These are my back-up porno pants, the orange-taupe ones that are similar to my main green porno pants. They are made of the same silky material, have a drawstring and have snap button flies -- the better to surreptitiously take out your cock for lap dances. I prefer my green ones because the fly is wider so I don't have to take so much time fishing out my pee-pee. But since I bought the orange-taupe one after the green one, it's holding up better. I sometimes wear that one to stripclubs as a change-of-pace thing, but one day it's going to have to replace the green one, which is getting old and ripped up. And unfortunately, for the life of me, I can't find any similar pants anywhere. They're not just good for extras, they're good to wear in general.
Well, anyway, last week I was wearing them when I was in the backyard pruning the lilac bushes. Father said that for the big branches I should use the big saws in the garage. My pruning shears and hand saw seemed to work just fine, but I didn't want to start a fight if I was still working in the back when he came home and saw me just using the tools I wanted to use. So I went to the garage and got the handsaws. They're on those holders that go into our peg board, the kind you see at the Target check-out lanes holding gum and batteries, you know? And they've been weighed down so heavily by the saws that they're bending to the point of not being able to hold them up. Just an observation.
I bring both of them up the stairs. But as I was holding them I heard a "rip." I look down. I was not holding the saws with a lot of, um, "caution." Meanwhile I was walking up the stairs with a certain level of ... confidence. And I guess I was swinging the saw too close to my pants, and several teeth gouged it around my left knee. Saw some scrapes, but there was a tear, about an inch or two long, at the knee.
Well, shit. I was practically despondent at this. These are my porno pants, man. I can't just throw them into a corner after a day of use. They'll have cum on it, the results of a fruitful afternoon of handjobbin'. They'll need to be washed. And all of a sudden these ghastly images of my poor, poor orange-taupe porno pants in the wash form in my head. It zooms in on the rip, which, because of the vigorous wash cycle, gets bigger, and bigger, and bigger. Finally, one day in the not-too-distant future, there's a tear up and down the left leg. I guess it'd make it even easier to access my dick, but those pants would have the appearance of those 80's jeans that are torn up everywhere. And since I can't find a replacement, Grandmother will use them as a rag.
So Monday I ran into my aunt. She can sew. I ask her to repair the tear in my porno pants (although she doesn't know I call them porno pants). She said yes. She generally does a good job, can't complain. But I know that my careless errors has forever altered the life of these loyal pants. A stitch will sacrifice itself before the wear-and-tear of life, but that will unravel, and then it's just the tear against the world, again, and the tear will have no chance.
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