Looking around at the other passengers, I frowned. The new norm for everyone's size was all well and good, but it was hard to scope out what my change had actually caused when old standards of modesty still existed in male clothes. Besides, I didn't grow up in this world, and no matter how "normal" it was the stiff fabric of my pants was starting to pinch. Quietly, careful to make sure nobody else was watching, I pulled the book out of my shoulder bag and got to work making a few more quick changes. For once I didn't bother starting with an existing entry — by now the book surely knew what I meant to do.
I wrote:
"Due to men's massive endowments and the fact that their balls grow over the course of the day, standard pants and shorts are too restrictive and uncomfortable to wear regularly. Any traditional pants are viewed as women's and children's clothing, and boys transition out of them during puberty. Instead, adult men wear specially designed underwear in a variety of styles, made from form-fitting material which can stretch to accommodate their growing testes while still hugging every curve of their junk. Men naturally run warm as a result of their overproduction of hormones, but some men opt for stockings or other crotchless leg wear in particularly cold weather, or as a fashion statement."
Grinning with excitement, I waited for the book to absorb my words, then closed it and took in the effects of my newest change. The first thing I noticed was my own clothing. What had been a pair of stretchy but unremarkable underwear and a baggy pair of pants with a bulge in the front had changed. In its place, I now wore a skin-tight pair of black boxer-briefs with bits of bright blue trim and embroidery — I supposed male underwear were more ornate in this new world, since nothing was worn over them. Below them I had on a pair of thigh-high black stockings above my usual converse sneakers. The main event, though, was the bulge. I could see a clear outline of my huge dick through the cloth of the boxer-briefs, and, below it, my massive balls stretched the fabric into a bulge nearly the size of a soccer ball. I experimentally shifted my weight in my seat, and watched as my balls swayed freely, unhindered by the giving fabric. Tearing my eyes away from my own (admittedly fascinating) bulge, I looked up at the rest of the train car.
Where minutes before men had packed the seats in baggy pants and straining bulges, they now sat comfortably with varying kinds of skimpy, form fitting underwear. A man across from me was idly scratching his distended white briefs while he read the newspaper, another had stuck his cell phone beneath the elastic waistband of what looked like a kind of jockstrap, and a third was stuck crowded between two other passengers, grimacing as his junk was pushed up between his legs and bouncing against his stomach.
After a moment my eyes settled on one man who stood a few paces away from me, holding onto the ceiling bar with one hand and holding a cell phone to his ear with the other. He looked to be this world's version of a businessman, with light stubble and dark, immaculately styled hair. Where minutes before he'd been dressed in an altered version of a suit, he now wore something a bit more...interesting.
It seemed my comment that "men run hot" had affected more than just pants, since, instead of a blazer, the businessman wore an intricately tailored navy blue vest with suit-like lapels. I saw what looked like a white dress shirt and black tie beneath it, but his arms were bare from the shoulder down, with no signs of even a rolled up sleeve. His shoes and socks seemed the most like the old world — plain black dress shoes and black dress socks up to his upper calf — but the similarities ended there. Instead of slacks, the man was wearing a pair of skin-tight boxer-briefs in black and white. Looking closer I guessed that these must be what passed as formal, with careful embroidery around the edges and a neat, almost sporty look to the color blocking, but the effect was anything but "formal." The man's dick was easily bigger than mine, and stretched the fabric of his underwear so thin in places that you could almost see a hint of pink skin. He's angled it off to the left to make it fit better, and I could see why he might need the extra room.
This was obviously a busy man. I could see him talking on the phone even now, talking in a quick and businesslike manner about something no doubt very boring and important. All this business, however, seemed to mean he hadn't had time to relieve himself in at least a day. His balls were huge. It's hard to get across just how huge, when even the standard of what "big balls" was in the old world was tiny now, but they were...colossal. Each one was easily the size of a cantaloupe, and they strained against his boxer-briefs, stretching the fabric until his package hung down over half way to his knees. They were moving, too — the rumble of the train made them bounce slightly in the air, and they swayed dangerously every time we took a turn or changed speed. The man didn't even seem to notice, only occasionally reaching down to adjust his package or pull up his waistband when it began to slip.
My mouth watered, and I had to tear my eyes away before I got hard in these all-revealing form fitting undies. All these men didn't even realize how sexy they looked, how obscene every movement was to me. I had to see more.