Putting on and then Taking off her Knickers

“You look shell shocked, Jamie. Glass of Talisker to help you over it?”

“Please.”

I’m James Flynn and I’ll be seventy later this year. I’m also an insulin dependent type one diabetic with circulation problems. In days gone by the likes of me often lost both legs above the knees, went blind, suffered from kidney failure and to add insult to injury, if you were a man suffered from erectile dysfunction too. All this was due to high blood sugar levels causing the death of the small capillary blood vessels in the extremities of the legs, eyes, kidneys and penis, often at half my age. Mind you the inability to perform sexually is possibly the last thing on the mind of a blind man with no legs dying from kidney failure. Or at least that's what I'd always tried to convince myself of. However, things are better these days, not least of which is the availability of insulin pens and pumps rather than hypodermic syringes.

Twenty years ago, my endocrinologist told me that though it may be a pain taking a dozen tablets as a first course to accompany breakfast every day the good news was they all worked. She reckoned if you could choose a chronic condition to age with diabetes was the one to go for.

The pills keep my cholesterol and blood pressure low and my blood sugars well reined in. So what am I complaining about?

As I said my circulation is poor, and rather than loose my feet I went without socks for a few years which was no fun at all in winter. The problem was men’s socks were either far too big and fit like pillow cases which were dangerous to walk in, or they were far too tight and restricted the blood flow to my feet which was even more dangerous in the long term.

Then it got worse, all the under wear I could find had a band of elastic round the waist anything from an inch to two inches wide. In bed at night after undressing the elastic was leaving a painful red welt round my waist where blood flow must have been restricted, I recognised the feeling only too well.

I’m a bit of a loner and don’t have many friends and most that I had I visit regularly reside in the cemetery. I’m diagnosed as having Asperger's. I think that’s rubbish myself, I just don’t make friends easily.

My best friend is Barbara, a lovely trans lady I have known for years. There’d never been anything romantic between us. We met in a public park years ago. One of my few friends had just died and Barbara was going through a crap time, literally. It was arriving through her letter box regularly.

Neither of us could tell you how it came about, but we started having lunch together and meeting for other purely social reasons too. We talked about our relationship, but in her words, “If you want a deeper relationship, Jamie, I’m happy to give us a whirl, but I don’t believe it’s what either of us really want from the other. What do you think?”

I admitted I’d thought about it, but I believed she was right.

She had vacated her flat and my house had a compulsory purchase order put on it to make way for a new bypass. We were both staring retirement in the face at the time and neither of us were poor, so we moved to a town the other side of where we both worked. We rented similar flats in nearby buildings. Probably because we car shared to go to work, it wasn’t long before our neighbours were convinced we were an item. We weren’t, but we were best friends and close. We’d both cried on each other’s shoulder.

It was only the other day when after having dinner at Babs' flat we were settling down to watch the latest instalment of Game of Thrones, we’re both fans. Babs had her feet up on the sofa, and I was doing some wriggling on an armchair when she asked, “What on earth’s the matter with you, Jamie?”

Embarrassed, I replied, “It’s these damned underpants.” I explained about the underpants and the socks and she broke out into peals of laughter.

“That is no problem to fix. I’ve been there. It always puzzled me why a sixteenth of an inch diameter elastic cord was adequate to hold up a pair of ladies’ knickers and men need a piece of elastic belting adequate to tow a car with.

“I even wrote to several major UK retailers suggesting they produced underwear for men with similar elastic to what was used for women, pointing out what the potential market was. They all replied, but said all their underwear was manufactured abroad and implied it was out of their control, which was of course nonsense. They just couldn’t be bothered. No wonder the country’s going down the pan.

“Since I’ve never worn anything but girls’ and then ladies’ clothes since the age of twelve I wasn’t bothered either. I hadn't anything to gain, so I just dropped the matter.

“Loads of vendors on Ebay sell what you need, plain, full cut knickers, with just enough elastic to keep them where they ought to be.”

She stood and said, “We’re similar in size. I imagine size 14 will do. I’ll get a pair of plain dark blue one’s for you to try on in the bathroom.”

I was as red as a beetroot at the idea of trying on Bab's knickers, but I did, and she was right. Adequately sized, of a cut that kept everything where it ought to be, and just enough elastic to keep them up.

“What do you think? Will they do the trick?”

“Yes. And they don’t hurt.”

“You keep those. They’re brand new. I bought them in a pack of six. I’ll get the rest for you.” Babs returned with a plastic wrapper with the other five pairs in. “What are you doing for socks at the moment?”

“Struggling. All I can get are size eight to twelve or boys”

“What size are you?”

“A Six.”

“Tell you what Forget Game of Thrones for tonight. I’ll record it. Let’s see what we can find.”

Fifteen minutes later, “There you are. Ladies’ soft top socks (suit diabetics) size four to seven. Breathable, wool rich, and in black, navy, brown or white. Eight pounds forty-nine for a pack of six. Location Manchester UK, free delivery in three days, more than ten packs available. Sounds ok, so I’ll treat you. I’ll buy six now, if they’re ok get a couple of dozen later. Is black Ok?”

"Please.”

“Give me a mo. I’ll add these to the basket and find you some knickers. Right, here we go, search by lowest price plus p and p. Mmm. Only one ninety-nine a pair, but too high a cut on the leg. Ok, now these look right. A nine pack of ladies briefs, cotton, maxi full comfort fit underwear, sizes ten to twenty-two. Select size fourteen and plain navy blue, no black available. More than ten packs available, free delivery in four days from within England, seventeen pounds ninety-five. Less than two quid a pair and they are the right cut for you. Ok, buy it now. Click. Click. Click. Done, and I’ve got twenty-three nectar points to spend at Sainsbury’s. Easy.

“You look shell shocked, Jamie. Glass of Talisker to help you over it?”

“Please.”

A few minutes later as I was sipping from the generous slug of the amber fluid I was shocked to hear Babs chuckling, “You do realise you’re the first man I’ve ever heard of who’s joined the ranks of the cross dressers for medical reasons.”

I choked and Babs was patting me gently on the back, “It’s all right, Jamie. I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice or wise of me. I’m sorry. Truly.”

Well with the malt one thing led to another and Babs was saying, “Well you’ve put my knickers on tonight. Would you like to take them off now?”

I was puzzled, but I got up to go to the bathroom to be told, “Not that pair, Silly. This pair. The pair I’m wearing. I’m tired of being good and trying to safe guard our friendship. It can die for all I care as long as from the ashes the phoenix arises. Oops! I didn’t mean it like that, but that’s not a bad idea too is it?”

I was pole axed. “Are you suggesting we start doing some thing to justify the gossip?”

“Why not? We should have done some thing about it years ago. Maybe it’ll keep us both going till we get our fix of Game of Thrones. It’s perfectly respectable, after all at least you’re not my brother.” We were both laughing as we finished our whisky and reached for each other.

"The bad news for you is my stamina isn't all it used to be."

"And the good news?"

"Well. I don't suffer from all the problems that elderly diabetic men can suffer from."

I’m not going to kiss and tell. That was a month ago. We now live in a bigger flat, and share a bed and a bath room. However, we each have our own drawer for knickers, because it makes sorting the washing out easier. I’ve ordered a load more ladies' socks, all black, and three packs of navy blue knickers. Vive la différence, but it’s nice to have things in common too, even if no else is aware of them.