byCal Y. Pygia©

"If you like them, why don't you wear them - as underpants, I mean?" Stephanie asked.

"They're not underpants," Brad said.

"They can be, if you want them to be."

"They're jockstraps."

"They could also be used as underpants."

Brad hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit the truth, but, he realized, if anyone would understand him, Stephanie would. "Besides, I'd be too embarrassed to buy a dozen of them at a time."

"Why?" Stephanie challenged. "What difference does it make if you buy one or twelve at a time?"

"Buying more than one at a time would look funny."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Yes, it would. The cashier would wonder why the hell I'm buying a dozen athletic supporters."

"You could say you're buying them for your swim team or - "

"I'd be too embarrassed."

"You want me to buy the damned things for you?"

Brad's eyebrows rose. "Would you?"

"Sure. Why not?"

He smiled. Hugging her close, he kissed her. "You're a peach!"

She smiled up at him. "I want my man to be comfortable. Besides, I'll like the way your bare ass will be framed by the elastic waistband and the bands that run around your thighs, close to your crotch." Rick blushed. "Thanks."

"I'll like the way the pouch will display your cock and balls, too."

His blush deepened.

The cashier's eyes widened when she saw the number of athletic supporters that Stephanie placed on the checkout's conveyor belt. The cashier was a young woman - a teen, really - a blue-eyed blonde, whose hair was pulled back from her pretty face and worn in a ponytail. A name badge on her blouse identified her as Sandy.

Stephanie smiled at the young woman's reaction. "That's quite a few jockstraps, isn't it?" she asked.

"I'll say," Sandy replied, smiling slightly.

"My boyfriend prefers them to boxers or briefs," Stephanie explained.

"I can see why," Sandy said. "They're like thongs, sort of."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "Thongs!" she cried. Several customers gave her an odd look. "Of course! Thongs!" She gathered the athletic supporters. "I've changed my mind about buying these," she told the startled cashier. "I'll be right back."

As she left the checkout aisle and hurried back into the cavernous interior of the huge discount store, Stephanie shook her head. As a preoperative transsexual (who planned to retain her cock and balls), Stephanie had experienced the worlds of both men and women. As a man, she'd worn jockstraps; as a shemale, she wore thongs all the time. Although an athletic supporter was comfortable, it wasn't nearly as comfy as a thong - and a thong would expose nearly as much of Brad's tight, firm ass as a jockstrap would reveal. A thong strap could be a little uncomfortable between one's ass cheeks, but the strap was easily adjusted and it wasn't anywhere near as uncomfortable as a jockstrap's tight elastic waistband or leg bands. Of course, Brad's thick, long cock and big balls would never fit into one of the frilly thongs that Stephanie wore, but, fortunately, underwear companies made thongs for men, too. Stephanie wanted her man to be as comfortable as possible. It was obvious that she should buy him a dozen pair of thong bikini underwear rather than an equal number of athletic supporters.

A moment later, her shopping basket full of thongs in a variety of colors and styles, Stephanie returned to the same checkout counter.

An hour later, Stephanie returned home with her purchases.

Brad was waiting for her in their bedroom. He looked uneasy. "Did you get them? The jockstraps?"


He looked relieved. "Chickened out, huh?"

She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of."

"You weren't afraid the cashier would freak?"

"No. Why should she?"

"Why didn't you buy the jockstraps, then?"

"I found something better." She handed him one of the thongs.

Brad turned the item this way and that. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"A thong," Stephanie answered, smiling.

He looked equally annoyed and disappointed. "Why couldn't you have just bought the jockstraps, as we'd agreed?"

"These are better," she pointed out. "They're more comfortable and they'll look better on you, too. They're fashionable."

"I can't wear these," Brad contended.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a faggot, that's why!" he snarled. "Queers wear this kind of shit."

Stephanie repressed the urge to laugh, because she knew how sensitive Brad was about his sexual identity. Although he slept with her, sucked her cock as frequently as she sucked his (and with as great devotion and pleasure), and fucked her in the ass on a regular basis while masturbating her, it was important to Brad to maintain the fiction that he was just as straight as the next heterosexual guy. How he managed to deceive himself was beyond her, but she certainly wasn't going to challenge him and end up in a big argument about something he wouldn't admit even to himself.

"All right, Brad," she said evenly. "I'll take them back."

"Why couldn't you have gotten the supporters, the way I asked you to do?" he asked angrily.

His tone of voice upset her, and Samantha snatched the thongs from his hands. "Excuse me!" she cried. "I was trying to do you a favor. I thought you might appreciate the gesture, but, don't worry, I won't make that mistake again!"

Brad regretted yelling at her, especially when he saw the tears in her eyes. She'd meant no harm. She'd meant only to help him, to do him a favor, and he'd responded by screaming at her like an idiot. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft and contrite. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I'll wear them."

Her anger was unappeased. "Don't bother. I'll exchange them."

"Please don't," he said. "I want to wear them." He paused. "I like them."

"You like them?" she repeated. Her tone was skeptical.

He nodded. "I like them. I want to wear them."

Stephanie was still angry. "Aren't you afraid you'll look like a faggot?" she asked. The moment she'd spoken the words, she regretted them.

Brad hung his head, and his shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry, Brad," she said, stepping up to him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he insisted. "I'm the one who's been ashamed of my feelings for you, because I haven't been man enough to accept the truth about myself. I am a faggot."


"I am. You know that. I know it, too, although I've tried to deny it. I'm gay. I'm a queer. I'm a homosexual."


"I am, and you know what?" He stood erect, squared his shoulders, and looked her in the eye. "You make me proud to be one."

"Brad!" She hugged him, holding the thong she'd snatched from his hands loosely in her fingers. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied. "I like these thongs, too," he added.

She looked at him. "Really?"

He smiled. "Really. Your giving them to me helped me to accept myself for who and what I am - a faggot with the kindest, most beautiful shemale girlfriend in the world."

"Your ass is going to look really cute in them," Stephanie predicted.

"Not as cute as your ass looks in your thongs," he said.

She stared into his eyes. "Thanks."

He stared back. "You're welcome."

They kissed, and she let the thong fall from her fingers, onto the carpet.

Brad picked her up and carried her to their bed.

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