This morning I had a flash of inspiration and self-understanding, the momentous discovery, that my psychological state was intrinsically linked to the underpants I wear on any given day.
For those of the fairer sex I think it only fair that I elucidate, after all not carrying appendages of the male variety the needs and desires of a man when it comes to underwear can only be conjectural and conceptual for you, in the spirit of sharing enlightenment I think I need to give you a little background:
There are a number of options as a bloke in the draws department, budgie smugglers, that’s to say mini briefs, capturing the wedding tackle neatly up front a little like those 70’s mini swimming trunks that were worn on the beaches of the med and are still popular today in Brasil, others like the big baggy style of boxer shorts, leaving plenty of room to swing around in down there, others the traditional “Y” fronts, proffered by Marks & Spencer, you can get into the kinkier stuff, posing pouches, just covering the bare or is it bear essentials? Buttocks free and no more than a thong on top. Or as is my favoured option, trunks, smaller than boxers, cotton and a little elastane, keeping to the contours of the body and keeping everything in place. Some men like to go commando, i.e. no underwear, never really got that as a concept myself, but each to his own,
So, a man has perhaps half a dozen underwear style options, I am very firmly clear on mine. I remember as a youngster seeing my father in his pants, bloody enormous baggy boxer shorts, my dad had rather bandy legs and the ensemble was un-nerving, on the rare occasions I saw him in his enormous baggy briefs I really never understood how I could have come into existence. Had my mother really fancied that?
I did try boxers at various times, one was my wedding day, silk black boxers, I felt the need for special kegs on my marriage day, but regrettably they gave me a nasty rash, never again ( the silk boxers not marriage, as an institution I am still happy to explore the possibility despite previous issues of getting married for a second time). Y fronts fill me with horror, I don’t know why, but for me they look like the underwear of a person with special needs, I can’t think of any other way to describe them. Budgie smugglers are just a no, they need no explanation and are an affront to good taste. If we get to the posing pouch/jock strap territory, well that’s just for sport, of whatever variety, though I do remember wearing a leather posing pouch, leather waistcoat and Rigger boots to a Fetish Club, which as an evenings diversion was pretty liberating I must admit, but that was many years ago and best a veil drawn over it. Lastly, Commando, for me a no-no, just cant get on with it, for some guys the freedom of no underwear is a must, not for me, having said that I am no prude, and to be honest am happy to get naked from time to time.
Years ago we were on a family holiday in the Med, we were on the most beautiful of beaches, miles of white sand, the other beach-goers were predominantly German, and for some reason almost all stark naked, the small, the large, the old, the ugly and the very wrinkly, it wasn’t a pretty site, but when I realised that the only naked people were German and the Brits on the beach kept their swimming costumes on I felt a whelming of Nationalistic Jingoism. I felt encumbered to hold up the British end, so whipped off my kit and joined the Germans, no way was I going to let the Germans have the monopoly on nakedness. I did it for Britain.
I am happy to get butt-naked when the mood takes, I was just thinking of another holiday, staying at my friend Richards home in Greece, he has the most beautiful house on the Gulf of Corinth, you walk out of his back gate straight on to a quiet secluded beach, it is just a few metres into the sea, heaven. On one visit a crowd of us went into the sea late one evening, skinny dipping, just the stars as background light and the water twinkling with fluorescent plankton, a million tiny stars in the water, swimming naked was just the most amazing liberating feeling, nothing sexual, in fact far from it, but just exhilarating and so liberating, marvellous, I must do it again.
But I am going off track, last night was an Emporio Armani outing, I wore my favourite underwear, I paid more for them than was sensible, I am too embarrassed to tell you the exact amount, but it’s more about what they represent. Last night I went out with a very beautiful woman, I am quite smitten with her to be honest, and I made a point of wearing my favourite Armani underwear, not because I hoped to end up in them or indeed getting out of them, though the idea certainly appealed, but it was more about having to have my favourites, the ones I feel good in.
Today Saturday morning conversely, I am sporting an old pair of Kelvin Klein’s, they are comfortable, well worn and “OK”, but I don’t feel hot in them, perhaps that’s the difference today is just a relaxed day of pottering about. I have in all I guess a dozen or so pairs of knickers; I have my favourites, and those that I wear if I just want to slob about, and then a scale in between the two. What I choose to wear, both on a conscious and a sub-conscious level is actually a Barometer for how I am feeling, there’s no point in Armani every day, every day is not the same, but some days you just want to feel special and you want to feel good.
Tomorrow is Sunday, I have no idea what sort of Pants I will be sporting, but that’s just the kind of man I am , my life is really rather wild you must be thinking, who knows what it may bring, though I have to say Armani days & nights are just the best.