I woke to find myself alone as the screen door slammed closed behind me. I stood on the veranda to the sound of distant kookaburras laughing at me. Bryn's note was stuck to the coffee pot with a hunting knife: *Good luck today. Let us know how it goes*
I snorted, turning back to the shower, enjoying the silence. The shower finished, dripping, I returned to the kitchen and made myself a coffee, and then I ventured onto the veranda again, silently composing my invitation as I tugged on the sample undies, the mesh clinging to damp skin, the orange fabric bright against my tan. I slipped on my shorts and t-shirt and hesitated at the ute, wondering, and then climbed in and turned the ignition. “Now or never,” I said to myself.
Outside the town’s single store for a couple of hundred miles, I wondered how best to play the proposal and then decided to use my body as the advertisement, saying to myself, “I'm fit. I'm attractive and well-proportioned. In fact, I'm quite a stud,” and so I slipped my t-shirt and shorts off and turned the engine off stepping out to confront my destiny, I guess.
The store's bell jangled like it hadn't been oiled since, whenever. Mrs Henderson was sitting behind the counter as she looked up from her crossword, bifocals sliding down her nose. Her gaze locked onto my entire body and then my crotch. "Steven," she said slowly. "Are those... new undies?"
I leaned against the counter, letting the freezer air hit my back. "Samples, Mrs Henderson." The orange fabric left nothing to the imagination, least of all the fact that I wasn't wearing anything underneath. "We're launching a line called Outback Undies."
She reached out, pinching the waistband between thumb and forefinger like testing fabric quality. Her wedding band caught the light. "Reckon my Barry could use a pair and much better than what I make for the local blokes."
Behind us, the storeroom door creaked. Old man Henderson emerged, squinting at me over a crate of baked beans. His eyes travelled south and stuck. "Jesus wept."
"Exactly," I said, as I spread my arms. "Behold the future, and you get first refusal. Packs of five for suggested retail at fifteen dollars. Five dollars cheaper than your Kangaroo undies, and the cost price to you is seven dollars."
Mrs Henderson tapped her pen against the counter. "Can I see the rest of your samples?"
"Of course, and I would like to invite you to a fashion show so you can make the decision, which colours do you want to sell?"
The old man scratched his beard. "That's your pitch? Your dick in....mesh?"
I grinned. "Airtex actually, and it worked on you, didn't it?"
The bell jangled again. Eli slouched in, reeking of diesel and last night's mistakes. He took one look at me and groaned. "Fuck's sake, Steve."
Mrs Henderson adjusted her glasses. "You've seen these, too, Elijah?"
Eli's neck flushed red. "Yes, and they feel great, and I love'em. The five of us came up with the idea for changing the retail offering in the neighbourhood, if you know what I mean."
The old man sighed, "We're interested, Steve, where and what time?"
"Shall we say, 7pm at Bryn's place. His mom will provide tea and cake, and you can make the decision."
Mrs Henderson and I will see you then. Now get out and put some clothes on. It's not decent to be like that in this shop. What will the customers say?"
“Hopefully, nice undies, Mr Henderson. Where can we buy them?” as I followed Eli out of the shop.
Laughing at the situation, Eli asked, “Can we have a quiet chat?” as I climbed into my ute, the door slamming with a rusty groan.
Eli climbed in beside me, his thigh pressing warm against mine despite the heat. "Quiet chat, my arse," I muttered, turning the ignition just to drown out his answering chuckle. “You’re miffed at missing out last night.”
The ute shuddered to life beneath us, radio blasting some country twang about broken hearts and pickup trucks. Eli reached over and snapped it off without looking, his fingers brushing my knee in the silence that followed.
The dam appeared through the trees like a mirage, its surface ruffled by the hot wind. Eli was out before I cut the engine, stripping off his shirt with that effortless grace that made my teeth ache. I followed slower, peeling my own shirt over my head just to watch his gaze catch on the marks Neil had left last night. Slipping our shorts and undies off, the water was cooler than expected when we waded in, shock prickling across my skin as Eli advanced like some biblical reckoning, droplets clinging to his chest hair.
