Anyway, I hid under her bed, not harming anyone, and then she shot me in the foot. That fucking hurt.

I was in the house but I meant no harm. I was just there to sniff panties in the panties drawer: I was just there to sniff panties.

Then I heard her come in, so I hid under the bed, the smell of fresh panties in my head. We had problems before, but that was all in the past: this was just about the panties.

I don't know what it is about me and panties; probably some childhood trauma that even now I can't remember. Maybe a therapist could help me, I don't know. I sure hope it doesn't have anything to do with my mother.

Now, I go into strange women's apartments, and what do I do? I sniff panties. At the laundromat when no one is looking? I sniff panties. At a party? I go into the bedroom and sniff panties.

Some people look in other people's medicine cabinets, I sniff panties. It's not like I steal them or anything: I am not a freak.

Anyway, I hid under her bed, not harming anyone, and then she shot me in the foot. That fucking hurt.

So now I will probably always have a limp, just because I like to sniff panties.

I knew you wouldn't understand.

It is so unfair. I was just there to sniff panties.

You know: reminisce.

I am Laslo.

https://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/06/fearing-ex-boyfriend-woman-installs.html