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I would love to be in touch with you. My Kik is keenbean101Re: Sniffing underwear
I've lived with a few straight guy friends over the last 15 years. I've usually lived with attractive young guys, so I usually end up fancying and fantasising about some of them. For a long time, stealing or borrowing underwear had always seemed like such a taboo to me. Yet at least two of these straight guys seriously hinted, more than once, they at worst didn't mind, and at best actually secretly quite enjoyed, my borrowing their dirty undies. Sometimes it would be a jokey comment, other times it was just outright encouraged.
Seven years or so ago I began sharing a house with three other young professionals, all guys, and two of whom were hot - strawberry blonde with blue eyes, slim, and toned. They were undeniably straight, but I soon developed a crush on Matt. And once we'd moved in together, I quickly became excited in anticipation of the months or years of sniffing I knew would follow.
Our house had a downstairs shower/utility room, and because Matt's bedroom was small, he left his washing bin there. I couldn't believe my luck when he told me. Sure - convenient for him at washing time, but super convenient for me all the other times when I could lock the door, drop to my knees, whip the top of Matt's dirty laundry bin, and grab the latest or dirtiest pair of discarded boxer briefs. For some reason he only wore medium black ones, and they hugged his scuplted cheeks beautifully. My nose would go immediately to any evidence of stains or marks, front or back, my cock hardening instantly (it's hard again now reminiscing as I write this!) and I'd press my nostrils against the soft fabric, sniffing up, down and around, covering every inch of the inside to find those magical mindblowing sweet spots. You know the spots I mean. The square inch he pressed into his arsehole as he scratched it with his middle finger through his jeans earlier that day, unintentionally collecting a sample of rich anal musk. Or the spot at the front, just below the waistband, where his bellend had rubbed as he slept, dreaming, erect, his foreskin retracting to allow his cockhead to imbue the fabric with that unique, incredible scent so many of us worship and crave - a magical mix of smegma and piss and semen that happens beneath a foreskin, waiting to be gifted at the moment it retracts, and a smell at its most intense, entrancing and delicious on the underside of the cockhead around the frenulum, where the last drop of piss/cum tends to linger.
Matt was perfect. Not only were his pants sexy, but he'd wear them for a day or two at a time, and they would always, always have those incredible sweet spots. He was someone who'd happily scratch his arse through his jeans and pants, which had the joyous effect of depositing nice delicious patches of his anal musk onto the fabric. I could always see those patches right away, as soon as I'd grabbed his latest pair of dirty pants and turned them inside out. This patch would always go right against my nostrils, and as I sniffed and my breath warmed the fabric, it revived the smell, and it became more potent, and complex. I've sniffed quite a few pairs of pants in my time and bumholes invariably smell good, but when Matt's bumhole was dirty it smelled really, really good. It was never outright filthy - it was always just... right! His bumhole was always smelly enough to be naughty and that was a huge turn on - strong anal musk, while just dirty enough to bring it all together. I was equally enamoured with his unwashed cock smell - invariably pissy, slightly cheesy, a bit sweaty, and a hint of fish if he'd been wanking earlier. Sometimes there was cum - most times it was dry, but I got to taste it fresh on a couple of occasions. His balls also smelled fantastic, and I delighted in following the trail from front to back, savouring the shifting aroma from foreskin, to balls, to bumhole. For the year or so I lived with Matt, I must have sniffed his pants at least once a day, seeking out those sweet spots with hungry nostrils - electrifying aromas the mere imagining of which still makes my cock rock hard today, and whose tasting, and furtive, greedy inhalation incited load after hot sticky load. Every day I'd sniff for dear life, picturing that unattainable, uninterested, hot straight guy, as the smells of his most secret places blasted through me like torrents of ecstasy. Head, heart, soul - I am consumed. Matt hasn't showered since yesterday - his secret places are also dirty places. Unwashed places I'm not supposed to be sniffing. Would he feel shame, if he knew that I know how dirty his bumhole is? And that I love it? That sniffing his dirty bumhole makes my cock harder with every sniff? The illicit nature of my transgression only makes it hotter. I've never been more horny and all I need in the world is to plunge my nose hard and deep into his arse crack, nuzzling inward until my nostrils find and grind the moist, musky treasure of that naughty unwashed boyhole, surrounded by beautiful golden fur, nestled between those perfect buns. I want it to be all that I can smell, forever. I want to lick it clean, and then lick it more. My god, I'd spend weeks down there. I'd make him squeal with delight. And when he puts his mouth against mine to kiss me deeply, all he can taste and smell is his own dirty ringpiece. I know it's a fantasy. I'll never get to worship Matt's delicious arsehole in real life. It's okay, because here, in the privacy of the shower room, my face pressed desperately into his one or two-day old, perfectly soiled boxer briefs, I have the next best thing. I no longer need this beautiful guy to give me permission to sniff his most intimate places - I'm sniffing them anyway.
I suspect if Matt ever found out he wouldn't be happy, to say the least. But as long as he doesn't know, somehow, in my mind, this has brought us closer. There is a strange, uneven bond between us now - a bond of one-sided knowing, secret attraction, and guilty pleasure - characterised by my secretly sniffing Matt's dirty cock and bumhole smells every day. From now on, every time we meet, whatever the conversation or circumstance, I know in the back of my mind that this incredibly intimate knowledge of Matt is now mine. Accompanied by countless orgasms, I've sniffed deep and hard and hungrily the funk of his dirty bumhole on his dirty briefs, hundreds of times. I've shot more cum over myself than I could guess, as I pounded my hard cock while high on the exquisite smell of his, as I imagine pulling his unwashed foreskin over my nose, and sniffing and nuzzling his beautiful pink glans, for hours. I've sucked his salty jizz, old and dried, and fresh and wet, from the fabric of his briefs. It wasn't meant for me, but it's mine now. And I'd do it again.
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! It took three times as long as it should have as I had to stop for several 'breaks' *ahem*. If you enjoyed this please let me know, and I'll tell you about the second guy. Everything here is true. Oh and if any of you guys just fancy chatting about this kinda subject matter, generally, casually, occasionally, frequently - whatever - please get in touch.
It's a huge disappointment when you get some guys underwear you hope is stinky, and they're just not that soiled. I wear my own underwear for like 3 days at a time, and I love to soil them. Like, when go to piss I'll make sure to squirt a little piss in them, and I do make sure I don't wipe too much so I get a nice stinky shit mark in them. I save them for a few days. Then when I go jack off, I sniff my stale piss in them and the shit smelling ass part and get off thinking of some guy I'd want to suck, and lick his shithole.
It really sucks when this happens. I think that guys used to be less obsessed with their personal hygiene. Nowadays, it fucking hard to find guys with your attitude, who are not afraid to get stinky.
God, I always love your stories and the photos of his undies, helps the imagination a lot. how about his socks?
