Lately, I have so many difficulties remembering if and where I have written things. I have that who hypergraphia thing going on and I'll sometimes write something but not save it or push the send button or forget that I've posted similar messages 5 or 6 times, so if I've posted this here before, just move along, move along.

I had a friend, Kevin, who was 100% genetically Japanese and 100% culturally American. His parents had met in the camps but before they had kids they had decided that their children would not be exposed to anything Japanese. But, in their teens, Kevin and his sister rebelled and, during their high school years, made a trip to meet relatives in Japan. You had them at konnichiwa.

Kevin was a talented artist (and has a fantastic reputation in the graphic design world) and Tokyo just gripped his fascination. It does that to anyone who visits. Even though he later tried to describe it, I really can't imagine what it felt like to be in such a racial majority for the first time in his life yet know nothing of the language or customs. He told me that he mainly just walked the streets, went to "American" parts of the city that his cousin who spoke English directed him to and was just a tourist. A tourist just like the Westerners but, in appearance, a native. He had some pretty funny stories to tell when he got back. This is one of them.

Having an eye for good design, he became enamoured of the long, storeys-high signs that dominate the retail districts. He found someone who spoke English and asked about the signage. He was told of various shops that created bespoke signs but also carried ready-made signs. He found a shop, was able to explain what he wanted and went to an area with folded signs on a shelf with a long sign hanging next to the shelves to display the characters evaluated each as thoroughly as possible. He chose a sign, spending his remaining yen on it.

When he returned to his relatives home that evening he was eager to show off his purchase. He unraveled the sign and his family went mute. Then his grandmother giggled and the whole family began laughing. Translated from Japanese to English, the sign read "big underwear sale."

He told that story often as there are so many lessons to be learned from it. He displayed the sign in every office that he had. His sister came back to the states, took a quick course in Japanese, and went back for university, married, had children and rarely came back. Her parents pulled a kind of disowning act. There are a lot of lessons there, too. Kevin said that her only regret was that she gave in to the subservience required of her in the Japanese culture. Kevin and I talked it to death because he felt guilty about his choice to remain in culture in which he had been raised and resisting his heritage. And his sister had tossed her American culture away and embraced the native. Kevin visits her often but the first couple of times that he visited he was still finding it unsettling to be amongst a crowd of people resembling him. By that time, though, he had met more Japanese Americans and I presume that he's not as disturbed now as he was the first couple of times.

So whenever I think of underwear I think of Kevin. The one thing that bothered me then bothers me now and I've never had the guts to ask about the translation. BIG Underwear Sale or Big Underwear SALE?

I'm certain that I've written of my spending sprees here and probably mentioned that I had to buy a new dresser to hold all of my underwear. I don't know if I've written of my last (hopefully final) underwear spending spree, though. I spent another $2,000 on underwear and I'm happy that I did. Not happy that I couldn't restrain myself and buy only 30 pair but happy with what I purchased and the knowledge that my life expectancy isn't great so I really do have more than enough to last the remainder of my life. Unless something better comes out.

I don't remember wearing diapers. That doesn't mean that I jumped out of the womb and onto the toilet. I was precocious but not some sort of newborn bathroom wizard (must have that trademarked ASAP – Bathroom Wizard™). It's not something I recall.

I do have a sort of hazy recollection of achieving what most 2 year old boys think of as a lifetime achievement award; wearing "big boy pants". Maybe that's just what my mum called them because God knows that you can't run around Cheyenne, Wyoming in a pair of tiny white briefs in February. Not without freezing your tiny white uh-oh's off.

So I do recall having my clothes laid out, but still needing some help to get in them, and I recall that those tiny white Jockey briefs were part of my adult wardrobe. Maybe not adult. It took me a year or longer to put the underwear on without help. I'm still having problems with buttons.

I used to watch wrestling on television. I'm talking real wrestling like in the early sixties. And roller derby. At six I was, to my parents disapproval (you thought that I was going to write 'dismay,' didn't you?) loving that women's roller derby. At six I was a practicing heterosexual. And, by six, I was getting into my white briefs myself. My mom was gone then so it was just me and Daddy-O, me in my briefs and him in his boxers, sitting round the house not wearing nothing but our underwear. We pooted freely but never got around to smoking, drinking or drugs. And then he married that witch and she made me wear shirts and pants even in the summer. Inside and outside. She didn't understand that boys just didn't wear a shirt outside or inside in the summer.

