For proof, one need look no further than to the designer underwear movement that began in the mid-70’s and bloomed in the late 80’s. I mean, who pays $20-30 dollars for a pair of briefs? Not I. But those faggots with that kind of disposable income may do as they please. I must admit that those who pay those prices for designer wear get something for their money besides name-brand bragging rights. The stuff is generally really well designed (to be flattering) and well made (durability).
As for me, my personal price line is $10 a pair – which means, yes… I sport the cheap stuff. (Kind of fitting, huh?) When it comes to fetish-izing underwear, who says cheaper isn’t better? I like the idea of cheap drawers; makes them seem tawdry (like me), disposable (rip ‘em up), and anonymous (how I like my sex). Remember – sex is (supposed to be) fun! So, gird your loins and try not to get your aussieBums in a bunch, boys, as we take a hard look at what’s happening down under…
Scope of Activity:
Involves the use of underwear to gain sexual stimulation via: wearing underwear, underwear being worn by a man in your presence, looking at images of underwear, or images of underwear as worn by a male model. May include masturbating in or on a pair of underwear, or smelling or licking a pair of underwear. May also include the habitual wearing of and masturbating on a single pair of underwear until they become encrusted and discolored.
For the sake of this post we will limit ourselves to male underwear only. We will not be covering jock straps or speedos, as each one of those, while somewhat related, are actually their own kink and may be explored as a part of a future Acquired Tastes. We will, however, be paying particular attention to the appeal of those scrotum inhibitors known as tighty-whities.
The Official Line:
“In the space of thirty years, a radically new vision based on eroticizing the male genital area and men’s buttocks is transforming the ways men look at their bodies.” (The Metrosexual: Gender, Sexuality, and Sport by David Coad)
I think that about captures it. In my lifetime underwear went from something you had to wear, and retailers and designers had to provide, to being something sexually iconic. Pre-mid-70’s, they had to be cheap and durable, but once athletes and celebrities got involved and started a marketing revolution, they became the stuff of legend. Now, undies get their own runway shows during fashion week and underwear ads serve as gay porn for the masses.
My fascination with underwear began when I was on the cusp of puberty – if you consider the cusp of puberty to be about six months before one begins to masturbate. In a room I had in the basement of my family home I ‘collected’ things; as in things other people had discarded (also known as trash). I had a huge shelf featuring cracked porcelain figurines, travel souvenirs (ashtrays, spoons, plates, knick knacks) and odd pieces of crap, all displayed with the care of museum quality pieces. I also had stacks of magazines such as Photoplay, and T.V.Guide. There were certain T.V. Guides I went back to time and time again – particularly one that featured LeVar Burton in Roots and another that featured a set of Hanes underwear ads featuring professional athletes. For some reason I was particularly fond of a picture of Pete Rose and no, it wasn’t his face or his batting average that elicited the admiration of my teen self. Let me set you straight – Pete Rose? Not sexy. Pete Rose standing in a pair of tight striped briefs wearing a baseball helmet and holding a bat in the 70’s? Vintage gay porn. Big bulges captured my attention early on and, needless to say, have kept it since.
I vaguely remember seeing the popular Jockey ads that featured Jim Palmer around that same time. Jim was a bit too smooth for my tastes. Even at that age, I wanted something a little rougher, with a tinge of humiliation and physical abuse added to the mix. The mere though of Pete Rose pushing me to my knees and calling me a fag was enough to send my juices flying all over that basement floor.
Growing up, for me, it was all tighty whities or polyester bikini briefs. To this day I have an aversion to bikini briefs or anything that looks remotely like panties. I hated wearing bikini briefs. They were cringe-worthy visually, too. Keep in mind that it was the late 70’s and very, very few men were hot enough (trimmed or trim enough) to carry off that look. Some of the coaches I saw walking their stuff around the locker room wearing bikini briefs? Emotional scar inducing and certainly not sexy. There were exceptions (my sixth grade science teacher, my algebra teacher), but they were rare.
Tighty-whities, on the other hand, retained their allure for me. I don’t wear them – except on rare occasions (see below), but I do like photos of hot dudes wearing them. There is something particularly appetizing about a man on all fours wearing them as the fabric stretches across the crack of their ass creating a weird, lusty scrim play. In the end I don’t know if I want to spank them, eat them, fuck them or simply be them. Part of me wants to rim them right through that taut cotton. Of course, a dude has to have the body to pull them off in order to illicit that type of response.
I don’t. Although that did not stop me from wearing them one night to the warehouse. I was in a whore-ibly horny mood and happened to have a single pair of brand new tighty-whities hiding in the bottom of my underwear drawer (a gift). I wanted something sexy and fun to walk around in and it was either those or a pair of well worn long johns (which I also think are super sexy). To add fuel to the fire, and because I hate wearing tighty whities and wanted to ensure I would never wear this pair again – I cut a hole on the underside of the rear, right where my own hole happens to reside, eliminating the mystery of the shadow play, but getting my point across loud and clear.
