Growing up as far back as I can remember, there was always these keen attraction to underwear. As a boy hardly 5 years of age, I didn’t like wearing underwear, but had a penchant for the two pair of underwear that I owned. I’ll spare some of the more embarrassing details, but do vividly recall being drawn to the washing line next door where I would borrow some panties. Anything to do with a device that even loosely required stepping both feet into and alluded to being worn below the waist felt compelling.
This aversion/attraction to underwear lasted until quite possibly my preteens. At this point I had not worn any underwear for the nearly a decade. I was still fascinated by it and even tried to fashion a piece of cloth to look like underwear.
Then after I’d founded my own privacy by my own volition, I began to want, possibly gauded by my mother, to start wearing underwear. Possibly both. Mind you prior to this I was totally uninhibited and would be completely nude while showering or changing when my entire family was around.
Then, suddenly the decision to want to do things behind closed doors felt ironically liberating. Like I found a new muse. This new found freedom of being with myself also fuelled my innate desire for underwear. At this point, I was finally ready to get my own underwear. However, the type I used to have when I was much younger was nowhere to be found. There was one pair of regular briefs, sort of like a more stylistic version of tight-whities for pre-schoolers, which was quite exciting. And the other which was pale canary yellow, made of smooth cotton, no features and a small elastic waistband.
I was unable to find anything online that was remotely close, however did manage to find some adult underwear which might do as a facsimile amalgam representation of both pairs here – Y-Front Briefs.
The yellow pair was the guiding model which I was hoping to find and nearly at the end of series of searching through stores for some, finally managed to get half a dozen or so in kind of the same style.
This was initially worn only when going out or to school I believe and recall being ecstatic when putting on underneath my clothes when people were over sometimes. But at the same breath, thankfully taking them afterwards and feeling relieved at having taken off the restrictive clothing.
It was an odd dance of sensuality and avoidance, which stoked the fires of desire and fetishism I suppose. And the chance delight of being home all alone meant that I could try them out and walk around just in my underwear which was a treat.
Fast forward down the years with this strange curio of sensuality being carried aloft to my teenage years and interlaced with my nascent sexuality and self stimulation.
This carried on well into my late teens where experimenting with different choices and styles of underwear, coupled with my slightly expanded efforts at crafting my own underwear and altering existing ones surreptitiously yielded a rio backed brief. This foreshadowed my foray into thongs; at that time I doubt I knew whether if thongs existed or not. This was the mid to late 90’s after all and whatever sparse main stream media I received was severely censored and whatever R rated movies and, X rated content, naturally featured no thongs to possibly the odd drop among the waves. Oh and the underwear crafted from scratched was too small to even be pulled all the way up.
It was incredibly delightful, that just getting to get some and try them on and look at the image was the most wonderful and exciting moments of my life. I couldn’t get enough of them. The shapes, lines and form of it, the colours and patterns, were all just alluring.
Now to cut down on a long winded road down memory lane, what all this amounts to is a very strong attraction to underwear – the look, the feel, sometimes the smell (mind you this is just the freshly washed or brand new smell; not the other nasty version) the anticipation, and sensation of donning a pair, or several. Sometimes all at once.
This naturally leapt into the world of swimwear of course which brought a special pleasure. Especially when it was “forbidden” to be exposed at any level, I would hardly ever have worn swim briefs while growing up, with my family or the places and cultures I grew up in.
Then when I did finally managed to move to a “developed” nation, it turned out that men could only wear shorts, also that it tacitly meant to reach below the knee?
So after a while of failed attempts to bravely wear it and facing passive-aggressive ridicule from others and worse even from own girlfriend, self driven ridicule and loathing, it was parked and slowly buried beneath layers of worn and withered conformance. And shame.
But there were always bouts of trying swimwear on in privacy and regaling in the exquisite sensation and visual imagery it provided.
Slowly down the years moved again and finally made the slow and unsure step towards wearing it publicly which provided great delight and excitement. This along with trying it out at home was still strong as ever and derived so much pleasure for just the act of it.
That is what seems to have abated in the last near decade, it not longer. Be it weariness, aging or the dreaded “d” word, “desensitization.” That thrill is no longer there.
It might also have to do with the inner turmoil of trying to fight it, so I could be more normal and not be draw to these “unnatural” tendencies which more often than not lead to frustration and shame. So finally that might have come true.
Now the great feeling of turgid glee wearing such garments produced in my loins and the sensual splendor seems to have completely dissipated.
I miss that. The draw towards an article of clothing that brought such joy, which was closely linked with sexuality. Would love to have not derided it myself almost as much as others had forced on me. To have that coupled, and freely expressible, with a joy in normal sexuality with a loved one would truly be something worth living for.
I want that back. I want my fetish of underwear and swimwear back.
