I used to have a pair of silk boxers. They had Bugs Bunny on them.
I loved the way they felt sliding over my thighs and loins; the way they looked, shimmering in the light. They were cool to the touch.
I would wear them two, three, sometimes four times a week, washing them overnight if I had to. Every special occasion was made better by my silk Looney Toons boxers: birthdays, weddings, bar mitzvahs, funerals, school beatings, days shopping, dates, being dumped. I guess every mundane occasion was made better too.
Apparently, I wore them too much.
Between running around at school and biking back and forth, I noticed grooves appearing in the crotch; small slices of translucence and little bumps at the edges. Before I knew it, the comfort was gone.
My silk boxers still felt like boxers in the upper regions, but they felt sheer and empty below. I spent my time checking to make sure I wasn’t hanging out through some non-existant hole; that I wasn’t pressed to the edge of my pants, waiting for a high school prank to show how ratty my nice silk boxers had become.
Eventually, the fear got to me, and I threw them out. I’ve never felt the same since.
I tried getting another pair of silk boxers. I bought them at Target. They were black with shiny blue happy faces on them. They felt cool, like my old ones, but they didn’t feel lucky.
I went to a dance wearing them, hoping I could impress the girl who invited me. Instead, I felt awkward and out of place. It didn’t help that I don’t dance. She wouldn’t have seen my boxers anyway, but I thought it was a good idea. My boxers froze to my crotch when I had to walk four miles home.
Eventually, my silk happy face boxers disappeared.
I think they got stolen…
Or maybe I just lost them…
I don’t have any silk boxers anymore. I think I’m happier that way.