Guest Post: Benjamin Pepperwhistle: Directors's Cut by Cornelia Grey

Hello, everyone, and thank you so much for having me here today to chat about my latest release!

Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders was originally released as a short story, part of Storm Moon Press’ Weight of a Gun II anthology. There was a word count limit, of course, and I had to struggle to fit all I wanted to say about the characters within that length – ahem, I might have even gone slightly over the limit, in fact!

It’s always a good challenge to have to carefully prune every superfluous word and every paragraph of waffling, making sure every word counts. It’s one of the reasons why I’m so fond of writing short stories, and why I’m looking forward to trying to write for younger readers as well: there’s no room for waffling about. In a shorter format, every meandering description, every useless digression from the core of the story, becomes much more evident than what it would be in a novel. That’s why I’ve always felt that writing short stories is a task that requires a lot of fine tuning and chisel work – I like to think of it as something similar to the pruning of a bonsai, where great care is needed to obtain a miniature version with all the characteristics of something bigger.

However, in this case, I felt that I was leaving out more than extraneous padding. Benjamin and Cole were not quite finished telling their story, and I couldn’t help but feel that cramming it in a short story word count meant I had lost something interesting.

So when the time came to release the story as a stand-alone, it was a great opportunity to fix that!

Benjamin Pepperwhistle – Director’s Cut features over 7500 words of new material, and has evolved from a short story into a novella. It’s the first time I had the chance to go back to a story after over a year to add more to it, and I was a little concerned – what if I could no longer slip in the characters’ heads? What if I had forgotten about them? What if they no longer wanted to tell me about what was still missing from their story?

But it must have really been the case that I had skipped over something that really needed to be said, because I was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the words came out, naturally flowing to fill a gap in the story I couldn’t even see. The scorching tension that I’d felt so many months before between Benjamin and Cole was still there, sizzling and exciting, still ready to be explored and unleashed through the medium that binds them in this story, that brings them together – the gun.

I had the chance to explore a whole new side of Benjamin, and a secret side that Cole had yet to reveal, too; I got to see a brand new dynamic play out that caught me and fascinated as if I had just penned the entire thing. It was like getting back to a torrid affair I thought had ended forever long ago, and finding it just as smoking hot as I had left it!

I hope you will all enjoy this new peek into Benjamin and Cole’s relationship as much as I have :)!

Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders 

Now Available for $2.99 at Storm Moon Press

Benjamin Pepperwhistle has one overriding desire: to handle the glorious machinery that is a gun. So when he decides to run away to join the circus, it's only natural that he should seek out the legendary pistoleer, Cole Beauchamp, and beg to be his assistant. Life in the circus has definite ups and downs, but as Benjamin settles in to his role, he finds that some perks are even better than he'd anticipated.

Guest Post & Giveaway: The Italian Blues by Cornelia Grey

~ I am so excited to have Cornelia on the blog once again. There's always a wonderful post to be read, and I am very much looking forward to checking out Devil at the Crossroads (this title gives me Supernatural feels =_- ) ~

Hello, Darien, and thank you so much for having me!

My paranormal novella Devil at the Crossroads was just released by Riptide Publishing, and I’m really excited to have the chance to chat a little about how this story was born. And, at the end of the post, there’s also a juicy giveaway for all lovely readers...! I will be making a few stops over the next few days – you can keep track of the blog tour here :)!

The Italian Blues

My first love, when it comes to guitarists, was my dad.

One of my first memories is him sitting on the couch with a cherry red electric guitar in his lap, with a small amplifier at his feet. There was a pair of giant headphones plugged in, as well – we lived in an apartment block and he couldn’t play out loud – but I could hear the music filtering through the headphones. Mostly, though, I could hear the strange, clinking notes of the not-amplified strings. I grew to like that sound a lot.