He caught my wrist when I reached for him, twisting it behind my back in one fluid motion. His mouth crashed against mine, all teeth and desperation, tongue sweeping in like he was chasing the ghost of every lie we'd ever told each other. I bit down hard enough to taste copper, and Eli groaned, his free hand fisting in my hair to yank my head back. "Always suspected," he panted against my throat. "You like it rough," as we stood in knee-deep water.
Eli manhandled me onto my knees as his cock pressed against my lips, thick and insistent, the salt-tang of precum already beading at the tip. "Open," he ordered, and I did, because some truths didn't need words. Eli fucked my throat with the same single-minded intensity he did everything, shearing fences, breaking horses, ruining me, as his hips snapped forward until my eyes watered.
When he pulled out abruptly, I gasped for air, only for him to spin me around and shove me face-first into the bank while my bottom remained above the shallow water. The mud was cool against my flushed cheeks, a sharp contrast to Eli's burning hands spreading me open.
He spat roughly between my cheeks, the wet sound obscene in the quiet morning air. "I wanted you yesterday," he growled, pressing in without preamble.
I managed to get on all fours as he started to enter me. It hurt. Christ, it hurt, the stretch unbearable until Eli curled a hand around my cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. Pain bled into pleasure so gradually I couldn't pinpoint the moment my choked noises turned to moans of enjoyment, when my body stopped resisting and started meeting him thrust for thrust.
It wasn’t rape, but it was forced and unexpected, but I was enjoying the roughness of the lovemaking as Eli's breath came in ragged bursts against my shoulder, his pace fracturing as he neared his peak. "You love this," he gasped, biting my earlobe. "Taking it rough."
I felt my climax approaching, but as my orgasm ripped through me without warning, my back arched, forcing Eli to follow moments later, as his hips stuttered as he buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. We collapsed into the shallows, breathless and sticky, the water lapping at our tangled limbs as Eli rolled onto his back, squinting up at the cloudless sky. "Fuck," he said eloquently.
I laughed, because what else was there to do? as my hand found his subsiding cock. "Quiet chat," I reminded him, and his answering grin was brighter than the sun. “You’re a dark horse, mate,” I said.
"I've always liked rough sex, Steve, but... trying to find anyone out here who shares that kink, I guess you call it. It's tricky to say the least. I used to love being spanked, for example, but try getting spanked at our age."
I lay on my back, playing with his and my cock. "If you want a spanking, I'd be more than happy to provide one for you, but not today. I need you to focus on our fashion show this evening, and if you want to fuck me again, you can, but remember, I'm Bryn's man first."
Eli nodded in agreement that I was happy to be friends. The water had gone lukewarm from the heat by the time we untangled ourselves, Eli’s knee leaving a muddy imprint on my thigh as he stood. He offered a hand, more habit than courtesy and yanked me upright with enough force to send water sloshing over the bank. "Fashion show," he muttered, shaking his head as he waded toward his discarded clothes. "Perhaps something good will come out of it, but I'll feel ridiculous."
I scooped my shirt from the dirt, grimacing at the damp patches. "You’ll show up," I said, not asking and, “you look amazing in those undies. The colours are just perfect for you.”
Eli paused mid-step, water dripping from his legs. His grin was all teeth. "Wouldn’t miss watching Bryn strut in mesh for all the cattle in Queensland," as he tossed his shirt over one shoulder, the fabric clinging to his still-damp chest. "Though if Henderson’s wife pinches my arse again...."
"Again?" I choked.
"Church social. ‘08." Eli’s smirk said there was more to that story, but he sauntered toward the ute without elaborating, his bare feet kicking up dust. “She likes young men, you know.”
The drive back was quieter; the radio left off this time. Eli drummed his fingers against the dashboard in a restless rhythm, his gaze fixed on the horizon where heat shimmered above the asphalt. I stole glances at the way his throat worked when he swallowed, at the fresh bite mark I’d left just above his collarbone. Proof, maybe, that last night hadn’t been some collective fever dream.
Back at Bryn's house, I found him busy with the tractor again. “Bryn, good news,” I shouted to him. “Mr and Mrs Henderson are coming this evening. I mentioned tea and cake and, of course, the fashion show.”
“Brilliant news, Steve. We best getting cleaning up and try to make a good impression.”