Anyway. Yes, I admit to a few "accidents." Girls had them, too. I can personally attest to this fact. I was eyewitness to it so there's no need to deny it. Ones and twos. Aces and deuces. And other colorful childhood phrases because if we had used the words that we had heard our parents use the universe would have exploded. My last accident was at six, though, unless you count adult bacterial infections. I have a tendency to try to forget those incidents. Particularly the one time that I... me on my knees, my wife by my side, laughing and wiping my forehead and the laughing and wiping just went on and on. Neither of us had experienced the joy of constant poo (which I later nicknamed The Incredible Lightness of Being) – that is, we were childless at the time of this incident and both had a fear and gutter humor regarding the amount of bathroom redecoration that can be achieved so quickly. When we had a child, we realized that there was no place that was not worthy of redecoration.

My small wife would have been a great NFL quarterback because she excelled at the poo hand off.

Yes, my mind is so much faster than a speeding bullet, moving to warp speed and then back with a blink of an eye. That's why I keep getting ahead of myself. I'm going to pause to get some water. And I'm going to pause before I delve into gutter humor once again to tell the joke that my dad used to tell about getting a head in the Navy.

I love cold water.

So I cruised in my briefs, just like every other boy, until a week that went by so fast that there's no way that I can make any order of it, even now.

It was the summer of 1971 and I was 12 years old. In the early part of the summer I lost my virginity (with another 12 year-old virgin - I don't know if that's actually legal, except in Mississippi) and I'll just say that the event passed my expectations like one to the millionth. We still keep in touch.

So I was one of those discerning altar boys who was allowed and encouraged to do a lot of other crap that the other boys didn't get to do (and to think that girls are... I won't go there). So it was probably in July 1971 and Father Matt was in our home. (Long story but, birth mother Catholic, birth father not Catholic, Catholic birth mother dies, dad remarries an anti-Catholic demon, but father continues to fulfill his promise to raise me Catholic.) The "real" decision had already been made but this meeting was devised to make it appear that the demon had some input into where I would attend high school.

Father Matt, my dad and I had already decided that I would go to an out of state high school seminary. There are only five or six in the U.S., I think. The diocese would take care of a portion of the cost and my very small trust fund would cover the rest. We already had an appointment to fly up, see the campus, etc. Very much like going to boarding school. The discussion with the demon took place and she caved quickly. She did that whenever my birth mother was mentioned and Fr. Matt and my dad brought it up freely.

So a month after losing my virginity, I was on my way to becoming a priest. It turned out that the seminary had a sort of 'sister school' – an almost across the campus high school for girls, some of whom were discerning whether they had a vocational calling. Honestly, that number was very small. The majority of girls who attended that school were 'bad girls' being sent away from home to get away from the 'bad boys.' It was almost, but not quite, as bad at the seminary. Maybe sixty percent of the boys there were serious about our studies and our continuing discernment.

Got to slow down. Stay focused on underwear.

The other things that happened that week was that my wonderful and nervous dad started to give me "the talk." I had been expecting, and dreading, it. He and I were pulling away from our house in a green Ford LTD (not the Crown Vic; it wasn't around yet) and as he backed out he said "there's something that I need to talk to you about..." and I didn't want either of us to go through any kind of embarrassment so I just had a small nuclear reaction and said, "if it's about the birds and the bees, I already know. Donna and I have done it."

I felt... victorious. I had survived. But he had a new subject. "These little girls can get pregnant pretty easily, you know." Now I was sweating. I wasn't expecting this. I knew all about human reproduction (I thought) and I had pulled out before I ejaculated so everything should be okay. I told him that and he said something about "birth control for idiots" and I learned about condoms. They weren't condoms back then. They were "rubbers." I had heard that word a lot in 1971, but I thought (in the name of everything that is holy, I swear that this is the truth) an oxygen mask for jet pilots.

Yep. Not only that, but we had one hanging in our rec room in the corner with the other aerospace junk that was my dad's collection. I found a photo by Googling but I don't know how to upload here so I'll just say that it was like a giant oxygen mask that you wear in the hospital but it was gigantic, made entirely of rubber and if you turned it upside down it would fit anyone's crotch. I had played with it a lot and although I knew that it was something sexual, I could never understand how it worked. You could get your stuff inside of the mask but then you were left with a single tube hitting you in the face.

I finally decided that it was missing some pieces. I also decided girls were supposed to blow into the tube and that was what the older guys meant by "blow jobs."

I have never disclosed this to anyone. Never. So there's no chance that I'm giving up my anonymity by telling this. I guess I just don't care any longer that such a brilliant child could have mistaken a form of birth control with a form of breath control.

I don't remember all of the embarrassing things we talked about but he finally told me that we were on our way to Brooks Brothers to buy me new underwear: boxer shorts.

