If your best friend ever asks you, "Hey, I've got to go clothes shopping; wanna come with me?" say no. Especially if said friend is male and enjoys wearing nothing but leather. Say yes, and you'll probably end up going to some store that on any other occasion the thought of going to never even crosses your mind; I would know.

I stared at the sign, horrified and paralyzed as my eye began to twitch. "'Whips n' Things?' You brought me to a store for strippers and transvestites? What the hell is wrong with you, man? Why the fuck would you come to a store like…this?"

"I thought the reason was fucking obvious," he answered, grabbing my wrist and dragging me, very much against my will, into the building. "Did you think they sell shit like lace-up leather pants at K-mart? Besides, all this shit is totally top-notch; you know what low-quality leather does to my skin." I half-expected him to flip his hair over his shoulder.

"Why'd you need me here?"

"To carry the stuff and tell me how great my ass looks." Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus Christ our Savior and Lord, if this is what having a girlfriend is like I'll pass, please and thank you very, very much. He picked up a pair of pants and held them up, while all I could do was stare—there was that horrible eye twitch again. "I like these, but they wouldn't look good on me…" He glanced over at me, making my OHSHIT meter spike quite quickly. "You try 'em on," he added as he pushed me into the fitting room.

There was no use protesting, so I accepted defeat and grabbed the barely-legal pants from Mello before locking myself into a stall. As soon as I pulled my jeans off, I encountered a slight…problem. "Mels, there's no way in hell I can get these pants over my boxers."

"Then take 'em the fuck off. Hurry up, dammit."

COMMANDO? HE EXPECTED ME TO GO FUCKING COMMANDO? Whimpering, I slid off my boxers and pulled on the pants from hell—it was no easy task; it involved a lot of jumping around, arching, yanking, grunting, breath-holding and swearing. I came out only after I had mustered up enough courage to actually show myself to the general public (though the shoppers at a stripper store couldn't exactly be considered the 'general' population) and a smug looking Mello.

"So?" he drawled, motioning to the pants.

I sighed. "My ass is chafing, my balls are numb, and I'm damn sure I have a permanent wedgie," I complained, pulling at the leg of the pants in a fruitless attempt to lessen the pressure on my precious parts.

"But you look hot. That's all that matters, Mattie."

"Oh, okay. So I could lose my ability to have kids and never sit down again due to my ass being rubbed raw, but as long as I look good, who the fuck cares. Great. Awesome. Now come help me get the fuck out of these pants, bastard."