My dad had very curly, frizzy black hair (he used to have an Afro in the seventies!) and wore it longer at the back, in what I recently learned is called a mullet in English, (I still remember how disappointed I was when he cut it) and sometimes played acoustic guitar as well. He had a metronome and white plastic picks; a thingie with green and red lights to tune the guitar and a metal cylinder to put over his finger when he played (the slide). The black guitar case had a grey fluffy interior, and a secret compartment with spare strings, red plastic pick-holders and a brown tube of lubricant to pass over the guitar strings every time he finished playing. He let me play with all these things, let me touch the strings, tweak the silver knobs to tune the guitar, lock the case, pull the spring cables and observe the silver jacks, touch all the buttons and knobs on the amplifier.

I didn’t know how to use any of that stuff, and I still don’t; I didn’t even know the names of most of it. But I still recognize all those items with the precision and fondness with which we recognise something we were familiar with as children.

My dad also had a vast collection of rock videotapes, so my next crush was not a guitarist, but a skinny guy with ginger hair who ran like a madman around the stage wearing a kilt. (Hint: when I was old enough to know what’s what, my preference shifted to the dark n’ handsome guitarist, shirtless, in a corner hiding behind a bush of black curls. I’m sorry, Slash, I swear I didn’t know what I was doing!). My mother introduced me to the Doors, with their odd and sometimes scary videos, and to Queen. Eventually, I grew old enough to appreciate music without pictures to go with it, and that’s when I discovered my dad’s seemingly endless collection of rock, blues, and jazz CDs.

My father used to tell me stories about musicians in lieu of fairytales (later on we would switch to making up our own adventures, whose atmosphere still is at the very core of my writing; but that’s a story for another time), so I grew up holding, for example, Robert Johnson and his crossroads legend near and dear to my heart, like the adventure of a beloved character. Eventually, the blues atmosphere mixed with other stories, of hardened rockers on Harley Davidsons, with faded leather jackets and long hair (my next crush, right about that time, was Lorenzo Lamas from Renegade!).

Bear in mind that we were Italians living in a small industrial valley between the woods; these stories and atmospheres were so far away, so distant from our reality, that they felt even more like adventure tales. When I was a teenager, my father and I drove aimlessly around in his aqua green Fiat Panda, up and down the hills that surround our town, dodging the occasional tractor and blasting Steppenwolf and Nirvana and the Creedence Clearwater Revival on the stereo. We made up stories as we went, our crazy adventures in strange worlds; we talked a lot about the places we would visit sometime soon, the concerts we would go to as soon as I was just a little older.

Unfortunately, my father passed away prematurely before we had the chance to attend a concert together. But the love for rock and blues that he taught me remained, even though, despite his attempt at teaching me bass guitar (miserably failed – if you want to know more about that, check out my next post!) I never got around to playing any instrument myself. Listening to a blues album still brings me back to the peaceful hours we spent together, talking and making up stories, and going back to that place makes me feel close to him – and at the same time, I feel the bittersweet longing of missing his company. That was why finally writing a story about the blues meant a lot to me. I think he would have loved to read this story and, even though at times it makes me a little sad, I’m glad to have written something he really could have appreciated, really could have understood. It makes me feel as if our connection is still there.

Nowadays, I’m living with my boyfriend, who is also a guitarist – and my definitive guitarist crush, at that! – so I’m again surrounded by all the little things pertaining to guitars. It’s funny, but pleasant, to see how they haven’t really changed. Sometimes he finds me sitting next to his guitar case, fiddling with the picks and the slide and the jacks, and he never complains. And sometimes, he sits next to me on the bed as I write, and plays his guitar plugged in the laptop, with his headphones on – we live in an apartment building, so he can’t play out loud. The sharp, clinking notes of the unplugged electric guitar still sound the same, and that private, secret music still remains one of my favorite, and makes me feel peaceful as can be.

Cornelia xxx

!!Trivia Contest!!

Attention, dear readers – this release comes with a trivia contest, and the winners will receive a free ebook of their choice from my backlist!

There are three easy questions, whose answer can be found reading Devil at the Crossroads. Keep an eye for the answers as you read the story, then email me the answers at corneliagrey [at] yahoo [dot] com – do not leave them in the comments, remember, you don’t want to make life too easy for the competition ;)!

