#Glad I'm not his washerwoman

[waveofahand]

On Paul “going commando”

There are a number of photographs of Paul McCartney that prove not only did the boy like his inseams high and tight but that he also went without drawers quite a lot. Possibly, this is because he wore his pants so tight there was no room for them, but I’ve often thought, well, that’s not terribly sanitary or thoughtful to the wardrobe people. Still. It really does look to me like the only time he dependably wore underwear was when filming movies. Probably was forced to. 

I’m going to share several pics that bear out my thinking but this one first. Because it surprised me. This is 1965, as they were getting into their suits for the Shea Stadium concert. One of the Beatles must held up a camera -- knowing Paul’s proclivities -- and dared him to disrobe for it. Paul seems to dare them right back. “Go ahead, take the pic, I dare ya!” A game of chicken, so to speak.

At first glance, one thinks he’s unzipped and showing off his tighty whitey. But... on closer inspection, one sees that... oh... something has been WHITED OUT in that picture! You can confirm it because part of his middle fingertip is also under the white. 

Just look UNDER the white smears (which are NOT fabric, but drawn in). You can see the human flesh beneath. 

And there you have it. Whoever dared him, got the full frontal treatment. Paul McCartney clearly had no insecurities about his manhood. A few more “commando” shots where we see no indication of a brief line -- or that there was room for underpants: 

The jury is out o this one. There MIGHT be a faint pantyline... maybe.

Jury is also out on this one. I think he’s commando. Thoughts? 

FINALLY! A CLEAR PANTY LINE! And it looks like they needed to add a side panel to fit it! 

Ridiculous, beautiful, nasty commando boy. I know people call him “the most baby of all times” (and I think that’s probably right) but some others call him a “slut” and... well... I’m going to just say he’s a man comfortable in his own skin, probably promiscuous, who liked to get himself teased a little with his own frictions throughout the day.  One more for posterity. Or... posteriority! 

[iloveanimalsmorethanhumans]

She walked swiftly down the hall, her hair swirling around her head, a red cloud with two bright white streaks.

"Victor? Victor! Viiiiiictooooooooor!!!!!" The last call shrill and angry. Her dress trailing behind her, white and slightly tattered at the ends. A silk robe thrown carelessly over top flapping behind her.

"Vic-tor!! Where ARE you!!!!" She shouted becoming even more furious.

She paused a moment, fanning herself with an intricate wooden fan, feeling slightly faint, and so, so hot!

Her skin felt like it was on fire.

This was so much more than fury. It was the very reason for her fury!

She began experiencing these episodes last week but had said nothing, feeling it must be all part of being, well, what she was. But tonight she had spoken to the old washer woman, and had learned what was happening in her body. The old woman had shaken her head and cackled in a sort of unhinged glee.

"To think it!! Oh the very thought! Begging your pardon Mistress...of course, but, really!"

Then she had tottered off to go about her chores. Still chuckling.

She had immediately stormed off to find Victor, furious!

She gathered herself and began walking again, a slower pace this time.

She found herself outside of his study. Without preamble she threw the door open.

"Victor!" She cried

He sat at his desk behind a pile of heavy tomes. He jumped at her voice.

"Wha-what?? What's happened?" He exclaimed, jumping up and upsetting a pot of ink. Upon seeing her furious glare he let the ink drip on to the thick rug.

"What is it? What's happened?" He repeated

"Tell me why I'm experiencing....." she paused looking for the words the washerwoman had used " the change of LIFE??? How is it that I have"...she paused again, thinking...."an imbalance? I am getting hot and I am angry and I wish to not feel this way!! Why do i feel these things??"

He stared at her, flabbergasted, she glared at him, beautiful in her anger, and with this new, wonderful revelation!

"My darling!!! My beautiful, perfect darling!" He rushed towards her "do you know what this means?!?" He grabbed her hands raising them to his cheeks.

"It means that I wish to kill you!" She replied, seething.

"You beautiful creature!!! You're brain is trying to communicate with your body!! The hypothalamus is WORKING!" He brought their hands up in celebration.

"I've done it! I've done it I've done it I've done it!! This is wonderful! Don't you see?"

She pulled her hands from his, sharply, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot.

"Well. I'm so very glad you're happy." She said sarcastically. "Congratulations, now I'm off to a cool bath and my bed! Leave me tonight I do not wish to be disturbed!" Her voice caught on a sob. She turned away as he watched, his eyes shining with pride.

"The university is going to regret shunning me! Victor Frankenstein has mastered creating the woman!"

He hugged himself and turned back to his desk, ink drying on the rug and a book lying next to it. No bother he, had more.

His creation would murder him that night, in a fit of hormonal rage.

Perhaps....he was mistaken in his glee.