The night was young. The first dance by the groom and bride was underway, and everyone was feeling the vibe. Two songs in the DJ drops Gasolina and my neurons fired like a thermobaric bomb1. I jumped in, sunglasses on; strutting the gifts that my ancestors bestowed upon me. My final memories are shoulders rotating, hips oscillating, all synched up. With the music shifting, I chose to elevate the playing field by dropping low (my fatal mistake). Knees loose, ass heavy. The deepest squat this side of Portugal. I have seen enough vogueing footage, I know what to do. As I bore upon the floor, the tensile strength of the trouser's fabric pushed against the G forces. The rear of my rented suit trousers2 heaving against my gluteus maximus. The line broke, and momentum came charging through, spears low with blood fury in its eyes. And then freedom. A gust of fresh air upon my buttocks greeted me to the realisation that my sins were now made materially manifest. The seam was torn asunder. I…
No comments yet. Log in to reply on the Fediverse. Comments will appear here.