Yesenia has dark, curly hair. A beautiful, bright smile. She is always incredibly well put together, wearing elegant pantsuits, skirt suits, dresses. Her clothes manage to look simultaneously expensive, like they come from some fabulous designer, and at the same time, seemingly almost effortlessly casual.
I’ve never seen Yesenia look other than I’ve just described – though I’ve seen her dozens of times in contexts in which you might expect to find her in sweats or shorts or jeans.
I have the sense that other women are infuriated by the ease she projects, even as she inhabits an elegant and glamorous self-presentation.
God knows if I were a woman, I would resent her. I would envy her.
As a straight man though, I admire and appreciate the effort she puts in and the invisibility of that effort, except in her outfits.
I have written before that I believe, almost as a matter of faith, that people should only wear clothes that make them feel hot. I believe this of men and women. I believe this of outerwear and underwear.
Putting on faded, ratty, torn, worn, stained clothes can’t help but make one feel all of those things about oneself.
When I look at Yesenia – and I’ve only ever seen her fully clothed – I have the distinct sense that she subscribes to this philosophy, that it’s important to her that everything that touches her flesh make her feel beautiful and sexy. Certainly everything I’ve ever seen on her has accomplished that.
And so, I like to imagine what lies beneath what I see.
In my fantasies, Yesenia has an elaborate collection of expensive and diverse lingerie. Corsets and basques. Panties and bras. Bodysuits, bodystockings. Pantyhose, tights, stockings and garters. Silky cotton. Lace. My instinct is that the colors skew dark: black, brown, maroon, purple, crimson. But I’m open to being wrong, to the possibility that she’s got an entire collection of pastels, of whites.
Anything seems possible to me, except for one. She does not wear boring, old, worn lingerie.