Having a Fit: In Those Jeans
Stories of Sex, Intimacy and Denim.
The first night I’d arrived in his city the transition from “It’s really good to see you” small-talk, to "let’s get it poppin" was fluid. It was an early night in late summer; YG had just been kicked off a plane for being drunk and disorderly, and we were watching it all play out on the Shaderoom, laughing. I was sitting on his bed in a pair of high-waisted flares, he was across the room in something dark-washed and a little baggy, lighting incense. We looked at each other for a moment, and just like that, we knew it was going down.
Very rarely are things this smooth for me. On some real shit, I’m not the best at initiating sex unless I’m buzzed, and even then I’m pretty elementary; I’m good at giving coy looks, I might throw in a little playfight, I’ll do a slow strut while I trail sage around the room. But when it comes to the dominance, I always end up fumbling, especially when undressing someone.
I do my best to play off my awkwardness; I buy time with neck kisses, indulge the process like it’s slow and sexy. When really, my fingers are clumsy. If the guy has on hard denim with a button fly, forget it, those are just bitch to undo. And because I come out the gate with that “I’ve got this” energy, most times, the dude will just be sitting there wide-legged, trying to look lusty, lifting only a little as I struggle to shimmy their skinny jeans down. It’s unsexy on so many levels.
But back to homeboy from the beginning: luckily, in that case, all we needed to do was meet eyes. Without a cue, we unzipped our flys, our jeans falling to pools on the floor. And well...you already know. Fast-forward to a few days later and we were no longer vibing with each other the way we had been. The days that’d passed since our first night had been filled with missteps and misunderstandings, high highs and low lows. I’d come back to his house the morning of my flight hoping to talk it out, maybe have some make-up sex. But when I got there, we just sat in silence. We couldn’t even muster up the energy to share words with each other, let alone our bodies. All my advances were rebuffed.
I was getting ready to call my Uber when he suddenly remembered he had a pair of jeans to give me. He’d bought them from a specialty store, and it wasn’t until he tried them on again at home that he realized they were women’s jeans—the waistband was way high. He slid a pair of light-wash Levi’s off of a hanger and tossed them to me. I pulled them up under the sundress I was wearing. They fit perfectly. I wore them on the flight home.
The encounter was undoubtedly unsexy and awkward—a little heartbreaking, even—but intimate in it’s own way. And even though I didn’t get much closure, or the D, I did get good denim. It got me thinking about the link between sex, intimacy and the clothes we wear—in this case jeans—the eroticism and, sometimes, awkwardness tied to what we had on in those moments, and the memories that remain.
A few weeks ago, we asked our Knorts community to share their own sex and denim stories. The tales range from hilarious to kinky to heartwarming—but one thing is for sure, I’m not the only one who has run into difficult denim when trying to get sexy (can we just do away with button flys already?). Read on for some of our favorites:
I met this chick out one night and the chemistry was crazy. We were both with the shits so we left the spot we were at and drove up to this little lookout point nearby. I had on these jeans with this really tricky fly that either always unzips on its own, or always gets stuck. In that moment, it would not budge at all. I couldn’t get it down. I tried ripping open the fly, but nothing. She tried, too. She even tried with her teeth. It made the anticipation build, but it was mad annoying. In the end I just had to pull the jeans down as far as I could, which wasn’t very far, and hit it over my waistband.
Marcus, 24, Los Angeles
Around the time my ex and I first started hooking up, I was always wearing these super tight black bell bottoms. I was basically stuffed in them, and they looked great as long as I wasn’t wearing a crop top. Anyways, we were hooking up and all of a sudden my jeans busted open and zipped all the way down. I tried to play it off like I lowkey did it on purpose, and jumped up as if I was taking them off. But then, as I was actually taking them off, I tripped on the leg and fell face down on the floor of my dorm room like a total noob — so not sexy, but he thought it was adorable.
