Tighty Whities Virus

“God damn it, mom.” Louis muttered as he saw, nestled among his boxer briefs, a pair of white briefs. “Luke wears tighty whities, not me.” He reached in and pulled them out, but something stopped him. He studied them, transfixed for some reason. Luke’s underwear did not look like this. First of all, it was too big, more his size than his six year old brother’s according to the tag. What was more, these were whiter than his, pristinely so, as if they had just come from the pack. “Where did you come from?”

As he held them up, he did not notice that the pairs they had been touching had begun to shift and change. The legs were retracting into the center. The dark colors brightening as if bleached. As soon as they finished transforming from boxer briefs into tighty whities, the pairs that they were touching began to change too. In no time at all, every single pair of Louis's underwear had become tight white cotton briefs.

“What the hell?” He looked down at the neatly folded tighty whities in his drawer. Where had his underwear gone? He stared in revulsion at the dorky underwear that filled the drawer, but he could not resist getting closer and closer to them. With a soft murmur, he burrowed his nose into the neat stacks of white briefs, inhaling the laundry fresh scent. He was downright excited for each pair of tighty whities to get their turn to be worn.

Remembering the pair he held, he eagerly stepped into them, craving the sensation of white cotton cradling and hugging his butt and bulge. He knew there was a wide spectrum of underwear out there, but white briefs were all he needed. All he had ever needed, he thought, as his memories of wearing anything other than tighty whities were quickly overwritten. He walked toward the door, unperturbed by being in just his tighty whities. After all, he was just going to be hanging out at home. His parents and brother knew he wore tighty whities. He always had.