Breaking the silence on Victoria�s not so dirty little secret.
In true Al Bundy fashion, I found myself entering into my humble abode, the contents of the mail box tucked under my arm meandering into the most private room in our household to take care of one of the most basic of our biological functions.
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Ok, so I had to take a shit and I brought the mail with me so I had something to read. There are you happy?
This out of the way, I sat thumbing through bills, requests for credit cards, debt reductions, pleas to feed starving children and various mass mailing coupons, brochures and catalogs. At the tail end of this massive pile of paper that would make any tree hugging hippy cringe at the sheer volume of sacrificed saplings for my reading pleasure, I found her.
Her hair had the wind swept look of too much time spent on a windy beach. Her mouth was slightly open, inviting and hinting to things I would never hear her say, but could at least imagine her saying. Combine this with her eyes that stared straight into mine no matter how I shifted the glossy cover. And by the gods, I swear I could hear her asking what I thought of her new �under garments�, if I, �preferred the deep blues or the slut red� and if I wanted to �take me, right here and right now.� The plain and simple fact that the photo captured her at the exact moment where she appears to be gracefully prancing towards my bed in a seductive way that none of my x-lovers could ever have hoped to duplicate, beckoned me to go further.
�Victoria you dirty little whore�, I found myself muttering out loud as I casually flipped to the first page.
Twenty glorious pages later, I had been seduced by no less than 4 sultry, lingerie clad sluts. All of them posing in various compromising positions, groping themselves and every single one of them couldn�t take her eyes off me. By now my biological business was complete and I hurriedly discarded the rest of the mail before slipping quietly into the second most private room in the house; the safety and security of being confined behind my locked bedroom door.
Here my journey continues and finally ends one-hundred and fourteen pages later. There were models posed against walls, doors and windows. Pajama sales where the girls stuck there asses in the air, topless shots for thong underwear and even one where the slutty image was a demonstration that, �yes this bra unfastens in the front so lets give it an action shot to demonstrate.� All the while each and every one of them were staring back with enticing smiles or sporting pouting lips and forever locked in to my and my gaze alone.
Legs, lips, bellies and hips and ridiculously ample amounts of cleavage were found bursting from every page. Even when there were no models to be found (and this was rare) on a few of the pages, the pictures boasted thigh high hooker boots and spiked high heels that I didn�t even need to close my eyes for me to imagine them attached to feet that rested on either side of my broad and bony shoulders.
At some point through my journey of Victoria�s dirty little secret, the nature of my species reminded me that I do posses animalistic urges on the most primal scale. I couldn�t help but laugh and think about teens and probably men that were driven to such deeds while browsing the underwear section in JC Penny or Sears mailer in days of yore. How many young boys popped their own cherry to grandma panties and Cross-your heart bras sported on models that were just barely more attractive, semi-naked versions of their best friend�s mom?
From these days long lost we come full circle to sultry vixens singing siren songs that only I can here. Posing in provocative positions to tempt and tease me into believing that if my girl wore something like this�And none of these women will look like my best friends half-naked mother ever again.
How many men eagerly anticipate the arrival of this particular catalog more than their faithful female companions? And how many of these literary items mysteriously appear in the mail, crinkled, torn and two days late?
Does anyone actually still think they make these TV specials, direct order catalogs and super type models with women in mind anymore? Yes Victoria, you filthy slut, I�m very sorry to rain on your parade, but your dirty little secret has been exposed and I for one have no problems breaking the silence.
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