On the coatails of asscheeks, she'll ride, she'll ride high.

About a year ago, I had a vasectomy. It sucked. In fact it sucked a lot. It was the first time I had ever shaved my balls. I carved myself up like a thanksgiving turkey that day. And then the doc proceeded to carve me up some more.

Anyways, after that I started shaving my balls a lot more regularily. For two reasons. One, my wife likes certain aspects of it, which bascially translates to: I get laid more. Two, I've found myself rather fond of the feeling of a razor blade rubbing against such a sensitive area of skin. Don't ask me why, I don't know, I just like it. Maybe it's the masocist in me, don't know, don't care. Now days, I shave below almost as often as I shave my face. More often, if I'm particularily horny that month.

The biggest problem about shaving your balls, is about three days later. Just like facial hair, when it starts to grow back it itches like crazy. And scratching constantly in the neither regions is a lot less appealing then just scratching your face. The only thing I've found that seems to help is wearing whitey tighties. I'm normally a commando guy. I like letting it all hang loose in there. I like the freedom. I like the feeling of a breeze when I forget to do up my fly. But the itching can be damn near unbearable. On these particular days, I am forced to reach into my sock drawer and pull out a pair of underwear. While they do make my package look a little bigger, I still don't like wearing them.

About a month ago, about three days after I had last shaved my balls, I woke up itching. It was a Saturday. I took a shower. Dried off. And proceeded to find a pair of underwear. Checked my sock drawer. None in there. Checked the laundry. None in there either. I was starting to get concerned. I was supposed to be a friends house for an all day get together. A LARP for those familiar with the term. I searched high and low and still nothing. Or at least nothing that hadn't already been worn. And I'd suffer itching before I put on dirty underwear. Especially since I sweat like a goddamn mule when I get heated up enough.

A long time ago, I had gotten a free men's thong with an order of stuff I had bought for Stacey from Frederick's of Hollywood. I tried it on, danced around to show off my hairy ass crack, and never wore it again. Well desperate times, call for desperate measures. So I redid my search, only this time with a slightly different objective. It didn't take to long before I was successful.

Now as ridiculous as I look naked, I look a lot more ridiculous naked in a thong. Not only do I look ridiculous, I also feel ridiculous. And it takes a great deal to make me feel like an ass. With great reluctance, I placed the peice of black anal floss aournd my waist and up my ass crack. It almost instantly releived the itching. By now, I was running late, so I threw on my pants and a white button shirt, hoped in my truck and left.

Shortly after I started driving, I noticed something not quite right. Something, something very sneaky and subtle, was slowly creeping into my asshole. Being a man of action, I reached back there, gave a tug, and pulled it back out. Five minutes later it was doing it again. Insert previous statement and repeat. This went on about every five minutes for the entire half hour drive over. By the time I had gotten there, I was ready to pitch the goddamn thing out the fucking window.

I went in and tried to mingle without making it too obvious that something dark and dirty was trying to invade my poor little hole of darkness. I didn't want to look like I was digging for nuggets. But all I wanted to do was pull on the string.

I now have a better understanding of why many women don't like wearing thongs. But what most women don't understand is that they are a whole new ball game when you have a hairy ass like mine. They slowly pull all of the ass hairs into the crack itself, giving you ass the apperance of gludious face lift. The more you try and flex your cheeks, the deeped it goes. It's like quicksand only more uncomfortable.

Eventually, I figured out that if I stand with my hands behind my back, I could hook my thumbs into the back of my pants and hook the back string as well in the process. The problem is that you can't let go once you've accomplished it. So, I remained a wall flower. Talking whilst always standing with my hands behind me. Rarely staying in one place so as to not draw attention to my hands. I've become a lot more careful about where I keep my underwear nowdays. I make sure I got at least one or two clean pairs in my drawer before I even think about shaveing my junk.