It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when panties stopped being something that I wore for fun and arousal and started just being my normal underwear. I would guess it happened around the time that my wife accepted the idea of me wearing them and seemed to not think anything of it. I think at that point it no longer felt like I was doing anything naughty.
Even though we both wore the same underwear, hers were always referred to as underwear or undies, and mine were always referred to as panties. Even when we talked about the drawers in the dresser, she had her underwear drawer and I had my panty drawer.
There was not a lot of overlap in our collections, but there was some. For cheap cotton panties, I wore Jockey and she wore Fruit of the Loom. For nicer panties, we each had an assortment. We both had several pairs from Victoria’s Secret, which could make sorting the laundry complicated sometimes. I wore a size bigger than she did, which was literally how I could tell mine from hers in a few cases.
My wife seemed to go out of her way at times to mention my panties in a way that I feel like she wouldn’t have if I wore men’s underwear. I suspect it was her way of trying to humiliate me in a playful way.
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