Who needs Calvin Kleins when you can have Hanes?
Taking them off, putting them on, I love a good pair of boxer-briefs. Enough coverage to accentuate his thighs. Form-fitting enough to remind me of what’s behind door number one.
While I rarely wear panties anymore, I’m always shocked when he goes commando.
I’m happy to slip my hand down his jeans and find nothing but bare skin. But I’m just as happy to move back that Hanes waistband, too. Cup his balls, wrap my hand around his shaft, and give him a knowing look as he grows beneath my touch, twitching and bobbing as much as the confined space allows.
When he pulls them off, his shaft sproings forward with a mind of it’s own. And when he pulls them up, I think about the next chance I’ll have to get between him and his Hanes.