In the finished attic, there is a room. There are shelves where fabric rests, folded neatly. Wools, and cotton, linings, and cheap cotton calico prints.

…and spandex.

There are yards of spandex that wait to wrap around the body, to accentuate and lift, to display, to make beautiful at the beach or under the clothes.

When I sew for myself, often, I sew underwear.

There is a separate tape measure that has only touched my skin, and it has measured every inch of me.

Measurements are important. They can mean the difference between being gently cupped and mercilessly squashed by the fabric.

I know the curve of my own ass.

I know how much extra bias I need to properly cup my balls, and how much ease to provide so my dick, soft or erect, is cradled.

I’ve been making underwear for about a year, and I’m beginning to feel comfortable enough to wear the things I make.

There’s something erotic about knowing under your clothes, you are wearing a unique design, made by you.