I wore girl’s pants, even when I was still telling people I was a boy. I had lots of different colors, reds and purples and yellows, all clingwrap tight against my legs.
The cut of these pants always made my penis very obvious. It wasn’t really my intention to present my dick to the world, just an inconvenient side effect I did my best to shrug off and ignore. I spent a lot of time consciously avoiding looking down. If I couldn’t see anything, it was easier to pretend no one else did either.
Toward the end of my time in colored pants, I had a friend who was very touchy.
They liked to poke at my crotch with one finger.
“I found it!”
I would laugh and they would laugh and our friends would laugh because it was funny.
They asked privately once, after we had known each other for a while, if what they had done was ok. My response was automatic.
“Of course. It’s nothing” and a shrug.