Bryn's mother agreed to make a cake. I swept the veranda and got a couple of nice chairs ready. Bryn put a crate of beers in the fridge, and in no time, we were kicking our heels waiting. Jamie and Neil arrived with Eli in tow as he had promised, and we all showered and prepared the sample undies. With nothing more to do, we waited patiently and nervously. This would be the most important event of our life and we all knew it.
The Hendersons' truck rolled up the drive at seven-fifteen, kicking up dust that hung golden in the late sun. Bryn's mother wiped her hands on her apron and shot us a look that said *behave* as clearly as if she'd shouted it. Inside, the kitchen table groaned under platters of lamingtons and a fruitcake the size of a tractor wheel.
"Twelve colours?" Mrs Henderson said, peering at the samples draped over the veranda rail like some bizarre patriotic bunting. Her bifocals caught the light as she pinched the orange mesh between thumb and forefinger. "Barry'd look a right fool in these."
"Then put him in the Navy," Bryn's mother said, pouring tea with the precision of a prison guard doling out rations. She nudged the burgundy pair toward Mrs Henderson. "These hide stains."
We'd drawn straws for order. Neil went first because he'd scowled until we gave in, strutting onto the veranda in black mesh with white trim that left precisely nothing to the imagination. Old man Henderson choked on his cake.
Jamie followed in royal blue, then Eli in forest green, both moving with the self-conscious stiffness of geldings at their first show. Bryn's mother kept up a running commentary about gusset stitching while Bryn himself lurked by the screen door, trying to gauge how it was going.
My turn came with the purple pair. The mesh clung like a second skin as I stepped into the golden hour light, Mrs Henderson's gaze dropping to my crotch with the clinical interest of a woman who'd spent forty years buying underwear for a husband who thought laundry was witchcraft.
"Double-stitched seams," I said, spreading my arms like Neil had. The veranda boards creaked underfoot. Somewhere in the distance, a kookaburra laughed.
Mr Henderson cleared his throat. "They're, ah…"
"Breathable," Bryn's mother supplied, passing him another lamington. "Airtex mesh for hot climates, like here. We prioritised extreme durability, moisture management, and comfort to handle long hours, high temperatures, and intense physical activity. "
Mrs Henderson's pen finally moved. "We'll take six dozen, mixed colours and four dozen white, and we'll see how they sell," as she squinted at Bryn over her glasses, still modelling the pink.
I took the opportunity to thank her for her order, saying that she'll have no issues offloading them once word gets around. Shaking hands with Mr Henderson was a first, and as we watched them drive away, we celebrated, hoping that our idea had changed our future fortunes.
It had been a long day, and I was tired as I said my goodbyes and drove home, only to send an email ordering the requirement and letting our newfound friend in the USA know the successful outcome, thanking him for his support.
My thoughts found it funny, sending an email to a stranger come newfound friend in the USA about underwear, and here I was, standing in my house or shack as I called it, wearing only my Kangaroo undies. Almost poetic in some respects, I thought.
Just as I was shutting down my computer, the knock at the door surprised me, rattling the screen door in its frame. Eli’s silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the porch light, his grin visible even through the screen. He held up a six-pack with one hand and a leather belt with the other, the buckle glinting ominously. "You promised," he said, like that explained everything.
I stared at the belt, then at Eli’s face, the way his pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes, the flush creeping up his throat. "Now?" I asked, my voice cracking.
I stepped outside as Eli put the belt on the coffee table with a thud that made my stomach tighten. "You implied after the fashion show," he reminded me, "Unless Bryn’s got dibs."
"Bryn's not here tonight and.... You really want to do this, don't you?"
Eli’s fingers tapped the belt buckle absently, the metal clicking like a countdown. "Been thinking about this since the dam," he admitted.
I swallowed hard, my pulse thudding in my throat. The evening air clung to my skin, thick with the scent of eucalyptus and Eli’s cheap soap. "You sure you don’t just wanna fuck?" I hedged, toeing off my boots.
Eli’s smile turned predatory. "I need you to punish me for today," as he snapped the leather taut between his hands. "I was wrong about what happened earlier, and I hurt you."
The belt hung between Eli’s hands like a live wire, taut with unspent tension. I stared at it, then at the way his knuckles whitened around the leather, not hesitation, but restraint. His throat worked as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his sweat-damp shirt.
