I’m in my early twenties, have had intercourse no more than five times, and have never really been heavy on fetishes or fantasies that I felt strange or isolated about…but that might be due to my limited sexual experience. Briefs are something that has gotten me hot since my teens…and I suppose I thought of it as one of those odd, off center musings…that while lots of people can appreciate the look of briefs, I imagine a lot less people are somewhat obsessed with them — or have a “hunger" for their likeness. Where brief love started? I wore briefs all through my years growing up until I started making clothing decisions for myself. Pretty much when that adolescence kicks in where you start tuning in frustratingly to evaluate what’s “cool" and what can boost you into the middle school clique of your choice. At that point, I mostly went for silky boxers for the comfort and freedom (and I’d love to lie, but I donned some pretty campy flashy metallic dollar sign and heart pairs…among others). My “straight" best friend in middle school, a freckled, blonde, sweet-but-douchebaggish country boy, wore the classic white waistband, grey lettered Hanes briefs, as I began noticing in the locker room. I remember feeling kind of “sorry" for him, like he was behind and hadn’t chosen a “hip" underwear of the time, and was on the radar to be towel smacked and taunted while changing. He might have actually been teased for them, but I can’t remember…it was too long ago. So, I felt like my friend was wearing the underwear I’d only be caught dead in no less than 5 years ago, but I began to think of it in an interesting sense. He was kind of a typical man mentality/attitude…where underwear is just one of those parts to getting fully dressed…and those guys end up in briefs sometimes because it’s what they’re used to — the default underwear choice almost, and could care less when they’re picking them out for themselves, or it’s what mom or their spouse later on picks out. Thinking of it this way kind of turned me on…like the basic white brief was symbolic of that casual masculinity and aloofness to fashion (or the “small things" in general). Picture a guy in white briefs that are not really fitting…or are worn in a bit. They droop below his ass cheeks, with the elastic for the legs not really tugging on his thighs like they’re designed to do. He could care less…but my dick cares a lot. Such is my rainbow mind…addicted to the qualities of a man that are a result of no effort or thought. Well, that’s where the brief obsession began. I don’t want to make it weird, but my dad always wore them…and though I had no sexual feelings or fantasies about him, at least once I snuck to the laundry room, stepped into his too-big-for-me 36 waist Hanes briefs and tugged my junk in them…even rubbing belly down against the floor like I’d do with a towel or on my bed to make friction against my dick. I had fantasies of undressing in the woods behind my house with my country blonde best friend, the look in his eyes standing in just his briefs…and soon the feeling of the cotton dampening in my mouth…the pillowy fabric that cupped his modestly hanging dick and ball sack. Well, I’ve been hard for a few minutes now as I’ve typed and paused and fantasized and typed again. Time to relieve myself.