II. why I came into the cave

Page Eight

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I came into the cave because I didn’t know what else to do.

I was twenty-three years old. I was working in a large underwear factory that made thousands and thousands of jockstraps and brassieres. I was an underwear inspector, and I was a darned good one. I have a fine eye for detail, so it was my job to make sure that all the underwear stitching was securely done, and that all of it was in the right places. They paid me a fair wage for the work that I did, and most of my co-workers were nice people who were mostly pleasant to be with. Dickie and Titia’s is a pretty nice place to work.

But I was yearning for something more, though I didn’t know, and don’t know, what that something is. Day after day I fondled compartments for breasts and penises and testicles with a sharp eye for quality. At D and T’s they always let us inspectors take the rejects home, so after five years I had gathered myself a very respectable and colorful and fun collection of well-made personal garments. But they’re mostly useless to me. I don’t like brassieres and jockstraps, and never wear them. My brother and I had tried them all out with our friends when I was eleven, just for ha-ha’s. They were itchy and sticky and hot, and I didn’t like them.

I do wear panties and camisoles, so those are useful, but slips and all the other stuff hangs up or sits in a drawer looking pretty. And the older I got as I inspected underthings, the more it began to dawn on me that humanity had existed for an awfully long time in the cave-man days without any sort of undies at all, and no one seems to have been the worse for it. The Miralon Mutation is deadly, but going without understuff is just going without understuff. So I got more and more convinced that most underwear is just another one of humanity’s really silly ideas. And there it was: for five whole years of my one life I had earned my bread and butter by carefully fondling and inspecting someone’s silly, useless ideas.

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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