Dancing with no underpants.... ing

I don't wear underwear.  Excuse me, I rarely wear underwear.  The only pants requiring underwear on my part are those slacks that are so sheer, a lack of bloomers would amount to indecent exposure.  Plenty of people choose to abstain from the shackles of underwear, but I am always asked why.  Here's the best explanation I can muster:

External organs do not agree with underwear.  I have tried them all.  Boxers have a seam that tries to separate my fellas, briefs feel as though my testicles are in a vacuum-sealed bag for dry winter storage, boxer briefs  do a little of both.  

When I do wear it, it's boxer briefs.  Compression shorts work well, but they can get a little aggressive, so I tend to use them sparingly.  

Men in countries around the world, and throughout history, wear skirts. Rugby dudes in the UK wear kilts, Japanese samurai wore sarongs, the Polynesian linebackers wear lava-lavas.  Why can't guys here be manly and wear something as incredibly comfortable as a skirt? I'm not going into the socio-cultural discussion on here. But I would enjoy to let the boys have a break every now and then.

This prefaces the story. I went to a house party the other night.  It was fun, better than a frat party (which I went to later), and a little more my style than a club.  I talked to a girl, we danced.  Talked to another girl, we danced. Lather, rinse, repeat.  Finally, a girl and I danced in a more meaningful way.  Of course I mean the thing we do that looks like standing sex with clothes on.  I got really hard dancing with her, and she obviously knew it.  Her hands found their way to the goods more than a few times.  Every time she had the chance, she would pull away slightly to spiritedly return to my crotch with her hips. 

This all sounds great. It was.  But here's where the underwear discussion comes into play.  Jeans are reasonably forgiving without underwear.  No zipper debacles or anything of the sort.  But when skin is pressed by means of hemodraulic force against them, they can become quite uncomfortable.  When ass presses said jeans against skin, which is pressing against jeans: 

Newton's laws plus biology=  Ouchie weiner.  

Blue balls, raw skin, and muscular atrophy.  When I get an erection lasting for a considerable time, and if any guys read this please agree or tell me what happens to them, the flesh of my penis and the connective supportive tissue holding it to my body gets SORE.  Like get some ice for my unit because I did one too many cock pushups sore.  It was a bittersweet experience.  Or maybe a sexy ouchie experience.  

Polar Decision Making

I find that decisions in my life can become black and white for me.  A friend of mine said boiling things down to dichotomy makes a choice simpler, cleaner.  That sounds correct, since I am a master of mental gymnastics, I have been prone to rearranging my mental world in order to relieve anxiety.  The difficulty lies in the outcome, the effects.  If I choose A, then A's consequences will be D.  If I choose B, then the consequences will be C.  There is no middle ground, no DC hybrid.  Not everything receives this this treatment, but many of the bigger decisions I make are part of this thought process.  My latest choice comes out of sexuality.  In the past I have been sexual with people, some of whom I was in a relationship with, some of whom I was not.  The just-for-funs (friends in fornication, to borrow from a blogger I love) have been wild, off-the-wall, crazy stuff.  Every time I see them now, I feel pretty ugly. After I did what I did with them, I felt pretty ugly.  Although I leaped ahead sexually with these people, I feel like I suffered psychologically.  Maybe that's what some sexual interactions do. I know that many women, most female friends I know, have suffered sexual trauma of some sort.  But these sexual acts I took part in were consensual, and I was old enough (according to the state) to make the choice.  The overwhelming noise in my head, trumpeting over my sexual desires for just-for-fun encounters, tells me to avoid the pain; avoid the ugly, terrible, dark feelings.  As for my relationships, the encounters do not merit discussion.  I know that when I see those people, my guilt and shame does not find its way into my head.  

So here's the dichotomy: 

If I have sex with people for fun, without the commitment and stuff, then I am going to feel the cesspool of disgusting feelings.  

If I have sex with people I am committed to, then I will be at peace with my choices. 

Obviously the answer is, "Just have sex with people you're involved with and shut up!" 

Here's the wrench in the whole thing: I want to just-for-fun fuck.  I don't want a relationship.  I want to experience my youth and virility.  

Thus the polar discourse within me begins.  My biggest question has to do with psychosexual health:

Do all people experience the shame and ugliness, or do some people escape that?  

Obviously anything I do at this point will affect me less than things I did earlier in my life, but is that because I have been desensitized to it?  Or is it that I now have the emotional maturity to deal with it? Again, the thought comes out as black and white.  It's most likely both.   

Perhaps there are things in me that enjoy the shame and guilt.  Those emotions might be comfortable for me at some level.  Sex is something to be ashamed of, in my mind.  Having sex in a committed relationship gives a get-out-jail card, in my mind.  Maybe that's where the polar express starts.  Within my most sacred emotions, I subscribe to the idea of right and wrong.  I went to a Christian school and attended church, boo-hoo, woe is my psychological well-being, you've heard it before.  Maybe I have to stop being the judge of my own behaviors, and just live in the way I want to live.  Maybe I need to just do something and see how I feel. Maybe I should stop being an introspective vagina and start being extroverted penis I was born to be!