Since my dad had always worn boxers and since I knew that he had his suits and shirts tailored at BB I became terrified that I was going to have to stand there naked to be fitted for boxers. I was actually quite proud of my anatomy but only amongst boys and a handful of girls. But adults? My dad?

I had been complaining about my underwear to my dad for a couple of months (I would have been mortified if the witch knew of it). Riding up, pinching, other complaints. But they were the right size. I was just growing up.

Eternally relieved that we need only buy pre-fitted boxers, my dad bought me a dozen or so boxers of different colors and patterns. After leaving BB, we stopped by a Rexall drugstore and he bought me a box of "Forex lamb skin condoms." I don't think that they're in business any longer.

So I traded up, in a single day, from briefs to boxers and from oxygen masks to condoms for birth control. I felt sorry for my dad on the last one. I didn't know what rubbers were until that day and, while I welcomed the information, once I heard the words birth control, I knew that I would never use them. It would have been a graver sin, I believed, to use an artificial means of birth control than pulling out.

I was boxer proud in the same way that people are house proud. When I started 8th grade I was styling in my manly boxers while other kids were in their whitey-tighties.

I wore nothing but Brooks Bros boxers from the summer of 1971 until late last fall (?). Forty-four years. Someone introduced me the cotton "boxer brief" and I fell in love with them and purchased 100+ pair.

And then someone suggested trying a synthetic boxer brief so I bought two pair of the Under Armour brand, had them washed, put on a pair upon waking one day and that afternoon started ordering different styles, materials, cuts, etc., for overnight delivery. I have decided on a favorite – the Under Amour HeatGear BoxerJock as everyday wear and a number of special cuts/materials for when I feel like spiffing up. Most from UA, some from other vendors.

I don't know how long this type of underwear has even been available. I've had gifts of silk boxers but never fell in love with them. When I was an avid outdoorsman synthetic clothing was becoming popular but, at first, it stank after a good three hour sweat. Then came synthetics with some kind of silver treatment and they didn't stink so badly. But I never believed that the day would come when I would choice synthetics over cotton in my choice of underwear.

In fact, I've been rather anti-synthetic my whole life. Cotton for shirts, silk for ties, wool suits (with the occassional linen or cotton seersucker), wool or silk socks and always cotton for underwear.

The feeling that I get from wearing these underwear is nothing and maybe thats why I love them. While giving tons of support, you don't feel it. The material just feels as if isn't there and that's a far greater compliment than saying that they're merely comfortable. Support without grip. As I twist around in bed they twist with me.

I bought a lot of stuff during my spending sprees but there are only two things that I fell in love with; the iPad Pro that I opened and the UA underwear that I purchased. They compliment one another as I usually just wear underwear (an occassional tee-shirt) around the apartment, I'm in bed 23 hours a day(at least) and I have my iPad Pro by my side 24/7.

I can't believe that I would make such a drastic switch so late in life but as this particular forum suggests writing of happy things, I thought that I would write about my underwear. They make me ridiculously happy.

Just one more thing. I strongly encourage any guys out there to buy a two-pack of the UA BoxerJocks. And UA also has a full women's line that I would encourage all women to check out. I haven't looked at the women's stuff... I like women, I love women, don't get me wrong. I'll post my ex-wife's home and cell number and she can verify just how much I love women. You can call the pseudomic girls and women that I've mentioned ("Donna," real name "Susan," lives in Cocoa Beach, FL). Anything I need do to prove that I love women, I'll do.

So. I don't have an underwear fetish of any kind. I'm not tossing them onto the bed and rolling around in a pile of them. And as for women's underwear? That Victoria's Secret stuff disgusts me. It seems to me that most men who give their wives or girlfriends VS gift cards...

(OMG!!!!! VDAY IN LESS THAN THREE HOURS AND I HAVEN'T BOUGHT A CARD OR GIFT FOR MYSELF!!!!! Whew! Looks as if someone took care of my gift and cards are just so 20th century.)

Anyway, guys will usually spend a couple of hundred on a VicSec gift card for their SO's (who had already cringed upon seeing no evidence of Tiffany blue) and I can't imagine what has preceded this gift.

I can accept that a woman might actually enjoy wearing 19th century hooker gear and finding it erotic. I can accept that a woman might love her mate enough to dress up and fulfill his fantasy. Or maybe they both enjoy role-playing and she dresses like a Victorn slut while he pretends to be Jack the Ripper. But he doesn't really disembowel her. Unless it's a serial killer who drugs his victims, dresses them like a tart and then kills them a la Jackie mode.

I couldn't accept that last scenario as a legitimate reason to purchase strange underclothes.

