A long time ago, a beautiful woman I knew wore a skirt to a party we were both attending. We hugged for a little longer than usual when we first met that evening.

During the hugging, my lingering hands slid down and grazed over her derriere. I did not feel a panty line. Ha!

I am not sure at that very moment if I became confused or excited but I felt something for sure.

“Are you going commando?” I blurted out.

Her answer made me regret asking the question in the first place.

“Maybe.” She laughed, “That is for you to find out and for me to know.”

She followed with a joke about whether she was actually going commando or not. Her response with an ambiguous ‘maybe’ followed by a nudge and a wink invited me to immediately start wondering what the heck was going on underneath her skirt.

Basically, she dared me to figure out whether she had gone commando.

Never one to pass up a dare, I spent the better part of the evening wondering and agonizing about the conundrum she had thrust me into.

There comes a point in your life when you know in your gut that you will make an excellent nominee for the idiot of the year award. If the competition was held that night, I would have gone home with the trophy for sure.

At that moment in my life, 90% of my brain was occupied with sex, 9% was occupied with how to get sex and the 1% was dedicated to everything else.

I was a mess and a victim of desire and there was no way I was lifting a finger to stop my slide into temporary depravity.

Wondering at that moment whether she was wearing panties or not was the sexiest thing I could think of.

Had she had dragged me out of the public eye and lifted her skirt at the beginning of the night, all doubts would have been removed. My chances of winning the idiot of the year award would have diminished tremendously.

At some point during the night, I got tired of feeling like a loser and moved on to thinking about something else.

As I crawled back to civility, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Did you figure it out yet?” She winked, pointed to her skirt and twirled around with a devilish smile on her face. Seriously!!??

She was definitely reveling in the attention she was receiving from the episode and my facial expressions wasn’t helping either. The torture was not sitting well with junior down below either.

As a general rule, when a girl drops her skirt or dress, I want to see her panties. I want to watch and allow myself to be teased by the deliciousness nesting behind the fabric. I want to be able to see if some moisture manages to seep through the cotton. Some weeds sticking out from the sides of the cotton or lace can make my head spin.

Something about my friend possibly going commando, however, had me in a frenzy.

Was it because her teasing meant she was interested in me or because I was getting ready to get lucky that night? In my frisky mind, it was the latter.

Though I naturally get queasy seeing hot girls in skirts, I rarely spend an entire evening obsessing over what is underneath as they sashay back and forth.

Her invitation to wonder had me imagining the breeze wafting up her thighs and the easy access to her secret garden. What if she pulled me into the guest bathroom and hiked up her skirt for some play time?

I started daydreaming about what will happen if she collapsed on the couch next to me at the end of the evening, spread her legs and end my wondering once and for all.

Had she simply said, “Yes, I am going commando,” I would have enjoyed my evening in peace. I would have smiled, flashed a quick mental image of what was going on down there, then forget about it after a few minutes.

At the end of the party, I started to approach her and make a move. As I walked towards her, another man came up behind her and hugged her tightly. She turned around and they locked lips in a passionate kiss.

Shit!!!! What the french?!!

I had no clue she had started dating. I was too chicken to hit on her when we became friends a few months ago. Why the heck was she teasing me for if she has a man? I was furious and junior wanted to come out and strangle her.

I quickly made it to the bar and started knocking down a few brews to soothe my bruised ego and medicated myself against the blues which was about to hit me that night.

I was too inebriated to drive after the brews so Uber came to the rescue. The poor Uber driver had to sit through the agony of listening to a drunk stranger narrate his miserable evening.

As I got closer to my place, memories of what she may have looked like underneath the skirt came back for a moment. I felt disappointed because I will never know.

Part of me, however, was comforted by the fact that I did not have to wonder anymore.

The next time I hug a girl, my hands are definitely not making it past her waist.