I Seem to Have Lost My Penis!

I'm a creature of habit. Several of them. I've been wearing Calvin Klein boxers for more than a decade now. I like the way they are cut. They're not too baggy, not too tight. The waistband isn't irritating and the fly does not easily gape open (unlike my hole.)

But the other day, I was in dire straits. I hadn't done laundry in three weeks. My gym bag was packed. In addition to my workout clothes, I had a change of clothes for after I hit the shower. Minus underwear and socks. So before my workout, I ducked into the Filene's Basement which is in the same building as my gym, which is in the same building as my office. I bought a pair of Joseph Aboud boxers and a three-pack of Nautica socks.

Fast forward to after my workout. I'm back in the office. I'm wearing my crisp, brand new undies, which is a little gross because new clothes always smell a bit like sweatshop and child labor. My dress shirt is neatly tucked into my slacks. Belt cinched a notch too tight. I go to the men's room to relieve my bladder.

I'm standing at the middle urinal. I have a co-worker to my left and right. I unzip my trousers, this particular pair having a smaller than normal opening (unlike my hole.) I reach in with my fingers to that familiar place where Pepe can always be found (slightly to the left.) But this time I hit a brick wall. Or more precisely, a crisp new pair of unfamiliar boxers. My fingers scurry farther left. Then backtrack to the right. Then up and down.

I'm in a quasi panic. Where the hell is my penis! I know he's nothing to brag about, but he does exist and can always be relied upon to perform the basic functions. In my frustration, I became a little too animated in my maneuvering. I realize that my coworkers to the left and right are completely aware that something is going on the other side of the urinal dividers. Try as they might, they can't help but look over to see what the hell is wrong with me. This does not help my situation.

Finally, they each finish with their business, wash their hands, and leave the men's room wondering what the hell I was doing to myself. This scenario is not unfamiliar to me, but is somewhat embarrassing in the milieu of work as opposed to a rest stop. Eventually I undo my belt, unfasten my trousers and urinate successfully. I can only imagine what the guys next to me thought I was doing.

The moral of the story is that wearing no underwear is better than wearing strange underwear. Lesson learned.