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Why Do Men Get So Turned On by Aprons?

Why Do Men Get So Turned On by Aprons?

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Loveliest of the lovelies:

Last night, I went over to the apartment of a boy I dated very casually for a month or two at some point in the recent past. So casually that we never even had sex. I think we realized that we made for better friends than lovers — and luckily, because things had never gotten too serious between us, it was easy to segue into friendship. Regardless, there still seems to be a tiny — shall we say? — protuberance of sexual affection for me on his part. (Or perhaps I should say on the part of his part?)

The vague plan had been to go out for Thai food, but ultimately, since we were both feeling lazy, I ended up cruising over to his place — which is about 5 minutes away on my bike — so we could make dinner together. That seemed like a more relaxed option. Plus, he's subletting a place with a pretty cool kitchen.

When I'd been getting ready, thinking we'd be going out in public, I made an effort to look halfway decent. I threw on a few mostly clean things I'd worn over the weekend — including a pair of black fishnets and a little green corduroy miniskirt — figuring I'd get one more night out of them before hand-washing them in my sink. On top, I wore a perfectly clean Doors T-shirt and a black turtleneck sweater fresh from the laundry. On my feet, I didn't feel like wearing proper heels, so I put on the incredibly comfortable black suede ankle booties I got recently.

(And by the way: YES, I do bike around in miniskirts, which wins me many admirers in my neighborhood.)

The Ex is not exactly a culinary artiste, to say the least. So, after arriving at his place, I got ready to play Iron Chef. First, I sized up the rather limited ingredients he had on hand — there was pasta, pesto sauce, eggs, some canned tomatoes, whole milk, mozzarella cheese. A blender: noted. I decided to attempt tomato soup with a pasta-pesto omelette. But before rolling up my sleeves, I noticed a killer black over-the-neck apron — very similar to the Williams-Sonoma one below — hanging on a hook near the fridge.

Now, I love aprons — I have a white one that's almost identical to the pictured prototype. Partly, my fondness for them is purely pragmatic: When I'm cooking (which doesn't happen ALL that often, FYI), it makes life easier if I'm able to just wipe my hands on the thing whenever necessary, instead of always trying to locate my dish towel. What's more, it means my clothes don't get ruined. But I also appreciate the aspect of costumery: it adds a certain dramatic flair to the process.

Black Apron

Why The Ex likes aprons — that seems to be another matter all together.  Which I will get to in a minute.

Anyway, I took off my sweater, tossed it in the corner, grabbed the apron, and put it on. After folding it once at the waist to make it a little shorter, and then tying it tightly around my middle, I rubbed my hands together and said, "All right. Now I'm ready to get down to business."

The Ex took a seat and began chatting away about some work drama while I started cracking, pouring, whisking.

Let me take pains here to emphasize that the apron was not frilly. The manufacturer had not intended it to be sexy. This was no French maid's outfit. There was also what seemed to be a mustard stain on it.

Regardless, after a few minutes, The Ex got quiet. And then he was like, "Hmm, I like having you messing around in my kitchen. And that apron is HOT on you." 

Without looking up from the frying pan, I shrugged. Then I told him to be a good little boy and set the table.

After dinner — though I should have gone straight home to do some work and finish the book I'm reading* — we settled in to watch what might be the quintessential French New Wave film: Breathless. As it happened, I was still wearing the apron; I'd completely forgotten about it. I got sleepy really quickly — this often happens to me after a glass of wine, especially if I'm in a warm comfortable place — and since the couch was leather and one of my shoulders was pretty sore from a workout gone awry, it was something of an effort to keep my head from slipping down the smooth surface. Eventually, I gave up: My head hit his shoulder and I murmured something about how he should let me take a quick 10-minute nap. Then he sort of put his arm around me, and gave me a quick shoulder squeeze or two, and I asked him if he could massage under one my chicken wings (you know: that part of the back where the arm bone kind of sticks out) .

I am truly a sucker for a good back rub, especially when I've got a vicious muscle knot, so before I knew what was happening, I was basically sprawled across his lap while he worked me over. I didn't want to make out with him, so I knew that I should really stand up and get out of there ... but I was enjoying his kneading so much that I was just about powerless to stop him.

However, when he flipped up my skirt and squeezed one of my buttocks like it was a cantaloupe he was trying to assess for ripeness? Well, that was enough to get me on my feet.

"All right, toots," I said, "I better be going."

"You tease!" he said.

"What are you talking about?" I protested — even while knowing I wasn't completely innocent.

"That apron! Those fishnets!" And then, in a way that was half-joke, half-serious-lament, he said, "What were you trying to do to me?"

"Nothing! Come on. Don't be mad." I decided to give him a conciliatory hug.

The next thing I knew, he was literally chasing me through the apartment. We did two loops around the kitchen table before I was able to get my puffy jacket on and grab my tote bag. "Later!" I yelled, as I ran out the door.

I guess I'll give him the apron back next time I see him.

And tomorrow, let's talk about the somewhat unexpected items of clothing that turn dudes on. APRON is gonna be at the top of the list — because this is not the first time a man has gone berserk, in my presence, over what is, essentially, a grease smock.

Lovelies: Can you weigh in for tomorrow? Any unusual items of clothing that have made guys climb the walls?

xxx!

--------------------------

 

 

dear commenters:

I think it's really cute that so many of you have been asking about Hot Band Guy. We exchanged a few friendly emails after our date, but I think it's pretty much dead in the water ... I'm also glad you liked hearing about the old "turkey drop." (And Jen, I think present-avoidance is definitely another big motivating factor.)

---------------------------

*I'm reading The Yiddish Policeman's Union, by Michael Chabon. It's quite good, moves fast, and I'm enjoying it — though I don't love it, and I imagine it's not for everyone.

 

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