I went commando for a week

Never in my life has my crotch been so cold.

I spend a fortune on underwear. I can’t stand cheap boxers, you’ll never catch me in Primarni’s finest briefs.

My flatmate and I got drunk one night and talked about how fun we thought it was to go commando and I suddenly had an idea – why don’t I stop wearing underwear? It’s going to be so much fun.

No it fucking wasn’t. It was one of the worst weeks of my life.

To start of with, I’m really OCD, as in, I match my boxers and socks so they coordinate with whatever colour scheme I’m rocking. My distress at not being able to pair the perfect boxers with the matching socks and top was heartbreaking. But I felt that not wearing socks too would be taking the piss.

I had to set an alarm for myself every morning because I kept reaching to put on underwear.

Newcastle is always cold. For an entire week my genitals have not had an extra layer of fabric to keep them warm and my arse has been constantly covered in goosebumps.

Chaffing was a real problem. Denim on the sensitive bare skin of my nether-regions led me to try living in jogging bottoms for the hellish 7 days.

Skinny jeans (the only type of jeans I own) also raised an issue, especially as I wear them high rise. To my horror I didn’t realise that on several days you could see the outline of my penis, until a colleague of mine mentioned it to me in passing.

If you’re wearing boxers it’s not that embarrassing if you forget to zip up your trousers. If you aren’t wearing boxers it’s beyond embarrassing, especially if you realise whilst queuing up in your Sainsbury’s local (which I haven’t been back to since).

I also went on a date during my commando week and when the lucky fella asked what I was working on I told him about not wearing underwear. As soon as the words escaped my mouth I realised I sounded like a massive slut – this was a first date after all.

My flatmate and I stood about to have a fag on Friday evening when she reached past me to pick up the lighter and her hand brushed against my crotch – normally nothing specific would have been noticed had I been wearing pants. But of course I wasn’t and that lack of material underneath my jeans meant she basically had caressed my balls – it’s a bit awkward still.

The crowning moment of the week was when I went to zip up my jeans after having a piss and caught my dick in the fly.

The only positive side of going commando was that I didn’t have as many clothes to stick in the washing machine.

Thankfully this was a week when I wasn’t dressing up in drag, or else it might have provided quite an eyeful for anybody if I uncrossed my legs.

Guy’s don’t do it to yourselves, cherish your undies.

I can safely say I’ll never go without mine again.