The deadline for the contest is September the 30th: I will randomly select two readers among those who emailed me replying correctly to the three questions. The winners will be officially announced on my blog (as well as emailed!) and they will receive a free ebook of their choice from my backlist!

Ready for the questions? Here we go...

1) What is the model of Logan’s guitar?

2) Throughout the story, three spider tattoos are mentioned. Where are they located?

3) Farfarello happens to mention a future birthday of Logan’s. Which birthday is that?

Good luck! And remember, email me your answers by September the 30th to be entered in the contest :)!

Bio:

Cornelia Grey is a creative writing student fresh out of university, with a penchant for fine arts and the blues. Born and raised in the hills of Northern Italy, where she collected her share of poetry and narrative prizes, Cornelia moved to London to pursue her studies.

She likes cats, knitting, performing in theatre, going to museums, collecting mugs, and hanging out with her grandma. When writing, she favors curious, surreal stories, steampunk, and mixed-genre fiction. Her heroes are always underdogs, and she loves them for it. You can find her at www.corneliagrey.com

And also on [Twitter] [Livejournal] [Blogger] [Facebook]

Devil at the Crossroads Blurb:

The devil covets more than his soul ...

Six years ago, Logan Hart sold his soul to the devil to become the greatest bluesman of all time—and now the devil has come to collect.

The irony is that Logan squandered his gift. High on fame, money, and drugs, he ignored his muse and neglected his music. And despite managing to escape showbiz in a moment of clarity, it’s too late to redeem himself. All that’s left is to try to go out with some dignity. Alas, the prospect of an eternity in Hell isn’t helping much with that goal.

But Farfarello, the devil who bought Logan’s soul, isn’t ready to drag him down to Hell quite yet. He’s just spent six years working his ass off to whip a bluesman into shape, and he refuses to let that—or the opportunity for more sinful pleasures with Logan—go to waste.

You can read an excerpt and purchase ‘Devil at the Crossroads’ here!

Review: Weight Of A Gun II

Weight Of A Gun II Edited by S.L Armstrong
Storm Moon Press
Short Story: 88pgs
3.5 Pants Off

Blurb:
Everyone knows that guns are dangerous; they have long been a subject surrounded by controversy. Combine them with sex and you have a subject that is virtually taboo, but smoking hot. Our second gun kink anthology continues to push the envelope of combining sex and guns with three more stories hot enough to cause powder burns.

Continuing in the world of The Machinist, Avery Belfour and his captor/lover Lord Harrow now face the threat of The Inquisitor. But Harrow is very possessive of his prize and has no intention of turning Avery over without a fight.

Then, a routine black market bust goes wrong for Officer Caleb Baker. He ends up Playing With the Big Boys when the thieves get the drop on him and decide to have some fun with their new catch.

And finally, Cole Beauchamp is the greatest pistoleer of all time; he's also thoroughly unpleasant and has a habit of scaring away his assistants. But when he is sought out by a devotee with a love of guns that matches his own, Cole finds a new respect for Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders.

Review:
I was really looking forward to read this one, because book one was so awesome I wanted to experience more gunplay. The amount of stories is significantly less than the first book, but not to worry the quality is still up to par. I wouldn't say I am blown away with this anthology, but it was still enjoyable.

The Inquisitor by Gryvon
First, I am always a fan of anything written by this author. Always dark and so wickedly erotic I am caught up in whatever world I am reading. The Inquisitor is the sequel to The Machinist that was apart of the Weight Of A Gun anthology (book 1). Where I found the first story to be quite good, The Inquisitor seals the deal for having my attention. Avery and Harrow's relationship is so complex, and with a shocking turn of events, I'm just wanting more from this world. The gunplay is raw and dirty, and these guys play it hard (I'm talking safety off).

Overall, I liked this one and I am impatiently waiting for the next instalment because I have lots more questions this time around.

