Not enough to do much of anything.

Trying hard to ignore the sensation of the thong in your ass, you burst into the antechamber where the rest of your bandmates are milling about in full regalia—clearly ready for the performance—and take a second to catch your breath. You inhale a final time, and, still disappointed you missed the entire rehearsal, give the room your excuse/explanation, "Sorry I'm late guys, Pearl threw a soda on me."

Your drummer, Amy is taken aback by this information, and asks, "What the actual heck, Pearl?"

"It wasn't me Pearl, it was asshole Pearl!" The resident violinist defends.

"Oohhh, that makes a lot more sense."

"It's okay, just buy me a soda and we're good." Pearl replies, jokingly, before informing you of the concert situation, "Okay, so two things Sam, we've made sure your guitar is tuned, and the school board said I'm not allowed to say 'fuck' onstage. "

"What? Let Pearl say fuck!" You say, indignant at the school being so close-minded.

"You know why she can't." Says your keytar player, Garnet, who is standing next to the rickety stairs of the bandstand, and motions for you and company to get a move on, "Let's hurry up; we're on now!"

You step onto the makeshift kludged-together wooden platform, guitar slung over your shoulder. After bracing yourself against the nerves you feel everytime you walk in front of an audience, look into the crowd, only to see Denise looking straight at you; she's eagle eyed and smiling, she'd seen you and your bandmates play dozens of times in the past, but this Pep show was a special event; even if you were allowed only two songs, they were gonna be the best this band could do.

"Hello and pleasant afternoon. We are Strawberry Soda and we wish to regale you and junk!" Pearl addresses, obviously wishing she could say 'fuck'.

The four of you rock out as hard as people playing bubblegum-pop on violin and keytar possibly can, and the energy you bring gets the gymnasium pumped; the audience is bouncing and dancing to the music. The school board cleared your band to play when they found out that y'all were actually crazy—quite emphatically—inoffensive.

Ending the poppy first number leads straight into the second song by default, and this one is a lot more 'heavy', basically a metal song Amy realized sounds like the previous piece's outro— though it still wasn't anything you couldn't play at an official function.

Just when you finger the final chord on your fretboard, a pair of lithe hands attach themselves to the hem of your short-shorts. As you strum your last note, the clothing rips down your legs, and your lacy, racy, sexually enticing underwear is made visible to the entire school. Somehow, even your shirt was torn clean off, leaving you in only a tiny thong on-stage.

Over one hundred people can see your bulge straining against a pouch of skimpy black fabric—your guitar is slung too high to provide cover—and they all remain perfectly silent as you stand there stock-still in humiliation, until…

Your crush Denise wolf whistles, and cheers, laughing hysterically, she pushes herself out of her seat on the bleachers; standing up fully and leaning as far out as she can, the sexy, six-foot-seven stunner shouts, "Looking GOOD, Sam!"

After the sexy basketball player's rallying cheer, the rest of the assembly takes it as cue to break out in catcalls at your embarrassing incident, and all you can think to do is blush; blush a deep crimson at your crush wolf whistling gleefully at you in your scant, indecent underwear.

"Best. Pep Rally. EVER!" Screams the many girls watching, between titillated giggles.

You throw both hands down to cover your barely obscured dick, humiliated at the entire senior class getting an eyeful of everything but your bare cock, then, as you tremble in embarrassment, you hear evil laughter coming from under the stage—from the girl who pantsed you, Charlotte.

You should have known, but you didn't plan for her, and paid the price: being stripped half-naked in front of countless laughing, ogling classmates.