One Woman’s Week: Nazi Pants

By Karen Fenessey

BECAUSE I am so close to God, many people assume I am a prudish bore. But, I hate to break this to you: I am the princess of passion, the queen of copulation and the duchess of penis! Consequently, I think it is deplorable that a man can be put on trial over the outfits he chooses to wear while he is getting down.

I must say, I was surprised to discover on which side Max Mosley's bread is buttered because if it was me, I would totally dibs the 'German'. However, on reflection, I realise that it was such a nice gesture for him to go the 'prisoner' and let the girls have a bit of fun for a change.

It's just this kind of chivalrous behaviour that should be setting the precedent for bums like my boyfriend Donny. I actually have a pair of pants which are red and white with black shapes on them, and, in a certain light, they kind of look like swastikas. Occasionally, when Donny and I go for a night out, I wear them, and get such a buzz from feeling like I could herd the entire restaurant on to a train, were I to take the whim! They give a girl a certain added 'je ne sais pas pourquoi' and I know that when I walk into the room with my special pants on, I'm a real page turner.

If only Donny could appreciate my beauty and talent the way a real man like Max would. If me and Max met up in a hotel bar, I have no doubt that within five minutes we'd be getting down to some serious Abu Ghraib-inspired high-jinks.

It is a sorry state of affairs when a man can't just go out and do a spot of 'German' activity with some good friends – especially when the friends aren't actually 'German' and no one leaves as a lampshade!

I believe that people should be allowed to express themselves sexually any way they please because I am tolerant and a socialist. Except, of course, for randy pensioners and overweight lesbians because that's just sick.