By Daddy X
From Flash Daddy.
If you think like I do, and if you’re a guy, you probably want to take good care of your balls. Like to have them swing free in the breeze, unencumbered by harsh restraint. For much of my life I went quick-draw.
On the other hand, it’s pretty nice to feel soft fabrics caressing your junk too. Silk, satin, Pima cotton—all have their devotees. Of course silk and satin have the advantage of added sensitivity when it rubs over the end of your dick. Ooo that glans!
So even though I did wear tightey-whitey briefs all through elementary school, my testicles, later, in their rush toward maturity, took on dimensions that were outsized for my mass. My dick and ball sack got bigger, more malleable. Especially in hot weather, all that steamy flesh would no longer fit in tight skivvies.
Boxers tangled things down there with all the expected knots and complexities of a South American three-balled bola, used for downing llamas and wild pigs on the pampas. Not to mention boxer shorts don’t perform well under tight jeans like all us cool guys wore. Decided to quit wearing underwear altogether. Commando-chango turned out to be the only way to go. Worked out well in crowds.
But that sometimes caused problems. Like when I’d dance a hard grind in khakis with some hot chick, hand pressed on her butt to draw her closer (my knee advancing a tad ahead of the beat) and leak viscous bodily fluids down my leg, staining myself to embarrassment.
Chick would say something like, “Can’t you just dance?” Sometimes they slapped me.
And that would put a damper on another potential relationship. A guy could get a reputation, or even a nickname for chrissakes (Juicey) and never have a girl say ‘yes’ again. To a dance even.
So after a life experiencing all that freedom, when I was approaching seventy years old, my balls stretched out my sack so it became quite painful, what with the live and active benwahs hanging there by whatever tendons or internal drapery cords for sixty-nine fucking years without external superstructure. Doctor prescribed the dreaded cotton briefs to keep myself contained and supported. No slack, no swing.
No, no, no. Not cotton briefs!
Remember those tight bastards? The ones that screw your scrotum up in your ass crack? Those sadistic Haines, Jockeys and Fruit-of-the-fucking-Looms? With those overlapping front vertical flaps where you twist your dick through a couple of hairpin racetrack turns just to take a leak?
Alternatively, one could yank the front elastic down and pull out Henry, creating a tight band right across the underside of the urethra, making it hard to pee. Then eventually the elastic gets all stretched out. As it will when you pull your dick out through the side by the thigh. ‘Cause then the fabric gets all misshaped, and when you skip down the street your entire package slides down through the stretched part, sticking against your thigh and sweating. Not a pretty feeing. Feels restricting, choking the poor, unassuming scrotum at the base.
The hell with that.
So a friend suggests: “Munsingwear, dude!”
Man, are they the best damn briefs. First, they’re made of the softest of cotton. But best of all-
Munsingwear now has a patented horizontal flap! Just pull down your zipper, reach in and retrieve! Or have a friend do it for you. Right through the fly, affording accessible ingress and egress for the limp, lazy little fellow or anyone interested in making it harder. All so easy for you and your family.
And when you think how long men have been wearing underwear, you’d think they'd have come up with this sooner.
We can all thank the geniuses down at Munsingwear.