It got the reaction I was looking for. I barely got down into the basement when this dude I played with a month before hit on me. He has a huge dick, which last time I sucked on for like forever, but it never made it into my rose bowl. This time I wanted to make sure he got the message, so I kneeled on the center of a nearby couch, bent over, and raised my ass so that he could see the crude modifications I’d made to my underwear. He took the hint. As did three other dudes in rapid succession. Three hours and several more episodes later, those poor undies were torn up so bad I had no choice but to leave them on the floor and walk away. It’s almost enough to make me wish I had another pair.
I like used underwear and frequently look for it at used-a-bit shops. Sometimes you can pick up a pair of long johns or some other kinky stuff on the cheap. The possibility that they may have been worn by a hot dude adds to their allure. The more likely possibility that they belonged to some old fart who recently died? Admittedly, not so hot, but sometimes part of what makes something sexy is based totally on wishful (deluded) thinking. Me? I’ll stick with my delusions when it comes to used underwear.
‘Finding’ underwear is also a habit of mine. My heart leaps every time I stumble upon a pair left along the side of a trail in the woods or on the shoreline of a river or lake. If they are clean and wearable, I’ll take them home, wash them up, and then, either donate them or keep them for some future adventure. I’ve also found some in the lost and found at the gym, but somehow, those always lack the appeal of those found outdoors. I guess I know that the ones left at the gym were just that; left behind, while with those I find outdoors have an element of the unknown and I am free to make up a delicious story of sexual abandon on the part of the previous owner. Anytime I find a pair of undies that are in less than pristine condition (dirty, torn, or – eek- soiled) I will take a look at them out of curiosity and leave them as is or hang them on a low hanging branch (like flying a flag – a freak flag).
Now, there are those out there who take the idea of used underwear to a whole ‘nother level; a level not for the faint of heart or those with sensitive stomachs or noses. I’m referring to those guys who have a particular pair of undies (or a jock strap, or a pair of jeans) that they like to repeatedly piss and cum in while wearing them without the benefit of washing – ever. The fact that they do it? Well, frankly, I don’t get, but it doesn’t bother me. The fact that they wear them in public and take and publish photos of them on the internet? That I find disturbing – but to each their own. I have yet to actually meet one of these kinkmiesters face to face. That’s probably because; based on what I know of those I’ve seen on the net, they all live in Germany. In any case, under these conditions, for me – undies are not hot. In fact, for me, any time undies involve something crusty or stained, tag me out. On the other hand a tiny little piss stain on the front, as in one produced by a day’s worth of wear? They still maintain their allure and (maybe) then some. And just for the record – because, let’s face it, we already almost went there so why not just put it out there – skid marks? Not sexy. Ever.
Also, for the record? I sport boxer-briefs most of the time. Boxers are a little too free-spirited for me; my wiener tends to work its way out of the opening which is almost always awkward. Also I associate them with a couple of things from a couple of eras; things that don’t make blood run to my dick: 1/ sock suspenders (the dress kind, not the athletic kind), as worn in Neil Simon-type comedies featuring people like Walter Matthau and 2/ Greasy-haired slacker boys from the 90’s who smoke too much pot and have yet to move out of their parent’s basement or beyond fart/potty humor. I realize that I may be missing out on something, but if I’m going to wear something so loose fitting under my pants, why wouldn’t I just go commando? Rest assured, I run a clean house down there, so no worries.
As for designer underwear? With those big brand names plastered on them? Eh. Pretentious. Although I do ‘own’ a pair of Tommy Hilfiger briefs (a size small!) which I must say look pretty hot on me. I found them tucked between a couple of couch cushions at the warehouse last time I was there. What can I say – leave a pair, take a pair.
The sexualized evolution of underwear is something that has happened in my lifetime – something I witnessed first hand. That I recall those Hanes ads from the 70’s demonstrates just what a powerful impact they had on my young gay psyche and, I’m guessing, our collective gay psyche. We’ve become a society that routinely elevates images of sculpted perfection sporting designer undies in iconic, bigger-than-life ads that rule periodically over Times Square. I’m thinking it’s just a matter of time before Calvin Klein has a giant brief-toting uber-hunk balloon gracing the skies of a future Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.
The allure of those cotton clad bulges is the promise they hold; the mystery and anticipation of their ever impending unveiling. The image of two perfectly formed globes tightly covered in brilliantly-clean, stretched fabric have us salivating and dropping $20 for a pair just like them so that we, too, can take part in that created illusion. But in the end (no pun intended), no matter how well-designed, colorful, or fancy the wrapping, what we are really yearning for is what lies beneath – and the fact that those naughty bits are so unattainable only makes us want them all the more.
Unearthing that basic plumbing remains our eternal quest – the effervescent luster that envelopes it really is just the icing on the cake.
Next week: Big Bellies