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R29 Original Series
I happened upon a survey recently commissioned by Nestle. To reach these conclusions, I spoke with actual women about what happens in their locker rooms. You will see nudity. Sure, you may happen to choose the day when a troupe of Hawaiian Tropics models has their bus break down outside. It reminds me of when precocious boys say they want to be gynecologists. And then, as you get older, you realize that you get an entire bell curve of vaginas in that parade.
Help support our writers and keep our site ad-free. You should not have to hide yourself away in a sticky bathroom stall in order to change into your yoga pants. Today, things change. Today, you are going to let your nips fly. Look at the woman over there—her only clothing item a lacy black thong, standing with one bronzed leg up on a bench, leaning over and rubbing lotion onto her skin while chatting in Spanish with her friend, who is also only wearing panties. Enough of trying to prevent indecent exposure; enough of clandestine undergarment wrestling sessions where your mind is screaming, why are these panties sticking to my thighs, just get on my body already, DAMMIT. I really admire—.
All of my male media brethren went cruising into this sacred place, and then, there was only me—the lone female reporter covering a USC football game—waiting outside. Me, the girl who has no fear, was nervous. Fear of the unknown tends to do that to you. Cripes, maybe I should just wait til they all get dressed before talking to them? In I went into the world of major testosterone, stinky athletic shoes, and wrinkled jerseys, and out I came a different person. The players were roaming around in towels or standing by their lockers speaking into digital recorders—no one was smacking towels on butts, no one was making soap jokes.