It was a move of passion––nearly instinctual. You were straddling me as we kissed on the couch and I stood up as you held on like a koala and slowly navigated us towards the bed; doing my best to avoid the coffee table, the chair and my clunky oversized bicycle on the way. I almost lost balance when I noticed a pair of my dirty underpants on the floor and casually tried to kick them out of sight.

Then came the sound. I squatted to lower you onto the bed and it was like a gunshot. A cannonball fired from a pirate ship oddly moored in my apartment. My pants had exploded from my scrotum to the soft patch of skin above my ass that acts as a foyer to the fleshy mound before it splits like an embryo into two hairy cheeks. I felt the breeze from the open patio door on my bottom. You held your composure as long as you could before crumbling into laughter. I didn’t think it was that funny. I really liked those pants.