"You didn’t hurt me," I lied.
Eli barked a laugh, sharp as a whip crack. "Bullshit. You limped to the ute," as his thumb brushed the fresh bruise on my hipbone, the one shaped like his fingerprints. "I want you to make me feel it."
"Let me get this right. You want me to use your leather belt and spank your arse because you were rough with me today. Is that correct? I demanded.
"Yes," he responded. “I didn’t quite rape you, but I certainly forced you roughly, and I’m feeling guilty because I really like you, Steve. Always have, and I want to keep you as a friend.
"I see,” I responded to his admission, perhaps even a confession. How many strokes do you suggest I give you?"
Eli exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the belt’s worn leather. "Ten," he said, too quickly, then corrected himself with a jerk of his chin. "No. Twelve. One for every year I pretended I didn’t want this."
Eli’s breathing hitched when I took the belt from him, his calloused fingers brushing mine like he was handing over a loaded gun. "Go over to your pickup. Open the tailgate. Take your clothes off and bend over the tailgate," I said, testing the weight of the leather in my palm. The command came out steadier than I felt, and Eli complied without question.
Eli stripped with the same no-nonsense efficiency he did everything, until he stood in his kangaroo undies.
Pushing down his undies, he bent over the tailgate without ceremony, forearms braced against the weathered, rusty surface, fingers spreading wide like he was steadying himself for a world of pain. Pain that he wanted.
Standing with enough space to wield the leather, I swung the first stroke, and it landed with a crack that startled a flock of Galahs from the gum tree out back. Eli’s breath hissed between his teeth, but his spine stayed rigid, the muscles in his back twitching under the sheen of sweat. I watched the red bloom across his skin, vivid against his tan, before drawing back again. The second strike overlapped the first, drawing a choked groan from Eli’s throat. His knuckles whitened against the metal work of my old but reliable vehicle, not quite used to being used for this purpose.
The third stroke landed lower, catching the crease where thigh met arse, and Eli’s whole body jerked forward with a punched-out grunt. His breath came in ragged bursts now, forehead pressed to the wood, but he didn’t move away. Just spread his legs wider, toes curling in the red dust of the outback.
The fourth strike came diagonally, crossing the first two, and this time Eli arched his back with a sharp cry. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, flushed dark and leaking onto the dust below. I paused, tracing the welt with my fingertips, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
"You okay?" I asked, softer than intended.
Eli laughed, wild and breathless. "Fuck no, but finish it."
The fifth and sixth came in quick succession, the leather biting into the softest part of his flesh.
The seventh stroke split the air like a gunshot, raising an immediate welt that darkened to crimson before my eyes, as Eli screamed, a raw, broken sound and his hips bucked forward, cock twitching against his stomach.
The belt slipped from my fingers as I stepped closer, pressing my palm against the burning skin of his ass. Eli shuddered violently at the contact, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You’re done," I murmured, leaning down to kiss the knob of his spine.
Eli turned his head, cheek smeared with sweat and something dangerously close to tears. "Twelve," he insisted hoarsely. "You promised."
I picked up the belt slowly, watching his pupils dilate. "Then hold still."
The final five came in a relentless rhythm, each strike perfectly placed to maximise the burn without breaking skin. Eli took them like a man drowning, gasping, writhing, but never once trying to escape. By the twelfth, his knees had given out, and he slumped into the dust on his knees, trembling from head to toe.
I dropped the belt and ran my hands over his back, feeling the heat and tension coiled in every muscle. Eli’s breath hitched as I traced the raised welts, his body arching into the touch like a cat.
"You’re fucking beautiful like this," I admitted, pressing my lips to his shoulder blade.
Eli turned his head, his grin lopsided and exhausted. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He caught my wrist, guiding my hand between his legs. His cock was rock-hard, dripping onto the dust. "Then finish me off."
I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking slowly at first, then faster as Eli’s hips began to move. His breath came in ragged gasps, fingers clutching at the metal edges as I worked him over. When he came, it was with a broken sob, his release streaking across the dust in thick pulses and streaks.
"It was worth the wait," he murmured, eyes drifting shut. "And I'm sorry about today. I should have asked instead of assuming. It won't happen again."
