Talk Vomit

By Delaney Phelps

They weren’t pink—when he had allowed himself to imagine it, he had imagined himself in something pink, with a bow in the center of the waistband. These, though, were purple. A lavender-ish color, like the very edges of dawn sky. And they didn’t have any bows at all. Just a tiny bit of lace, a side panel where a woman’s hips would curve and fill out. On him, he thought it might fit loose.

Cliff saw the panties in the intimates section of Belk while shopping for the new belt he’d wear today, and loved them immediately, certainly, and more than anything else within sight. Now, he set them down on top of the bed, which was already made-up for the morning, and smoothed them out like a crisp white tablecloth. Naked, he observed them. They were thin. Simple. Just a piece of fabric, really—about as complicated as a hospital gown that leaves your ass hanging out.

In the kitchen, Melanie called out for him. They needed to leave for the christening soon, and she was going to feed Melody one more time before they walked out of the house. A few more minutes until Cliff needed to be dressed in the boxers, the dark slacks, the button-up too tight in the shoulders, the blazer and the dress socks, the new belt, the loafers. Standing next to the same priest that married him and confirmed him, holding his wife and his baby, introducing this perfect thing they’d made to the world. And the panties would stay stashed in the back of the closet.

Cliff touched them with a gentle hand, more fingertips than anything else. They were a flimsy polyester blend. Melanie wouldn’t wear them herself—she preferred cotton panties, and since having the baby, they were the only kind that felt comfortable to her. 

As a rule, Cliff didn’t overthink; wasting time thinking about things rather than doing them was stupid. Cliff was a creature of impulse. He’d purchased these on an instinct he had not questioned, and now they were in front of him, washed in the sink while Melanie slept and dried in the shed out back where Melanie did not go. He hated the secret of it, but surely marriages thrived on strategic lies and omissions? He was certain there were things about Melanie he didn’t know and never would. And he thought that she’d probably be glad that this was a secret, anyway—it saved her from having to figure out what it meant. He certainly didn’t know what it meant; he was as happy as he’d ever been, in a good marriage with a healthy baby, and he still wanted something like this. Wanted it dearly, tenderly, the way a flower seeks the sun.

Cliff huffed with exasperation at this continued strand of useless thought, and he picked up the panties. He’d held other pairs before. He and Melanie took turns doing the laundry. And he’d taken them off of her more times than he could count, tossing them off into some dark corner of their bedroom, feeling around for them later, squatting down naked while she watched and giggled. He’d scrubbed blood out after an unexpected period. Had helped her put them on the first few post-partum weeks, when even bending over to dress herself hurt. These, now, were really no different than any of those — only they belonged to him. 

He stepped into them just how he would step into his boxers. The elastic clung more tightly than he’d expected, and the fabric cradled his dick strangely. Not uncomfortable. Just different. 

He looked to the mirror in the corner of their bedroom. His image was pale. Scarred from the car accident when he was a teenager, bigger in the stomach than he used to be back in college, hair everywhere, some of it going grey. He was lucky to have found a woman who loved his body at every stage of his life, he thought absently.

The lavender looked nice. The light from the morning sun made the panties seem to glow, as if there was a subtle magic woven into them, and he smiled at his reflection before he picked up his slacks and shimmied them up his legs. He could hear Melanie talking to Melody the way she did when nursing, silly little stories and mindless conversation. Cliff put his shirt on. It was tight across the shoulders like he knew it would be, but that was okay. The new belt fit perfect. He looked exactly as he should.