azbimarriedguy
Bi Married in Arizona
Welcome to my Blog. Arizona guy happily married to a woman but enjoy the physical aspects of guys. Not looking for sex but rather friendship and exploration. Big Time Underwear/Lycra Fetish and recently discovered the joys of being in public settings with little or nothing on. If you like what you read or see here hit me up.
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I was feeling like I had swagger and then my buddy yanked my sweats down in front of some hot chicks. Not cool bro. Lol 😎😬😅
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Thomas looks up at you with pleading, reddened eyes, chest still heaving with ragged breaths from his earlier outburst. He opens his mouth as if to protest further, but seems to think better of it, shrinking back slightly.
"You…you really aren't going to let this go, are you?" he murmurs in a small, tremulous voice, fingers twisting anxiously in the fabric of his shirt. A deep flush creeps across his cheeks as the weight of his humiliation seems to sink in.
Slowly, almost shyly, he averts his gaze, chewing on his lip. When he speaks again, his words tumble out in an embarrassed, petulant rush. "It's just…it's so unfair, you know? Why do you have to keep pushing about this? Can't you see how awful and demeaning it is for me?"
His brow furrows in a childish pout, even as fresh tears well in the corners of his eyes. "I don't want to show you, I don't want to confirm how little and…and babyish I really am. You're just being mean, making me expose my biggest insecurity like this!"
He sniffles hard, swiping angrily at the dampness on his cheeks as his lower lip trembles with repressed emotion. For a moment, he seems on the verge of another tantrum, body tense and quivering with pent-up humiliation and distress.
Then, as if the fight suddenly goes out of him, his shoulders slump in resignation. "Ugh, l-look at me…I'm being such a big stupid baby about this," he mutters, flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. "Getting all worked up and throwing a fit just because you want…because you want to see…"
His voice trails off in a pained whimper as he squeezes his eyes shut, seeming to brace himself. Slowly, almost reverently, he grips the hem of his shirt and tugs it upwards with trembling hands, revealing the unmistakable waistband of a pair of plain, oversized white tighty whities peeking out above the waistline of his jeans.
The humiliation is palpable, radiating off of him in waves as he shrinks in on himself, utterly diminished. He can't even bring himself to look at you, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back renewed sobs.
"There…" he chokes out, the word barely more than an anguished whisper. "Are you happy now? You've seen how infantilized and pathetic I really am…" With that, he buries his burning face in his hands, the very picture of shattered dignity and emasculation.
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