Guy’s pants can be stunningly beautiful – the perfect fabric will cling and cup your junk, clearly and delicately outlining every single curve of your cock. The perfect underwear will hold you in a snug embrace, lifting and pushing you forward, as if your genitals are being presented just ready for me to reach for. There’s a reason they call it a ‘package’.
My favourite pants are these ones – the ‘package’ style. Jersey-fabric shorts which display and present you in a way that makes me want to reach out and cup you too.
Loose cotton boxers and a guy I begged to touch
As a youngster, I’d see adverts for men in Calvin Kleins, and wish my partner at the time could afford CKs. So perfect were the images, and so beautiful the crotches of the men, that I mistakenly believed that this effect was only possible with tailored, designer pants. Ones that were made especially for each guy, and probably cost more than the rest of his wardrobe put together.
He was beautiful – my first boyfriend. And he wore what I thought were the best available pants at the time. Those loose cotton boxers that, back in the early noughties, came in three standard types: plain, striped or (if they’d been bought between October-December) covered in comedy pictures of reindeer.
They had their own particular beauty – loose-fitting and usually even looser after a few washes, they’d hang off his hips as if they’d fall down at any moment. As an added bonus, the fabric stretching from hip to stomach would highlight that beautiful dip in his skin just next to his hipbone. A dip perfect for running my fingers down. Perfect for sliding my hand inside when I went to remove his boxers, Perfect for him to tuck his aching erection behind in public, to avoid drawing attention to it.
If you’d asked me at the time what the sexiest underwear for men was, I’d have said loose cotton boxers. I’d have been wrong.
Tight jersey boxer shorts and unthinking hotness
When, later, I moved on to those amazing tight jersey pants (or, more accurately, I started dating a guy who wore them) it clicked that Calvins weren’t just for the super-rich, and in fact any man could own a pair. This revelation knocked me for six, as I spent at least a week struggling to chat to any guy without imagining him slowly dropping his trousers to reveal that perfectly presented pant-wrapped package.
Unbuckling belts, pulling them inch by inch through belt loops, undoing one button at a time (button fly jeans are sexier than zips and I have no idea why that is the case) and then gradually opening the front to reveal the underwear that conceals hardly anything.
When I sat at my laptop today I aimed to write a post that mirrored that of a few weeks ago – on knickers, thongs, and the hottest underwear for me to wear. Sadly I can’t come up with a definitive list for the sexiest underwear for men: there is only really one kind, because I love it so hard I can barely pay attention to anything else. Tight jersey-style boxer shorts.
Feel free to disagree with me – I’m not the arbiter of sexiness. But let me just tell you this one thing before I go.
You have no idea what you do to me
I know a guy who wears these boxers. When he gets dressed in the morning they’re the first thing he puts on. Boxers first, t-shirt second, then the jeans. He pulls the jeans up his legs, sliding the waistband swiftly over his arse and to his hips. He’s almost dressed – almost. Before he buttons the fly of his jeans, there’s one more thing to do. That beautifully-presented package? His junk, bundled snugly in the cup of jersey fabric? It’s just sitting there – resting on the V of his open fly. Casually, swiftly, without breaking eye contact or stopping our conversation, he reaches down with one hand and pushes it inside his jeans.
He casually adjusts his genitals as if it’s no big deal. As if I’m not sitting there wishing I could take the whole lot, underwear included, into my eager, salivating mouth. As if he doesn’t know that the sight of him so casually rearranging what I so frequently dream about doesn’t make me want to rub every limb of my body against every inch and atom of his.
As if it’s nothing. As if he doesn’t know.