The Terrible Accident

Have you ever borrowed some one else’s pants and then had a terrible accident in them? This happened to me recently with a pair of my father's pants. I was going out for the night a few weeks ago and all of the pants I had were either for work or really weren’t up to snuff for the night life, so, while he was out, I snatched his snazzy leather pair from the laundry hamper and trotted off thinking that I’d just wash and return them the next day. Like many things that seem like a good idea at the time, this thinking was to prove to be incorrect. You see, I'm a bit bigger than he is, and while I looked mouth-watering, his pants squeezed and pinched me like an ill-fitting boot. Even more unfortunately, the past time in which I was about to engage was none other than rumba dancing, that ass shaking, super splits, salsa-esque form of recreation that requires at least a modicum of comfort, stretch and flow in the clothing. Being that Spanish culture was the theme for the evening, we started out with burritos and beans at a local ristaurante washed down with copious amount of Tequila. The fare was delicious, but it would later prove to be disastrous. A bit later saw us at the Club del Marco where we hit the dance floor with the type of vengeance normally reserved for acts of hate and destruction. We shook and bent and slithered about madly, all the while, the juices of the liquor and beans building into an internal crescendo of whose revolting consequences I would soon be made horridly aware. Just as I bent a lovely senora over my knee and let her feel the heat of passion on my lips, before they could touch, the zipper on the pants failed and opened a chasm in my crotch, exposing the tighty whities beneath. Against the black leather it looked as though I had an enormous, milky eye between my legs, but this was for the barest instant as the button, which could no longer bear the strain, popped off like a champagne cork and struck the senora directly between her own legs. She screamed, turning away as a small spot of blood appeared right where her privates were. As if that weren’t embarrassing enough, before I could take even the smallest step, I felt a rumbling that brought my pupils to pinpoints – they were baaack! Like a dam bursting forth with its sluice of water and chunks to consume all in its path, the beans did a reappearing act, showering out of the back of my pants, which were tight enough that the stream came out in an arc so wide and high it looked as though I had a glistening brown fan fluttering behind me. The shit literally hit the fan at this point, sending coffee colored rain into drinks and open, laughing mouths (soon to laugh no more). Burning with shame, and realizing I’d probably wounded the senora in such a way that she would never again know the pleasures of a normal orgasm, I ran from the club pushing aside the excrement dotted onlookers who’d gathered around the spectacle unfolding on the dance floor. Now, I hadn’t brought my car (we’d taken the bus – the senora was very environmentally conscious), so I was forced to wait for the next public conveyance with my crotch hanging asunder and smelling of a Frenchman. What happened on the bus is a blur, though I know there was quit a bit of pushing and shouting involved, and I think I was on the ceiling at one point, but eventually I made it back home. Deciding that if he couldn’t censure anyone for this crime if he didn’t know who had committed it, I simply hung the pants back up in the closet dripping as they were, thinking that he’d most likely blame my mother anyway. Now you’d think that that would be the end of the story but then you don’t know my father… Not too long after the “incident” my father came into the kitchen and loudly insisted that we all go out to dinner together. A few minutes later when we’d all assembled and were ready to depart, we saw my father coming down the stairs - wearing the stinking, encrusted pants as if nothing were amiss. As he descended he boasted about how much he loved these pants and that he wouldn’t think of going until we’d all tried them on and done a little dance in them, each in turn. I was horrified, as was my stunned family who stood with mouths agape, but perhaps to assuage myself of suspicion, I boldly stepped forward and shouted that if anyone were to be forced into such a situation, I would be the first to volunteer. Smiling maliciously with his green teeth and crossed eyes (yeah! Green teeth! Amazingly I’d never noticed just how ugly he was before) he slowly peeled the pants off with a crunching sound and handed them to me. They sat warm and heavy in my hands for what seemed like an eternity before I looked up. At this point, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any underwear. His fat piece had been rubbing up against the inside of the pants the entire time! Before anyone could react, I dropped them and in one smooth motion I’d learned at the local karate studio, darted forth and snatched his penis right from his body, balls and all. He looked at me with sickened amazement for a second before sliding to the floor as massive blood loss overtook him. Everything was deathly quiet, time didn’t seem to pass at all, no one moved or breathed, not even the clock ticked... Then my mother screamed, so I backhanded her.