My obsession with panties and briefs can be traced back to early childhood experiences, initially in fact boys’ clothing, not girls’ clothing. I was an only child of elderly parents, who hated the present world and lived in the past. Sex of course was a taboo subject. My mother would watch the truly shocking scenes of famine in Africa that flooded TV news bulletins of the 1960s and always say the same thing: ‘Why so many children, why do these natives have no self-control?' On the one occasion I saw my father attempt to kiss my mother (on the cheek) before a business trip, she ridiculed him. Eventually I began to wonder how I had ever come into being. I concluded that because my mother was very knowledgeable in medical matters, she would have known exactly when she was most fertile and somehow managed to persuade my father to ejaculate inside her. Quite possibly on only one occasion.

But I digress …. this is about panties …. Throughout my childhood, in winter I had to wear Chilprufe woollen underwear. This was a set of very long shorts and t-shirts that buttoned up the front, much like those that had been worn a century earlier. The shorts were hopeless at keeping their shape, turning baggy after washing and making the fly gape open, even if you carefully did up the button. The fabric was very rough, so the insides of my thighs were chafed red raw after wearing them all day. In summer it was, naturally, Aertex. My father told me that in the army before the War drawers were fastened with laces as well as buttons. So I’m sure my parents imagined they were making an enormous concession to modernity by permitting me to wear underpants with an elasticated waist! Needless to say, the drawers became totally shapeless after a few washes and the elasticated waist was prone to early failure.

For the first ten years of my life, being an only child, I assumed these weird garments were entirely normal. As soon as I went to prep school, my world was turned upside down. Sport was very important, so we were in the changing rooms every day and for the first time I saw other boys of my own age in the nude. I watched in awe as some boys strode around confidently stark naked, engaging in banter and a bit of playful wrestling, but for me it was a terrifying experience. And what made it far, far worse was the inconsolable shame I felt for my ridiculous underwear. As I removed my shirt and trousers, there would be giggling, tittering and sniggering from neighbours trying to cover their mouths with their hands. And because you had to wear your pants under gym, athletics or rugby shorts (no mesh linings in those days) my dirty-looking beige Chilprufe drawers always peeped through the legs, despite my best efforts to roll them up.

How I envied the other boys, who of course wore Y Fronts. I loved the way the briefs revealed the full length of their thighs. I spent hours trying to imagine what it would feel like if my legs were entirely free. So wonderfully liberating! And free from the relentless chafing pain too. I was also aware that unlike my drawers, Y Fronts had a pouch to contain and support the essential male attributes. Bulges were small of course, but unmistakable. So too was the outline of the penis lying to one side. In addition to looking with longing at the other boys, I began seeking out newspaper advertisements for Y Fronts and incorporating them in my dreams.

My lifelong fetish for briefs and panties had been born.