I am trying to get back into writing smut. This starts off as more of an off the top of my head confessional and then I will tell you a story. It is broadly true. All activity takes place between people who are over the age of 18.
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Let me tell you two things about me. Number one, my penis is a grower. Number two, I have, on and off, but for quite some time, had an obsession with men in briefs.
Number two is far from a constant fixation. For a start, I'm not a gay man. I've slept with as many women as I have men and I am just as taken by a curvy figure in a thong, or a short skirt hiked up to hint at what lies beneath, as I am with a bulging pair of skimpy briefs. I like bulging tits as much as I like bulging cocks.
There is, however, something forbidden, deviant and almost perverse about a man in briefs. Particularly in the UK, for any man who grow up post- the 1990s. I don't know how common this memory is, but the moment I realised, in the school changing rooms, that briefs were not "cool", or even acceptable, is imprinted in my hippocampus. I had wised-up enough to realise that my primary school underwear, bedecked with cartoon characters, would not pass muster, and had asked my mum to buy me some 'grown-up' plain white briefs instead. But it was not long before I realised that even these marked me out as different in a changing room full of patterned boxers, or CK boxer-briefs. I can still remember the laughter, and the pointing, and the shame. I was never quite sure what the stigma was: were they just too revealing? Did people think they were too tight, too constricting? This was never a problem I had noticed. Some people said they rode up or rubbed their legs, but surely far less than the baggy boxers that they preferred. Later that week, red-faced and quiet, I told my mum "I think I might like to wear boxers from now on." She didn't ask any questions, or let on if she was annoyed about buying me new underwear twice in the space of a month. A few days later I found a pack of five from Tesco on my pillow and I have exclusively worn boxers, or boxer-briefs, ever since -- until today.
Speedos also do it for me. Again, when the standard, uncontroversial option is to wear a loose pair of shorts, and tucking your junk into that uncomfortable wiry netting, it thrills me to see a man make a conscious decision to opt instead for a swim brief. I have spent hours searching for smut set in French swimming pools, where the swim short is forbidden. Never mind the four-yearly ritual of zooming on the Olympic divers. However, being possessed of both a larger than average body and a smaller than average soft penis, the swim brief is not my costume of choice. Even abroad, in those exciting countries where loose swim shorts are banned, I have always worn longer tight swim shorts.
Hard, my cock is nothing to be embarrassed about at all. I've sucked, fucked and been fucked by enough men to know roughly where I line up in that respect. It's about 7 inches long, thick, and with my foreskin pulled back it is blessed with a big, round red mushroomy head that glistens with pre-cum within seconds of arousal. I know that my own cock is bigger than most of the ones that have been in my arse.
Soft is a very different story, I think. Again, insecurities about my weight and my cock have meant that I have avoided situations where you would see flaccid cocks to compare, such as locker rooms or communal showers. British prudishness means that we don't just strip down on the beach to change, or wear Speedos to swim. And the nature of Grindr hookups is that most cocks I've found from that app were hard or semi-hard on arrival and didn't stick around long enough to shrink back down. So I simply haven't seen a representative sample size to know for sure. This isn't an invitation to fill my inbox with flaccid penises by the way -- although I wouldn't complain.
But my soft cock feels small. It doesn't ever get in the way. It shrivels down so that I do not seem to fill out my boxer-briefs in the way that others do. One ex-girlfriend described it as pocket-sized. I once bought a pair of bulge-enhancing boxers. They had a little pouch to tuck your junk into, so that it was propelled up and forwards. However, over the course of the day, I found I didn't have enough flaccid cock for the pouch to hold it and it slipped out, rather ruining the effect. However much I shave the shaft and trim the pubes around the base of my cock to try and create an optical illusion, the reality is that I am a grower.
My obsession with briefs has led me to wonder what it would be like to wear them. Like I say, I have not worn them since I was a child. I thought back to all of the sniggering in the changing room from fellow pupils, who bragged that they couldn't wear tighty-wighties because their genitals were so large that it cut off the blood supply. It occurred to me that this probably wasn't true. It also occurred to me that as an adult, with agency and income, I could just buy a pair and see what it was like. Nothing was stopping me. Now that I am in my thirties, would my fully grown cock and balls fill them out? Would they be a revelation in comfort? Would they, in short, change my life?
So here I am, sitting in my office chair with the blind drawn, wearing only a pair of black briefs. They are a soft bamboo pair, with a nice waistband. I walked the dog earlier today, wearing the same black briefs. I wondered if anyone could tell. After most of a lifetime in boxers, they feel a little odd: my legs feel oddly naked. They are not uncomfortable though. Standing in front of the mirror they seem quite flattering. They cup my balls nicely, and you can see the outline of my cock just above it. I spent ten minutes this morning deciding whether to point it up, left, right or down. I settled on up for now. New underwear hasn't magically given me a horse's cock, but the bulge is not unappealing. Maybe my next purchase will be a pair of swim briefs.
Anyway: let's change course and tell you about a one night stand I had with a hunky Latino a few years ago.
I was staying in a hotel in Cardiff, at the tail end of lockdown. My family had gathered for a family function: a wedding or funeral, something of that sort. My brother was in the same room, fast asleep. And I was in my bed, head under the covers, wired with the horn and prowling on Grindr. I was in my boxers, rock hard and unable to sleep. It was about 5am.
As always when you check in on Grindr in a new town I was sent the usual array of faceless erections. Some of them looked nice, but by necessity, any viable hookup had to be nearby and able to accommodate me. I could hardly invite a guy to this hotel room.
