My First Pair of Underpants


Mr. Doley felt  that  he  had earned the right to  be happy about his underwear just like he had earned the  right to love every part of his body, the house he lived  in, everything about his life. But first the underwear—the story of the underwear goes back  to  when  he  was  thirteen  years  old.  He  had  his  first  pair  of underpants when  he  was  thirteen.  At  that  age  he  had  developed  a  love  for  movies  and  novels.  To  satisfy  his  love  for  movies  and  novels  he  went  to  great  lengths.  Novels he begged  and  borrowed from his  friend  Pulova  who  came  from  a  good  family.  Pulova’s  father  bought  his  son  stacks of comics and novels.  Movies, he saw in  bits and  parts  in P.P’s house.  P.P  was  a  boy  in  the  neighborhood  whose  house  was  a  ten  minute  walk  from  the  then  teenager  Mr.  Doley.  He  had  a desktop—it  was  not  his  actually,  it  was  his  elder  sister’s.  The  government distributed desktop computers to students who scored  First  Division in their matriculation.  It  did  not  matter  if the student  did not know what a computer mouse was  or whether there was  electricity in  the  house  to run the computer  or  not. Mr.  Doley’s  neighborhood had  electricity to run a computer and one  could  say  was highly advanced in matters of technology  compared  to  the  other  villages. Creating  folders,  minimizing,  maximizing,  clicking  on  the  cross  sign  to  close  a  window,  copying and pasting of  pictures,  videos,  movies,  burning  items  into  a CD  or  DVD,  installing  of  applications,  video  games. The  kids  there  could  do  it  all.
  One day while making  the  rounds in  the neighborhood, at P.P’s, the teenage Mr. Gulab chanced upon  the “X-Men The Last Stand” movie. He caught a glimpse of a steamy scene between Wolverine and Jean Grey. He desperately wanted to watch a little more of the movie but could not because his long pant was torn  throughout the place where the prick hung. A few seconds more of it and he would not be able to stay put nor be able to return home for a long time.  During such moments of erection it was as good as impossible to act calm and blend  in with the surrounding. Such painful, throbbing erection that  it  took at least an hour to go down. So he told P.P  that he would return after sometime  and  awkwardly  ran  out.
Back at home  in  a  zippy, he searched for something not  torn in the bottom to wear. He had no pants nor long-pants  except the one he was wearing, and it was torn. (No one cared  about clothing in his family). The only proper long-pant was not in the house. His elder brother had gone  out wearing it, surely. He searched everywhere in the house and luckily found an underwear beneath the bed where spiders made their cobwebs. It was his one underwear and he knew it was dirty in all the senses the word dirty could imply. But the Wolverine and Jean Grey scene kept hovering on his mind  and  that  piece  of  clothing  would  do  the  job.  He fished out the underwear with  a  stick  from  beneath  the  bed  and smelled it and beat the dust  and cobwebs off it.  And wore it before he put on his torn long pant. It was kind of warm down there. He was back in P.P’s room within half-an-hour. The movie was put on from the beginning. Yet he could not enjoy it properly—there was an itch down  there, and a tickling disturbance. Such self-restraining, indecisive, itchy, painful moments perhaps is  the  result  of  a  lifetime  of  karma  in  earlier  lives. Such intensity and immensity and urgency inside one single, helpless, thirteen year old teenager! It was a matter of the  dick and the urge to safeguard it for future purpose was what that won through at the end. Every second counted now, a second’s delay in  washing  the  testicles  might  prove  fatal.  Run  home strip off the clothing and if there was soap in the house then with soap wash the testicles.  Fast.
Home! Home! Home!
Back at home he tore off his long-pant and the underwear. Out emerged a spider from his hanging-balls. He had no time for horror. He jumped down to the tube-well and pumped out water over his cock and testicles. And rubbed soap vigorously. PHEW! I think my property would survive. I acted quick.

Now Mr. Doley was grown up and different. The world was different.And he had three pair of underpants now, (he dreamed of having one for each day of the week  one  day). Euro. Jockey. Woolworth. Hanes. Calvin Klein. Levi’s. Gotham.

Jockey. Such lovely, neat, fitting underpants. Such adorable  underpants! He had earned the comfort in his privates. A prisoner can understand the value of freedom, a poor-man can understand the value of a satisfactory meal, Mr. Doley could  understand the luxury of having  three pair  of  underpants  of  his  own.


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