Like every other woman alive, I have a wakeup routine that hasn’t changed for years. Silence my alarm. Put on my glasses. Refresh the “Mail” tab on my iPad. Slide slippers on my feet. Shuffle over to one of my dressers. Peer into my panty drawer. Toss aside the pink leopard print thong that screams “sexy” but rides uncomfortably up my butt. Ignore the too tight ruffly pink panties that squeeze me like a sausage. Hide the thick cotton, floral granny panties at the way bottom of the pile. Sigh audibly. Think to myself: “I need to buy more panties, again.” Keep reading »
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