My underwear drawer is the second one from the right. I am not really sure how this became the underwear drawer--I’m sure some people have their closets organized so that each item they are putting on is stored next to the one that should go on next: the ties are next to the dress shirts; the sweaters next to t-shirts; the jackets next to the feather boas. In my mind, the only thing that should be stored next to your underwear is your bong. I would put my sex toys in there too, but I don’t think I can fit a fireplug in my underwear drawer.
I’m a briefs kinda guy. I like to wear briefs because it’s comfortable and provides support, unlike boxers where I feel like my balls are waiting to bungee-jump off a bridge.
While I only buy briefs, half my underwear drawer is occupied by boxers. Every single one of these boxers was given to me by people I’ve dated in the last ten years for Valentine’s Day.
I guess that giving underwear these days is supposed to be a romantic gesture: a sweet gift that tells our lovers we would like to get a blowjob in the very near future. These gifts are supposed to seduce our lovers, so we give them a pair of silky underwear or a lacy peignoir or a clown suit. It’s a very subtle message, much like after cooking a well-prepared gourmet dinner, you give your lover some strawberry-flavored lube. And then you take out the whip.
All my boxers are festooned with romantic iconography, symbols of love and relationships: hearts, cupids, Dr. Phil. I’ve also noticed lately, that marketers have been trying to expand this gallery of tired old images. A couple of pairs had little bees on it, which I guess is supposed to invoke sweet thoughts of honey and honeycombs, but for me, only invokes thoughts of itching.
These two pairs were given to me by this one guy I dated who called me his "honey," which I thought would’ve been really romantic if he didn’t usually follow it with, "not tonight, I have a headache." He also had been cheating on me. Call me crazy, but I think he started calling me "honey" because he was afraid he would accidentally use the other guy’s name while we were having sex.
I have been with a few men in my life--okokok 241 men, jeez. So, I’ve been called a few pet names: "sweetie," "babykins," "shithead." My favorite has always been "shithead." That’s because I felt it was the most honest relationship I had been in, he called it like it was. He called a spade a spade, a heart a heart, and a club, something you whack your astronaut’s new girlfriend with.
But girls (and by girls, I mean all of you--lesbians, straight men, carnies. Yeah, you.), forget the underwear, there are only two things that should be in your Valentine’s repertoire: how to make a nice steak and how to give a good blowjob. If you’re vegetarian, then I’m sorry, but didn’t you know you were already eating meat? Then, learn to grill a steak, girl. Good luck.
Just so you don't say that I'm a tease, here are the pics of my underwear. The one to the right is my favorite pair, the blue one with the cute little devils. Yes dear, all gays love Satan.
It Don't Smell Like Roses - I believed in the Happily Ever After. Boy, was I wrong.
Tug of War - To win the battle for supremacy in any relationship, one must be very very crafty.