I’ve got a gay underwear fetish that’s out of control
It’s hard for me to write this because I know other gay men will judge me for being “sick” and “twisted”. But given that other guys here have shared personal information about their private lives, I thought I would unburden myself with my own stuff.I can’t believe I am about to do this – but here it goes.
For the past 12-15 years, I have been collecting the underwear from the guys I have hooked up with. In almost every situation, I have managed to get my hands on their Calvins, polos, Haines or whatever they may be wearing and add them to my collection.
Yes, I am addicted to men’s sexy underwear and admit I have a gay fetish.
Let me give you some background before I go too far into my underwear story.
I am a 36 year old gay man that lives in Chelsea. For you gays who don’t know where that it – Chelsea is the major “gayborhood” in Manhattan. I would describe myself as athletic and muscular, similar in shape and size to Ryan Reynolds except I’ve got green eyes.
I’m one of those guys who is addicted to the gym and pretty much make it a point of spending at least an hour and a half there each day – if not more. The reason I am sharing this with you is so that you are aware of what I look like and the type of guy I like to attract.
It’s not like you have to be a model or anything but I do like my men to spend time at the gym or at least take care of their bodies regularly.
My Gay Underwear Fetish Goes Way Back
I must have been around 18 years old when I bagged my first pair of briefs. I grew up in the Bronx, which at the time was kind of blue collar central. My older brother Kevin (he’s ahead of me by 5 years) worked in construction as a bricklayer.He used to pal around with this guy named Nick – his “bud from the job” as he used to say. Both of them were pretty tight. They competed to see which “hot girl” they could bang and made it a point of keeping score.
If they weren’t bragging about their latest conquests, they were talking smack about getting some new girl in the future. Nick was a good looking dude. He was fairly ripped at about 6’2 with crystal blue eyes. I think I remember him saying he was part Irish and part German. I swear when he was tan and had facial hair going, he was a dead ringer for Chase Crawford.
He had tats too on his shoulder. I think it was of a green vine or something like that. He was naturally built because of hauling around bricks all day. I want to say that he was 25-26 at the time? I admit I had a giant crush on him at the time, even though part of me was still in denial about my sexual orientation.
Anyway, during the fall, my brother and Nick would drag me deer hunting with them to upstate New York. As a gay man, I am ashamed to admit it its true. I found out later that Kevin took me with him because my dad – also a bricklayer – thought that hunting would “make a man out of me”.
Whatever.
So one October weekend we headed upstate to Steuben County. My brother had reserved a rental cabin, which took first place in my book for being the crappiest excuse for lodging in the state. Inside was a tiny living room, small kitchen and community fireplace.
“Time to settle in boys,” I remember my brother saying as we set up our cots in the common area. If you have ever been deer hunting, you know that about 75% of the time is spent doing nothing … well, except drinking.
And that is what we did that first night. After about six beers and a shot of whiskey for good measure, my brother Kevin passed out cold. As he snored his ass off on his cot, Nick and I got to talking about typical guy stuff – like sports and cars.
I can remember the both of us sitting across from one another, t-shirts removed because it was so warm in that tiny ass cedar cabin.
Even now when I think about it, the guy was the perfect jock wolf combo. After we talked about how badly the Yankees sucked that season, the conversation turned to girls.
I was pretty baked and I knew Nick was too. I don’t remember all of the details but we ended up going outside and behind because Nick wanted to have a cigarette. Before I knew it, I was seeing a major part of his anatomy that I still is the source of many a fantasy. I won’t go into all of the details but remember, we were drunk.
I know we made out a little but it was kind of sloppy. One thing led to another and you can pretty much figure out the rest.
When he finished unloading (read between the lines) I remember he needed something to clean up with and was looking around. That’s when he quickly slid off his jeans and took off his underwear. I remember it like yesterday.
They were a pair of blue Hanes with a white elastic band – medium size 31. After he removed them, he put his jeans back on and wiped himself off. He was so chiseled and hairy. Once he wiped himself off, he balled up his briefs and tossed them to me like he was making a basketball shot.
