T M I
Like most preschool boys, I graduated from diapers to briefs without much choice in the matter. Not that I would’ve had anything to say, mind you. At the time, I neither liked nor disliked briefs–in fact, I never really thought of them at all. I just knew (a) I needed to wear underwear, and (b) briefs were underwear. End of story.
Before long, though, I noticed that my dad and my uncle and my grandfather weren’t wearing briefs but boxers. Naturally, I wanted to be all grown up, too, so like a seven-year-old girl begging to wear lipstick, I asked mom if I could make the switch. She didn’t go for it. Even in junior high, when my dad suggested to mom that it was time for us to wear something looser, the tighty-whiteys kept coming.
Years later, in college, I finally got my chance to experience boxers. And what a disappointment. It was like…like the first time you taste whiskey. Your dad’s having a bourbon on the rocks after work, and you ask for a sip, thinking you’ll feel all adult, but it’s just about the worst tasting thing you’ve ever put in your mouth, and you think, “Damn, if that’s what being a grown-up is like, I’ll stay a kid, thanks.”
I just didn’t see what all the excitement was about. Briefs may have been a bit constricting, but at least they stayed in place. The elastic waistband on boxers, however, slipped around my torso like a snug-fitting hula-hoop. And forget about wearing them under snug-fitting jeans: it was like tucking in a second shirt, one that needed constant adjusting and untangling. Given men’s, um, pendulous anatomy, why would so many guys subject themselves to such torture?
By the time I discovered boxer-briefs a few years later, I was already soured on the idea of underwear altogether, and I stopped wearing it, more or less, after college. Every so often, I’d throw on a pair–like when my ex-boyfriend yelled at me and said I looked trashy. And even today, I’ll don the unmentionables if I’ve got on linen. But other than that, folks, when you see me on the street, I’m going commando.
That said, I’ve still got a soft spot (i.e. a fetish) for underwear. Not all of it, to be sure–like that International Male-looking crap that you see in cheesebag gay shops. Not even jockstraps do it for me, really. But a nice-looking guy in boxers or simple briefs? Mmmm.
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