Chloe, 22, NYC
I discovered masturbation when I was 20, much later than expected for young women. I was very curious and very blessed to have a dorm room to myself. I loved to fuck myself and didn’t know how. Not enough experience in that department, but I’d fuck myself three times a day if my pussy would allow it (sometimes she did). Wrote essays at 3am — Fucked myself at my desk through a pair of Madewells. 10 minutes before class — Fucked myself through a thrifted denim miniskirt. No time to strip. No time for a show. Just time for fingers to wriggle through non-stretch waistbands, trying to figure her out.
Anonymous, 24, Brooklyn
Leaving a Mark
Everytime I wear tight jeans the seams always press into my skin and leave these little indents. It’s hella annoying. Sometimes you can even see the whole button and zipper area, like pressed into my stomach. The worst part is I’m pretty pale, so sometimes the marks are like bright red—honestly, I don’t even know why I put myself through it. Anyway, it became a thing on my first date with my now girlfriend. We were going out for dinner and drinks and I’d planned to hold out on sex for a while, so I wasn’t really prepared to be naked. If I would’ve known, I might’ve worn something more accessible. But one thing led to another and we ended up in her bed.
It was really hot until she started taking my clothes off. My jeans were were so tight she had to, like, yank them off of me and then they were stuck around my ankles, and hanging down inside out. That was already kind of unsexy, because it took so much time, and took me out of the moment. But then, once she got them off, I had these weird red track marks up and down my legs from where the jeans had pressed into my skin. I’d been imagining the moment for so long, and I wanted to look as good as I could for her. I’m already self-conscious about my body as it is. She honestly didn’t seem bothered, though. She even kissed my legs in those places, which was very, very hot.
Marie, 27, Portland
What’s Mine is Yours
There was a time when me and my partner would wear each others jeans right after sex because we just didn’t care. It made me feel so close to him because what was his was mine, and vice versa. Like a second closet. It’s really special when your partner trusts you with their clothes, it’s like they’re being a provider—they want you to be happy, they want to take care of you, they just want to love you and want to give you everything, no matter the cost. I see that a lot in my partner. I have three pairs of his jeans, one pair he actually gifted me, but I think he has no idea about the other two!
Branden, 19, Los Angeles
I went through a phase in high school where I used to buy myself these cheapy stretch jeans because they showed off my shape, and they were...cheap. The problem was I was always busting out of the back of them. The guy I was sleeping with at the time would just rip them completely off and get to it. I went through so many pairs, but it was fun.
Abby, 29, Atlanta
When I was living in LA, I had a date with a pretty well-know music producer. I had on my cutest jeans, heels, and a cropped mini tank. I was giving you chic but simple. I looked MAD cute. Mad cute until midway through the date, when I realized my fly had been down for at least half the date. He laughed, but I cried slowly inside the rest of the night.
Alexis, 27,New York City
I went home with this guy one night. I don’t even remember who it was, to be honest. But I remember it was winter so it was really cold outside. I hadn’t put lotion on that morning, so my skin was really dry. Tight jeans rubbing up against ash is NOT a good combo—my skin was basically just getting ashier and ashier all day. By the time he pulled my jeans off that night, my legs were legit gray. I was so embarrassed. I kept trying to tuck my legs away and hoped the room was dark enough for him not to notice.
Chelsea, 24, Brooklyn
One Night Stand
I took this boy home from the club one night and it was a full on sloppy drunk passionate situation; we were shoving our hands in each others jeans, touching and going at it before we even walked through my door. He woke up embarrassed and acting coy and saying he had to get home and shower because he was late for something—bullshit. He was searching for his jeans and couldn’t find them, so I gave him a pair of my sweats to wear home. I told him I’d call when they turned up. I ended up finding them balled up in my sheets at the foot of my bed later that day. I didn’t even bother calling because they were a nice pair of A.P.Cs and they fit me nicely. Plus I kind of didn’t want to have to go through that little exchange, anyway. And he never called back because I guess he was still embarrassed? Either way, it was an all-around win for me.
Sean, San Francisco, 30