Adventures in Underwear

Tightie whities, boxer briefs, bikinis, thongs or whatever you are into I guess.  I “go commando” myself and have found it the most comfortable for me.  I also can’t advocate enough that one less garment to take off in the heat of sexual paroxysm has many advantages.  I didn’t always go commando I must admit.  My decision to try it out was based in part by my father when he took advantage of a situation to my complete and utter mortification.

I was about sixteen years old when my jovial father and I decided to go to the local mall to grab some jeans, shirts, and oh yes… some underwear.  Maybe we were there to scope out some ladies also.  Anyway, we stopped off in Sears to check out the latest in tightie white undergarments when good old dad suggested I wear bikinis.  “Fuck that!” I said, “Where in the hell do you um, tuck your balls?”(See… I could talk to dad about anything) Well, eventually we came to the tighties section and as I sorted through the different sizes I couldn’t seem to remember what size I wore.  Dumbfounded by this seemingly simple task to just remember what size of underwear I wear, I became anxious and asked my father if he knew what size I wore.  He looked at me with a puzzled look and before he even answered me and while I was eager to just be done with the daunting and dirty task of buying my jizz catchers… I turned and told him to just read the size off of the underwear I already had on.  I turn my back to him and he snatches the label and starts to read.  I think to myself how peculiar this is and look around to make sure no one else is observing this undoubtedly odd situation and after checking a number of times it dawns on me that quite a lot of time has passed and my father was still holding my tag.  Wondering about what exactly could be taking so long to accomplish this simple task and ready to be done with it I blurt out “Well, what does it say?”  My father replied quickly “It says… Pull here!”  ….  Somewhere in that Sears building, personnel in loss prevention were laughing their asses off as my father proceeded to lift me off of my feet by my underwear.  My dad and his uproarious laughter drew everyone else’s attention to me and amid grins and chuckles I proceeded to dig the cotton out of my ass.  I was pissed off about it too.  No underwear buying that day I tell you.  It took me about 10 to 15 minutes to turn a chuckle about that… it was rather hilarious, especially since I placed myself into that situation.  I never got my dad back for that one… but I did make my grandmother red-faced and praying to Jesus after she bellowed across a different store a question about what size I wore.  “That’s okay Grandma…. I don’t wear any!!!” I shouted in return.  I still am not sure what compels the grandmothers of today to shout questions of bra sizes and how the crotch fits throughout department stores across America… at least that day one grandmother got an honest answer and wished that she hadn’t asked.