won’t try on the panties. I’m afraid I might blink or let my guard down and their I’d be, standing in the plush pink wonderland, staring into a mirror at a reflection of myself wearing a leopard thong.
That’s why I haven’t been there since.
lol this is adorable XD my fiance and his brother actually sold vickys secret and other undergarment brands in their families store and he seemed to have no problem dealing with the lace and silk and cotton panties and bra sizes and bra types and what not lol i love my fiance though hes a brave one lol thats why we’re still together any other man would run me and Vicky are intimidating women lmao
And my dream ‘ more than anything ‘ was to become anyone
else other than who I was. Walmart offers
bank accounts and credit cards in Mexico. Many companies are able to operate with impunity because the company is
owed by an American Indian tribe.
I agree that Victoria’s Secret is a terrifying place for any guy to go but especially alone.
Thinking the same as you I went in this last Christmas looking to get something comfortable yet appealing for my girlfriend and nearly walked straight out the door except a lovely girl with a beautiful smile grabbed my arm after I nearly tipped over a rack and asked if I needed any help. I took a deep breath, relaxed, remembered my acting classes then spoke to her about buying my girlfriend some nice lingerie like it was something I did all the time.
My acting and look of confidence must have been too good cause after helping me find just the right bra and panties for my GF she led me toward the counter at the rear of the store. She bypassed the counter and held back a curtain announcing with a smile “You can try them on in here. I would be happy to help fit the bra for you if you require any assistance” I went numb and speechless, I pulled out my wallet produced a photo of my girlfriend and pointed to the photo saying. “It’s for her, Melissa, my girlfriend. A Christmas present”
The sales girl giggled and walked back to the register and apologised saying that she hadn’t heard me say that when I came in and she had actually fitted 2 guys earlier that week.
I swiped my card to confirm the purchase and started to breath again as the exit was in site. The sales girl spoke one last time as she handed me the bag. “I really hope your girlfriend appreciates the gift, if not bring it back and perhaps I can convince you to try something on for yourself”
I was aroused and afraid all at the same time, I smiled and laughed and turned and left vowing to NEVER do that again.
I went straight to the tobacconist and bought a pack of smokes for the first time in 6 weeks and went to the nearest exit.
I got head spins from my first smoke in 6 weeks, fell over and hit my head on a bin.
Victoria’s Secret is Hazardous to men’s health
I’d never set foot into that store. I don’t even walk past that store on the same level in the mall; I go to a different floor or take another route. Perhaps the most understandable thing is the lineup of young men standing outside the store looking extremely uncomfortable while their girlfriends/spouses shop.
And the fact that the sales people would even suggest that a man would try on any of their merchandise adds to the repulsive factor. Going into Victoria’s Secret is like going into a warzone. Unless I have people who go in with me, I ain’t going in.
No offense but you might need pictures i dont think guys will read this all. Im just trying tonfind something that will look good on my future wife not read a novel.