Something I've always wondered,
But have never been able to ask,
Is in regards to women's underwear,
And a gentleman's genteel ass.
Are there really guys,
Who get their thrills,
From silken satin undies,
With their laciness and frills?
There is a certain friend of mine,
He's someone very dear,
And donít think I'm judging him, but,
He has a lace brassiere.
You're wondering how I know this,
It was a picture up online.
And the only thing I told him,
Was that his bra matched one of mine.
Of course, all that goes on,
Underneath a personís clothes,
Where, for the most part,
Just about anything goes.
But there's something so exciting,
About a man in woman's jeans.
Maybe it's how tight they are,
Or the fact that he's so damn lean.
I'm pretty sure I know how you feel,
You probably think it's disturbing.
Or maybe you're just covering up,
The fact that it's kind of alluring.
Or maybe your making excuses,
About sizing and things like that.
Maybe these are maternity pants.
And the guy is just really fat.
I'm talking about hip-huggers here,
Skin-tight sheaths of denim.
And I donít know about frills, but my little thrills,
Come from seeing him in 'em.
I like a guy whose clothes defy,
Our preconcieved gender boundaries.
But not just any old lout can frump about,
Without looking fey and tawdry.
Man-Misty for example,
Was a very frightening occurence,
Of hair on the chest, which isn't the best,
When one's trying to fake adolescence.
He's gotta be lean, he's gotta be slim,
He's gotta have hair past his tushie.
In short a guy just has to be,
A certifiable bishie.
You can call that peculiar,
I'm sure you think it's strange.
But, hey, it's a lot less painful,
Than leather, whips, and chains.
© Eagleheart 2005
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