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] Date Posted:08:24:54 08/08/12 Wed In reply to:
Ben
's message, "Dirty briefs" on 18:06:27 07/24/12 Tue
I went to a traditional boys grammar school in the UK where we all wore a formal school uniform. We also had to change fully for games etc and wore white Y front type briefs. I was always fascinated by seeing skid marks in other boys pants just as I had them in my own. It pleasantly surprised me how many of the teenage boys did have brown stains in their pants. Some would be quite brazen, leaving them around, and some would even hang them on a peg with the stained gusset visible for all to see. I tried to find excuses to return to the changing rooms after games had started to suss out the pants of a boy I particularly liked. I would have a quick sniff at the dried **** marks, and it turned me on such that I got horny in my games shorts. Some boys only had light smudges, but a number of the lads had really heavy skid marks which suggested they did not wipe. When I was about 11, a friend of mine, Tony had invited me into the cubicle while he took a crap. I am talking some years off, when accusations of being gay, and the homophobia of recent times had not started up. This was just a boy bonding thing. He took his crap, and I noticed in the poor light that he did not wear pants. However, his grey short trousers had a sturdy cotton lining, and I could see some skid marks on the seat. When he had finished his business, he got up, and immediately pulled up his shorts without attempting to wipe although there was toilet paper available. His dirtiness had really excited me. I had always had skids in my own white briefs, and liked having them. My mother may have inadvertently encouraged this when she had told me that my underpants were meant to protect my trousers. Well, if that was what they were for, I would use them as she had suggested. I did not have any brothers or sisters, and she did not make a big fuss about my stains. My skid marks were partly careless in wiping, but also it seemed a boy thing to get them and then examine and sniff them when I changed. But there was also a deliberate element to it. I was one of the boys! However, when I was about 13, I stopped wiping at all ( unless I had a bad bout of the squits, because then my butt would get sore). I really loved pulling my pants up knowing they would get some nice skids. You never knew what you would get until you took them off again. Sometimes they would be really crusty and smell superb. Sometimes when I got warm running around, I could smell myself between the legs when I sat down. I also got turned on sitting in class thinking about my smelly bottom on the seat of the chair- and imaging all the other boys some of who would have had smelly bottoms stinking out the same area. I would even get horny, and give myself a rub up. I had a long journey to school on the bus, and there was only one other boy,Ian who lived on a nearby farm who was with me. He had a big thing about farting, and would raise his behind, and really let rip some loud ones when we were sitting on the back seat of the bus. He was proud of them, and boasted when they were wet. He would pretend he needed to swap seats with me, and push past sticking his bum in my face. One day, I held him, and pushed my nose into the seat of his grey school trousers. Aside from his recent fart, there was a lovely smell of dried ****. At first he was a bit embarrassed, but eventually he admitted that sometimes when he farted, a small bit of poo would come out, and he liked to keep it squashed to the seat of his pants. He said it felt good and I should try it too. You can guess that I soon did try it and became addicted. One thing led to another, and eventually he admitted that he never used toilet paper either. Admittedly we lived way out in the countryside, and often would take a crap behind the bushes rather than go indoors. There was something good about crapping al fresco, and occasionally we would do it together. This was all before sites such as this, and we did not realize that such activities were not uncommon amongst teenage boys. Of course, we couldn't check out each other's pants on the back of the bus, but we had another way. We would lift up so the other could push his nose into the crack of our school trousers, and have a good sniff. He always wore trousers which fitted up between his cheeks, and he nearly always had a good stink on him. And he told me that I smelt strong as well. He used to tell me that his younger brother always browned his pants heavily as well but in his case it was because he was lazy about taking a poo, and he would often be touching cloth. His dad also was a browner, working as a farm manager, and had long brown stripes in his Aertex pants. So his mother was obviously used to it. From polls on other sites, it seems that at least some teenage boys do enjoy their skid marks, and go through a no-wipe phase. It would be very interesting to hear about those especially from men looking back. What was your reasoning? Did you enjoy it? Was there a sexual elem to it? Was it accepted by your parent? Did you get teased in the changing rooms at school? Did any of your mates do it? Did you compare your skids? Would love to know.
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Date Posted:08:35:54 08/08/12 Wed
My mother used to tell me about the horrible thing my grandmother, her mother in-law, did before she married my father. While doing laundry she showed my mother my father’s dirty underwear and asked her, “Are you sure you want to marry my son who cannot wipe himself and spend the rest of your life dealing with his skidmarks?” To this day she thinks that was a horrible thing for her to do to her. Now, myself as a mom to 3 boys and bonus mom to an additional boy, I know the wisdom behind what my grandmother did and plan on using that very same test myself in the future. Either the young women in question will be completely grossed out and prompted to think if they really are ready for marriage or they’ll take it in stride and accept it as part in parcel. I know that when I potty trained them I highly encouraged wiping until the paper comes away clean and not stopping until then. But it has got to be a genetic thing. Because when I sort laundry I know I’m lecturing everyone of them as I come across their briefs.