Outside, the kookaburras began their evening chorus, and somewhere in the distance, a truck engine rumbled to life. Eli’s breathing evened out against my shoulder, his body heavy and warm against mine as I helped him up, taking him back to the veranda.
The belt still lay on the ground, glinting in the fading light as Eli stared at it, as if having a personal debrief. I reached for my phone instead, sending Bryn a single message: *First order placed.*
I put my phone down and turned to Eli, naked with welts criss-crossing his arse. "That looks really painful, Eli," I said to him, worried that he was not okay.
"Mate, it’s fucking painful, but I needed it. I guess it's part of my... need."
"Tell you what, I have some E45 inside, let me get it and rub some on your arse, mate."
"That would be nice," Eli responded, and so I went inside, got the cream and upon my return, I pulled him over my lap as I sat on the chair outside and gently rubbed the cream all over his bottom.
"Tell me, Eli, Jamie, and Neil found out they like to fuck guys when there's nothing female about. Bryn and I, well, simply put, we're gay and only found out recently that we love each other and have done for years. What's your story with the rough stuff and spanking?"
Eli exhaled sharply through his nose, his muscles tensing under my fingers as I worked the cream into his welted skin. The scent of eucalyptus and menthol mixed with the sweat still drying on his back.
"First time was an accident," he muttered, shifting slightly on my lap. The movement made him wince. "Year ten. Got the strap off old Thompson for mouthing off in ag class. Couldn't sit properly for a week." His fingers flexed against my thigh. "Fucking hated it. Couldn't stop thinking about it either."
I smoothed a thumb along the edge of a particularly angry welt. "That's fucked up," I said to his tale of wow,
Eli snorted, the sound rough-edged with something too sharp to be laughter. "Tell me something I don't know." He arched into my touch when I hit a tender spot, his breath hitching. "Took me six years to work up the nerve to ask a bloke for it proper. Last bloke I asked took grave exception and chucked me out."
The cream glistened on his skin, turning the welts into shiny, raised maps of where I'd marked him. I traced one with my pinky, fascinated by the way his body quivered under such a light touch. "And now?"
"Finally, I've found you," he declared as he twisted to look at me over his shoulder, his grin lopsided. "Progress. Hey?"
"Progress," I agreed, swiping another glob of cream across the worst of the welts. Eli hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking forward as he wriggled his legs in response. "I'm also surprised you managed to remain hard during your....," as it started to rain heavily, the water droplets sounding worse on the tin roof of my shack.
Eli’s laugh was more chuckle as he responded. "Yeah, well. Turns out pain’s my thing," as he craned his neck to glare at me over his shoulder, rainwater dripping off his nose from a hole in the roof.
Eli got up off my lap and walked into the rain. "It's so refreshing, Steve," he said, holding his arms up as if praying to the rain. The downpour plastered his hair flat against his skull, rivulets tracing the welts on his bottom like liquid silver. He turned slowly, arms outstretched, letting the storm wash the cream and sweat from his skin. The porch light caught the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, turning them to diamonds.
I should've stayed under the veranda's shelter. Should've called him back inside before he caught pneumonia. But the sight of him, barefoot in the mud, head tipped back to drink the sky, rooted me to the chair. His erection was strong, jutting proudly straight up as rainwater sluiced down the shaft, only to cascade from his balls to the ground below.
Eli looked at me. "Come here," he said.
The rain hit my skin like a thousand tiny needles as I stepped off the veranda, the cold shock of it punching the air from my lungs. My kangaroo undies turned translucent instantly, clinging to my thighs. Eli’s grin widened as he watched me, rainwater sluicing down his chest, catching in the hollow of his throat.
I kissed him like I was drowning, his mouth hot against the chill, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders hard enough to bruise. The taste of rain and sweat and something indefinably Eli flooded my senses as his tongue slid against mine. His cock pressed insistently against my hip, leaking onto my undies where they hadn’t already been soaked through by the storm.
I sank to my knees in the mud without breaking the kiss, the wet earth yielding beneath me. Eli made a noise low in his throat when I finally pulled away to mouth down his chest, my hands skating over his hips. His fingers tangled in my hair as I took him into my mouth, the salt-bitter taste of him sharp against my tongue.
