I never used to fantasise about sniffing underwear. Even during my horniest moments, when I was in the early stages of learning what turned me on, and discovering the answer was ‘everything’, it never occurred to me to try and get hold of a guy’s underwear and hold it over my face, breathing in the heady scent of his cock. Until one day, a boy I was in love with came to visit, and left his underwear behind when he departed…
We found his underwear (soft, tight cotton Calvins, if you’re interested), crumpled under a pile of assorted belongings abandoned by other friends. There’d been some scrambling to get changed before we all went out, if I remember correctly: we’d spent the day hanging at my friend’s house, then in the evening departed to go to a house party. He must have just chucked them to one side and forgotten to pick them up when he packed up his backpack to leave.
I held his pants up for my friend to see and we grinned at each other. He was the only boy who’d been there that day, so we both knew who they belonged to.
The first thing I did – instinctively – was lift his pants to my face and have a sniff.
He smelt amazing, this dude. He wore a scent that was sweet and powdery – like talc and soft towels and hotel bathrooms. Underneath the top notes of this powdery, talc-y scent, was something more musky and intense. More him.
We messed around a little, my friend and I – snapped photos of us holding his underwear and making various sexy faces. One or two in which we stripped off our t-shirts and held his underwear against our semi-naked skin, giggling at the knowledge of how he’d react when we sent him the evidence of our ‘joke.’
After handing the disposable camera to a white-coated person in the chemist, my friend and I spent a nerve-wracking hour or so in McDonalds. We’d paid for speedy developing, but then got worried that when we came back in to collect the prints, there’d be police present to arrest us for making pornography.
It wasn’t really porn, though: just playfulness. And I’m guessing the photo people knew that, because they handed over the snaps with the exact level of bored resignation for which British customer service is famous.
At the time, we played it as a joke. It was funny and endearing, and potentially a little teasing: we found your pants, here’s what we did with them. Playing up to his ego and flirting a little, but with the power of knowing that you don’t have to fear rejection if you can frame everything as a joke.
But beneath the joking and the fun there was something deeper. Something that gave me a more intense feeling, that I knew instinctively not to voice aloud to my friend. I never used to fantasise about sniffing underwear, until the perfect opportunity presented itself. I’d sniffed his pants because it felt so right at the time, and the scent of him summoned lust that kicked me forcefully in the pit of my stomach. In more recent years, when guys have sniffed my knickers (or offered to buy my used knickers), their desire to get a sniff of my cunt has made me feel disproportionately powerful. Because it reminds me of how abject I was with desire for this boy that I loved, and how gleefully I lifted his pants to my nose and breathed in.
Out loud I laughed with my friend about getting arrested for taking lewd pictures, but in private I wallowed in the scent of him: summoning images of this boy caressing my head as I buried it in his lap, or drawing my hand towards the open fly of his jeans so I could feel how hard his cock was. Grabbing my head with both hands and yanking it against his talc-and-dick-scented crotch. I loved him, you see, and at that age I couldn’t love without lust – moaning into a pair of soft cotton Calvins seemed like as good a means as any to soothe my aching heart.
We posted the photos to our friend, who loved the story – and the sentiment. Although he’d never have fucked me, he very much enjoyed the attention that my unrequited lust caused me to shower him in. The next time I spoke to him on the phone, he laughed and preened and teased me.
“You liked the way I smelled, right? Have you still got my underwear? Do you still sniff my underwear?”
I told him no.
I was reminded of this story because Sofia Gray – the used underwear marketplace – has just come on board as a one of my site sponsors. You should check them out if you want to either buy or sell used underwear, or even if you just want to browse it because you are as fascinated and thrilled by this horny concept as I am. They didn’t pay me to write this post, and their sponsorship isn’t conditional on it, it’s just that it reminded me of this story, and got me horny for all kinds of underwear-sniffing shenanigans. Do you have a kink for sniffing underwear, or selling your own? I would absolutely love a guest blog about it – pitch me!