I'll admit it: I have a little bit of an underwear fetish. Nothing major, I just appreciate the way it fits a guy or smells like his crotch after he takes them off. And I've never been too particular about the type of guy I'm into. And that's where the trouble begins.
One weekend, my neighbors asked me to look after their dogs while they went to their daughter's D-2 basketball game. This wasn't a problem, as we were fairly close and I had been close with their daughter since they moved in a couple years ago. So I woke up that Saturday and went over to release the dogs, attempting to hide my raging morning wood that was tenting my gym shorts. I let the dogs out and got them some water, but now had time to burn while they enjoyed the outdoors and a killer hard-on.
So, I did what any guy would do: I went searching through the house for a pair of my neighbor's dirty underwear. Okay, so maybe not
any
guy, but it was no big deal. And then I found them: boxer briefs, you know, the navy blue Hane's ones that every guy and his dog own. I pulled them out of the laundry and held them to my face to inhale his musk. As that hand went up, the other went down... the front of my shorts. God, he smelled so good, like a hard days work and a hint of precum.
"What're you doin with my shorts, boy?"
Oh. Shit.
Caught with my hand in my pants. This would be hard to explain.
"Well, I... You see... I just... You were supposed to be gone all day and..." I stammered.
"Yeah, I was, but the boss called me in and I had to drop by to pick up my things. Don't worry, Kim's still at Briana's game. Now, why don't you come over here and get a good whiff of the real thing?"
What!?!? This could not be happening! Bill was kinda like a dad to me, only he was a dad I'd fuck in a heartbeat.