"Keep your pants on!"
"But they're sticky!"
For a grown man, he sure whined a lot. I glanced at his pants. They really weren't THAT bad. Well, ok. Maybe they were. A big dark stain was starting to form all down the front. It looked sususpiciously like he'd had an accident of another sort. I shook my head. This was not going to be a good day.
Last night, after way too much to drink, this sexy hunk of a man standing in front of me with a look of horror on his face as he pulled the sticky mess away from his skin ended up in my bed. This morning, I decided to be hospitable in an effort to keep him around and made pancakes.
He had come downstairs, wearing nothing but pajama pants I'd let him borrow. We couldn't find his pants. No idea where they got off to. I set the table while he got coffee and settled himself into a chair.
"How are you?" I smiled my most winning smile as I set the pancakes and syrup on the table in front of him.
"I'm fine." He yawned, probably already bored with the conversation.
The pancakes made it safely to the surface, but as I was setting down the syrup, which I had so helpfully uncapped, it hit the edge of the plate and went over. I lost my grip and the whole bottle ended up in his lap, upside down.
And that brings us back to the awful mess we were in. I was horrified and this poor man was dancing around trying to keep the sticking syrup away from his junk without completely derobing in front of me for the second time in less than twelve hours.
I raced upstairs into the attic. When my grandparents passed, they left me the house, along with everything inside. There were trunks and dressers of clothes in the attic. I dug around and finally found a pair of pants my grandpa used to wear when he would garden. Not the most attractive, but they would have to do.
Back downstairs, I tossed the pants at the miserable, shirtless man. He caught them in midair and ran to the bathroom. I heard the shower running for awhile, then he came out smelling like peppermint, my bodywash. He smelled good. I looked at him, in his plaid grandpa pants, and bit my lip. I couldn't help it. I watched him carefully and his stern irritated face cracked into a grin. I doubled over with laughter and he joined me in the merriment.
"So, this was fun." I couldn't believe he was still talking to me.
"It was interesting, that's for sure," I replied, still giggling over his pants.
"What are you doing tonight? I'd like to take you to dinner... after I find some more, uh, suitable clothing, of course."
I grinned. "That would be wonderful. Maybe someday we'll find your pants."
**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-22-11 morning dash, using the prompt "pants."**