Playing With the Big Boys by Scarlet Blackwell
Alright, I don't even know how I feel about this one. Caleb is a cop and about to bust some punk ass thieves (my description of the thieves) instead he is captured and becomes their sex toy. They tie him up, take the gun out and get all down and dirty with Caleb who likes to be in the drivers]’s seat but doesn't like to be driven (that was clearly a pun).

This is pretty much a PWP, because I consider it one giant sex scene. I like Scarlet Blackwell's writing but this one failed to "wow" me. I did like that a possible relationship could come of this, even though it started out non-con and impossibly crazy. I think the absurd factor kicked at the end of this one, I would have probably liked it more without the involvement Caleb's partner.

Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders by Cornelia Grey
Wowza! I was very iffy about this story when it started but then it became all kinds of fantabulous. Benjamin Pepperwhistle (what a name) wants to join the circus and he wants to work with world famous pistoleer Cole Beauchamp as his assistant. See, Benjamin likes guns he likes them a whole darn lot.

The gunplay in this one is different, and so sexy. Benjamin and Cole seem so destined even in such a few pages. I really like how Cornelia Grey writes and this is the second story by the author that has both surprised and captured me. Life in the Circus of Wonders is exhilarating and interesting, would love to read more about these characters.

Once again, SMP manages to put interesting stories in another anthology with authors who don't mind pushing things a bit. While not as awesome as book one Weight of A Gun II still delivers. Plus that cover is made of all kinds of awesome.

3.5 Pants Off

Review: Book #1 Weight Of A Gun

Guest Post: Reality vs. Fantasy by Cornelia Grey

When I was a kid, my dad taught me to love motorcycles. I remember the day when, after much cajoling, I finally got on his white Honda and we took a painstakingly slow tour of the town. After that, I was sold. As soon as the weather got warm, we'd take the bike out of the garage and wander aimlessly around the hills. I remember all the ones he changed: the wine-red Guzzi Nevada, the black V11, the motocross bike he never managed to kickstart, the yellow Honda CBR. We fantasized about the endless roadtrips we saw in American movies; we watched Easy Rider and sang "Born to be Wild". We filled a sticker album of vintage motorcycles.

And then, one warm, late-May afternoon, he got out the bike for the first time that year and came to pick me up from high school. Then, he went for a ride alone, since I wanted to get ready for a concert instead, and was tragically killed by a careless driver.

One would imagine that, from then on, I was consumed by a burning hatred for bikes, but it is more complicated than that. My feelings toward motorbikes split into two very distinct branches. On the one hand, I am afraid of them. I haven't gotten on a bike since, I don't plan on doing it anytime soon, and I would have a panic attack if my boyfriend – who loves motorbikes, too, and used to ride a lot in his early twenties – ever got back on the saddle.

But, on the other hand, I still love them, and love all the happy flights of fancy that brought me and my dad close. I love the road trips, the hot, leather-clad lone bikers. I love the powerful, beautiful object that is a bike. I could, and surely will at some point, write a kinky story about a character who finds the powerful engine and sleek lines of a bike endlessly exciting – and proceeds to jump the bones of the hot biker. In short, I still love the idea of bikes, the fantasies connected to bikes; I still love loving them, because those fantasies made me happy, and I don't want to give them up. Even though I am painfully aware of the dangers bikes bring in reality and am utterly terrified of them.

This lengthy example is to try and explain how it's possible that, even though I am terrified of real guns, I can find fictional ones beautiful and exciting. It is quite strange, after all: I live in a country where, luckily, guns aren't popular, and I would hate to have guns around my house, or to know that most of my neighbors have one. It would make me feel like I was living in a violent reality, a dangerous, oppressive world. Far from finding it reassuring, I would be terrified. And yet, I am currently on my second gun-kink story, and chances are it won't be the last. What's the deal with that? Do I have a split personality? How can someone who hates violence find beauty in an instrument that's been built with the sole purpose of killing, and which makes it frighteningly easy for anyone to do so?