I followed his lead and sopped up his essence, mostly from around my face and lips. Nick made his way towards the front of the cabin. I was left alone with the briefs. I remember how turned on I was at what had just happened.
I shoved them in my pocket and had a momentary flash of guilt for what had just transpired. Well, more like a nano-second.
By the time I got back inside the cabin, Nick was already passed out. My brother was still passed out – snoring like a madman. I tried to get some shut-eye but throughout the night, I kept thinking about “the great outdoors”.
The next day we all went hunting and Nick acted like nothing ever happened, which was actually kind of hot. Kevin shot a buck; the head still hanging up in his basement.
Gay Underwear Fetish and Keeping Briefs
A few nights later, after we had all returned home from that upstate trip, I remember finding Nick’s underwear in my jean pocket. They were all wadded up in a tight ball. Immediately, almost intuitively, I started to sniff them. I got totally turned on.Without going into specifics, you can imagine that I used his underwear as a prop whenever I engaged in late night fantasies in my room. Yes, I would smell them whenever I did the deed. I felt guilty for what I was doing but I couldn’t really help myself. Not about being gay but for thinking I was a weirdo for sniffing another dude’s shorts.
Fast Forward to College
When I was 20, I moved out of our family home and attended college in Madison, Wisconsin. At this time, I started to more fully recognize that I was in fact gay. That’s also when I started to collect my trick’s briefs in earnest.Hookups were easy in that college town. I guess the underwear was kind of trophy, I really don’t know. All I know is that they the more I collected, the more it turned me on. There’s just something about touching, feeling and smelling a dude’s underwear after he’s had them on all day.
Asking for Briefs
After I hooked up with a guy, I often asked if I could have their briefs. Most of the time, they were cool with it but would give me a bizarre look.If I sensed the guy wouldn’t be cool with it, I would simply take them when while he was looking the other way. I’d say 60% of the time I was successful. If I did steal something expensive, like Calvins, I would always have a new pair anonymously shipped to them. I’m not a thief so don’t go thinking that.
Problems with Dating
The problems with my underwear obsession started to crop up when I began dating someone seriously. You see, I had collected a massive pile in my closet. And there are only so many excuses you can come up with about why that pile exists.More than one relationship was ended early because of “the pile”. Plus, my boyfriends would often fine their “missing pair” of underwear in a sea of cotton and mixed blends.
“You are a sick bastard – you know that?” I remember one guy telling me when we broke up. “You seriously need to get some help.”
By the time I ended college, I had half a dozen large black garbage bags full of men’s underwear.
Back in New York
When I graduated from college, I moved me and my collection of underwear back to New York. After landing a job and settling in, I decided to start therapy.At that point in my life, I was feeling really confused and ashamed about my inability to maintain a romantic relationship, largely due to the underwear thing.
My first therapist told me that I needed to be on medications for anxiety. That just didn’t ring true for me so I dumped her. My next therapist explained to me that I had a “fetishistic disorder” but was careful to say that he did not think this was abnormal.
In fact he only gave me the official name of the diagnosis after I pressed him on it. He also said that I may have some form of OCD that causes hording. After doing some reading, I kind of agreed.
I went to him for about 10-years until he retired. He never judged me but did point out how my underwear collecting acted as a barrier to intimacy.
Still Collecting Underwear
So that brings us to now. I’m still single and I am still grabbing the underwear form the guys I hook up with. Sometimes I ask for them before heading over to their place. It’s easy to tell people what you are looking for on aps like Grindr and Scruff.About 50% of the time it is a deal breaker to be honest. When the guy does give me his briefs, I am always grateful.
And I won’t lie. I still steal underwear from tricks if the dude is extra hot. This happened recently when I was at a bathhouse and having some in a private room with a DILF. When he wasn’t looking, I simply grabbed his red Under Amour’s.
At this point, I’ve collected somewhere around 2000 pair of underwear. Most of them are in storage that I pay for. A few hundred however are in my closet.
Oh and yeah – I still have Nick’s underwear by the way. He moved away years ago to Oregon. But I still have a piece of him with me.
I’ll never get rid of those.
www.gaypopbuzz.com/im-a-gay-man-that-collects-underwear-from-hookups/
