Big Boy Undies 2

 

“Dad, wake up.” A voice said as I felt a soft tap at my foot. 

“Go back to bed, son.” No one else would dare try to wake me on a weekend before 9am. My phone was off and all emails were set to ‘out of office’. Of course, my only warden then was my son. Any parent will tell you he set the schedule and it was my job to mold around it. But hey, sometimes he’d be willing to listen. And though that was the second time he was asking me to wake up I didn’t. Work had been so stressful recently I just needed one more hour to charge up. The other day an intern spilled an experimental substance on me, and it soaked into all my clothes. Nothing ridiculous or insane, we were only a detergent company after all.

It was supposed to help keep the smell of clothes longer, but I smelled like a cologne bottle all goddamn day. The moment I got home I tossed it all into the washing machine. It was already dry, but I wanted the scent gone. I threw in some of my son’s clothes too. We had dinner together, then he disappeared up to his room to go play. I had the unenviable task of waiting to toss the clothes in the dryer. I sat around watching an I Love Lucy marathon in the living room. Then the dryer stopped and I folded the clothes and left them in a laundry basket out in the open. Big mistake. Long work weeks will get to you though. I trudged upstairs. My son was already passed out in bed. I gave him a kiss on the head goodnight, then went to bed myself.

The first time I heard, “Dad, wake up.” I gave my normal response. I heard an “okay”, then listened to him leave. He didn't go back to his room though, he went downstairs. My brain didn’t have the capacity to think about how much my son loved getting into my clothes. Or how the laundry basket was left out in the open, unguarded. I don’t know why, but my stuff was like catnip to the kid, my shoes, my phone, my watch; the list goes on. He always wanted to wear it or hold it, and I indulged every now and again, because no harm no foul.

We had gotten dressed together in the mornings often and a few extra minutes wouldn’t kill us. Though one day, while buttoning my shirt, pantsless, he asked me about my boxers. I said something off the cuff like, “Men wear boxers,” and didn’t think much of it at the time.  He didn't even follow up with other questions.

So, the second time I heard my son trying to get me up and I tried to dissuade him, I didn’t think much of it.

“Dad, you really should get up.” A more forceful jostle came from hands on my legs, but what gripped my attention was the deep voice that spoke the words. I opened my eyes slightly more than the last time, still secretly hoping to get some sleep. Now I knew where my son usually stood at the foot of my bed, so my eyes were surprised when I didn’t see his face staring back at me. No, I saw my boxers floating there. Took me a minute to realize they were on a waist. My eyes trailed up bronzed tanned skin, leading up to pecs covered in white fur. A strong upper body that fed into a thick neck topped with a familiar face and salt and pepper hair. I sat up, mouth dropping at the clone stranger giving me my own smirk. 

“So…I may have tried on your underwear.” The man said.