The rain fell harder, drumming against my back as I worked him, the water washing away any pretence, any hesitation. Eli’s thighs trembled under my hands, his hips jerking forward in small, aborted thrusts. His breathing came ragged above me, lost to the downpour.
"Fuck," he gasped, fingers tightening in my hair. "Steve...."
I hummed around him, the vibration drawing a broken moan from his lips. His cock twitched against my tongue, the taste of him intensifying as precum mixed with rainwater. The storm had turned the yard into a shallow lake, mud seeping around my knees, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not with the way Eli was looking down at me, his eyes dark with something like reverence.
The veranda light flickered, casting our shadows long across the flooded ground. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, the sound vibrating through my chest. Eli’s fingers flexed in my hair, not pulling, just holding, as if he needed the anchor.
I took him deeper, until my nose pressed against his pelvis, until I could feel the jump of his pulse against my lips. Eli cursed, his free hand clutching at his own thigh, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in the wet skin. The rain had plastered his eyelashes together, droplets catching on them like misplaced tears.
When he came, it was with a sound ripped from his chest, his release hot against my tongue, bitter and perfect. I swallowed around him, feeling the aftershocks ripple through his body as he swayed on his feet. His grip on my hair gentled, fingers carding through the soaked strands as I pulled off with a final, lingering lick.
Eli hauled me up by my elbows, his mouth finding mine again, insistent and messy. His hands slid down my back, fingers hooking in the waistband of my ruined undies. "These are done for," he muttered against my lips, tugging at the sodden fabric.
I laughed, the sound lost to another roll of thunder. "Yeah," I agreed, stepping out of them, letting them land in the mud with a wet slap, instantly swallowed by the deluge.
Eli’s hands were everywhere, mapping the planes of my chest, the dip of my waist, skimming lower until his fingers brushed my cock. I arched into the touch, my own hands fisting in his hair as he dropped to his knees in turn, his mouth trailing fire down my stomach.
The rain fell in sheets around us, turning the world into a blur of silver and shadow. Eli’s tongue traced the head of my cock, his breath hot against my skin. His eyes met mine as he took me in, the challenge in them unmistakable.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, not guiding, just holding on as my hips jerked forward of their own accord. Eli groaned around me, the sound vibrating through my bones, and I knew I wouldn’t last. Not like this, not with him kneeling in the mud like some kind of offering, the storm raging around us like it was made just for this moment.
When I came, it was with Eli’s name on my lips, the syllables swallowed by the downpour. He swallowed every drop, his tongue lapping at me until I shuddered, oversensitive and wrecked.
We stayed like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync, the rain washing away everything but the feel of each other.
Eli was the one to pull back first, his grin slow and satisfied. "Progress," he said again, thumb swiping at the corner of my mouth.
I caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "Yeah," I agreed.
He hissed at me again and then turned and walked away towards his place, a mile away, his naked body disappearing into the rain-smeared darkness, as his silhouette dissolved between the sheets of falling water like ink in a stirred glass.
His muttered "thank you" clung to my skin longer than the rainwater. I stood there, shivering, until the last echo of his footsteps vanished beneath the storm's roar. My fingers twitched at my sides, half-reach, half-retreat, as if my body couldn't decide whether to chase him down or bolt inside.
The mud squelched between my toes when I finally turned toward the veranda. My discarded undies lay half-buried in the muck, one leg of the fabric poking up like a surrender flag. I left them there. The screen door groaned as I shouldered it open, hinges protesting like they, too, were exhausted. Inside, the wooden floorboards felt like ice against my soles.
Dripping onto the threadbare rug in the hallway, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror, hair plastered flat, lips swollen, a fresh bruise blooming on my collarbone where Eli's teeth had caught. My chest hitched on something that wasn't quite laughter. "Progress," I whispered to the empty house, tasting rainwater and the ghost of Eli's mouth.
Sleep came in fits, the kind where you jerk awake, convinced you're still standing in the storm. At 3:17 AM, my phone buzzed violently against the nightstand. Bryn's name flashed, followed by a photo of Neil passed out on his couch, wearing nothing but the orange sample undies, one hand still clutching a beer. The caption read: *Fashion show party went...enthusiastically. Shame you missed it.*
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