I was stuck in traffic on my drive home yesterday (cue ominous "idle minds" music) and a brief segment came on the radio about the upcoming royal wedding. Among other things, it mentioned that the Brits are obsessing every little tidbit, from the guest list, to the cake, to the royal bride's honeymoon undies. Keep in mind that I know and care as little as the next colonist about the wedding, and I don't find Miss Middleton to be more than average attractive. But as soon as I heard mention of "Kate's honeymoon lingerie," I had to see it. More specifically, I had to see her and imagine her wearing it. Not so much as a turn-on, but as a weird (and obviously false) power thing. Almost a "possession" thing, if that makes sense. It was all I could think about, until I googled "kate middleton honeymoon panties" and within the first few results arrived at this article -- with this handy reference photo, courtesy of the Sun's reader-conscious editors and art department, as an added bonus. Once I'd seen it, I could function normally again.
That same compulsion is what drove me, back when I was "doing" (or "involved in" or "smitten with" or whatever they call "looking at a whole lot of") porn, from hearing the name of a new Hollywood starlet or seeing some new supermodel on a cover at the grocery store checkout aisle, and focus with superhuman intensity on when I'd have the next opportunity to get online and see her en deshabille.
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