I'm not trying to blame VicSec for anything. They used to carry one style of bra that fit her just like my new underwear fit me. So I would go into the shop with her maybe twice a year. Not a very comfortable place for me – as my wife searched for her style/size I would wander around and pretend to look at price tags. It seemed like a kind of store that would start fairly low profile but then burst out into a full-fledged, upscale adult store. That's what I thought back then.

I have simply never been able to fathom the allure of scratchy women's underwear that has no real function. Maybe it's function is only to titillate and some people are and some aren't.

I'm not even to make an attempt to try to understand why men (and I seem to be in the minority) would enjoy touching such decorations.

Yes, Underwear Man has a sensitive side. Even reveling in his personal happiness (which bolsters his self-esteem and, more importantly to his therapist, puts him on the as yet untrodden road to self-love) he thinks of others and just how happy they are in their underwear.

If you've found happiness in your underwear, please share. It may be too early for the administration to agree to add a Happy Underware forum, but in the meantime...

...if you're in fear, don't despair! Call Underwear Man!

{Before passing judgement upon my underwear happiness, take a look at your own. And remember that any word salad that you might find, or even paragraph after paragraph of nonsense and rubbish, we're not deliberate but rather an example of someone too lazy to run a spelling and grammar check.}

[healingme4me]

The Under Armor are ok. From a woman's point of view and the Woman's gear not men's. (not judging, just stating facts for discussion, but of course)

My only issue with the Under Armour is that they say one size fits all? I don't know, they are more Small/Medium and they still cause a pucker a little here or there some might call the muffin . And that's from someone who fits into the aforementioned size category, but who once until years ago fluctuated about.

I wouldn't quite say that my collection would require its own wardrobe, however, I've enough to cover me in case I'm low on quarters for the laundromat.

Happy Underwear Day! Fantastic story! Feel good stories have their place in society

Sent from my LGMS631 using Tapatalk

Hmm... I'll have to look at the women's wear. UA have a 'fitting' questionnaire for men that give you a recommended fit and it worked very well for me. I was expecting a recommendation of medium, but they said large and that's what I've been buying.

I want to be wearing a pair when I'm cremated.

[lizardlady]

Ciderguy, I love your post! I was chuckling out loud reading parts.

Speaking as a female, 'cuz I are one, I always thought guys who bought stuff from Victoria's Secret for their wives/girlfriends were actually buying for themselves. I never saw anything there I would want to wear. Though I once had a friend who bought her bras there. She was very large breasted. She said it was the only place she could find bras that gave her the support she needed.

As for my own underwear... I'm exceedingly boring. I buy Hanes cotton "hipster" panties. They are the only kind I've found that don't try and stuff themselves into places where underwear does not belong. Due to an old injury that left one shoulder lower than the other I primarily wear racer back sport bras. Anything else the left strap falls off my shoulder requiring frequent, unsightly "adjustments."

While we are on the topic of underwear I have a question and an observation.

question - why is it that the only all while cotton ladies underwear is "briefs" AKA granny pants? I hate granny pants because they don't fit. As mentioned above, they try to stuff themselves in places where underwear should not go. I have white pants I wear that require white underwear of they show through. Hey, underwear manufacturers some of us would like white undies in other styles!!!!

comment - the whole concept of bras had to have been invented by a man! No woman, unless she hated other women, would expect us to have to wear a tourniquet around our torso while stuffing "the girls" into a medieval torture device!

[cakeladie]

I agree with you Liz about the granny panties and the bras. I have always been big chested. I started wearing bras in 4th grade. I currently wear a 44h and it's hard to find a good supportive one

Love this post.

[Artchic528]

I wear ladies hip hugger low rise briefs (that's a mouthful) and these comfy bras I found on sale at Walmart for 5 bucks each. Funny thing is, I used to be fairly small chested and a late bloomer at that, so I didn't start wearing bras until around 7th grade. Now I have quite the ample bosom so I have trouble finding bras that fit and look cute too. Walmart's sale was a godsend as those are fairly comfy and reasonably cute. Or is it the other way around?

Great story. Thank you for it. It's nice to smile for a change...

I wish I could write in an amusing way as you do...

I will just say that practicality and comfort has a place. But I also me some girly prettiness...

[Takeshi]

So whenever I think of underwear I think of Kevin. The one thing that bothered me then bothers me now and I've never had the guts to ask about the translation. BIG Underwear Sale or Big Underwear SALE?

That would be a 'Big Underwear SALE' most likely. And I just wear boxers no particular brands, occasionally I go for black boxer briefs, synthetic and cotton blends, that somehow makes me feel a bit sexier, I have no one to appreciate the pair though.

I'm looking forward to reading other posts of yours, thanks for sharing.