The point is still the same it was for the bike: that the fictional world is an intrinsically safe space. It's a space where I decide what happens, where there are no accidents and no risks. It's a space where my characters can be excited by the thrill of having a loaded gun aimed at them, because since I am shaping their reality as I write, I know there will be no accidents. I would never, in a million years, let anyone aim a loaded gun at me, and I sure as heck wouldn't be aroused by it: because reality is very much different. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. And very, very dangerous. And while my characters can afford to be turned on by extreme, dangerous situations – hey, it's easy for them; nothing unexpected can happen in that fictional world! – I wouldn't even think of it.

Another instance. Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders, part of Storm Moon Press' Weight of a Gun II anthology, is set in a circus, and there are two animals there: Hugo the lion and Mr. Elephant. They are left free to roam and considered like any other sentient performer. They perform of their own free will, doing whatever they want. Hugo likes to sleep under the table when the troupe eats and Mr. Elephant collects top hats and monocles. That's simple, and easy, and lighthearted: it's a nice fantasy. But we all know that reality is much more grim and tragic, that animals are cruelly exploited and mistreated. In my country, politicians are legislating to ban circuses from exploiting animals in their shows, and I fully support them. Again – why the contradiction? Because the lighthearted fairytale crafted in the ring, the one about a circus being a place of effortless happiness and wonder, is one I can only believe in fiction: I'm aware that, in reality, it's a cruel lie.

But there is a clear, thick, red line dividing reality from fantasy. No, it's not a line; it's a crater, an ocean. The danger comes when people seem to lose sight of that line. We often hear of accidents that occurred because people seemed to believe they were living in a movie, and that they could act accordingly. Fiction grants us the possibility to create an alternative reality, where the rules are different. And while sometimes that change is for the worse, often things take an idealistic approach. Often, as writers and as readers, we just want to escape to a place where things are simpler than in reality; we want a world without complexities, a world that's simple and easy, a world where the good guys always win, and characters seem to have no inconvenient bodily functions, and motorbikes are fun and adventurous and never kill fathers, and guns are powerful and sexy and aren't killing anyone.

I know I am especially fond of that world: that's why I favor slightly surreal, humorous settings in lieu of a darker social realism: I need the relief. But the relief must always be temporary. We can't get lost in that imaginary world, as tempting as it might be. Because we must always get back to reality at some point, and never forget that reality is very, very different.

 Cornelia Grey has interests varying from painting to photography, from sewing to acting. When writing, she favors curious, surreal poems and short stories involving handsome young men seducing each other. She loves collecting people's stories and re-discovering lost tales that deserve to be told. Her latest short story, "Benjamin Pepperwhistle and the Fantabulous Circus of Wonders" can be found in Storm Moon Press' Weight of a Gun II anthology. Cornelia can be found on Twitter @corneliagrey and on her blog.

Guest Post: The Ronin and the Fox by Cornelia Grey (Illustration)

I am excited to have Cornelia Grey on Pants Off today, talking about the Illustrated version of The Ronin and the Fox a book I really enjoyed. Please, help me welcome Cornelia Grey.


Hi Darien – thank you so much for having me here at Pants Off :)!

A few months ago, the editor at Storm Moon Press emailed me asking me what I would think of having my latest story, The Ronin and the Fox, illustrated. Needless to say, I was enthusiastic! See, I have a special relationship with art and illustrations. While writing has always been ‘my thing’, ever since I was a little kid, I’ve always been dabbling in lots of creative activities. So, when the time came to pick which high school I wanted to attend (high schools are, in Italy, divided by main subject), I chose the fine art one. For five years I studied history of art, drawing, painting, sculpture, architecture and restoration, specializing in drawing and painting. I was fairly good at it, and even decided to carry on afterwards with a Fine Art degree. However... I soon realized that I wasn’t good enough: while I could copy very well, for example with a live model in front of me, I couldn’t invent. While my friends spent their time doodling, I spent mine jotting down plots and bits of stories. It took one year to realize that, while I loved drawing – just like I loved performing in theatre, or sewing – none of those were my thing, and I decided to finally start focusing on writing.

However, while I haven’t drawn seriously in years, I haven’t stopped loving art. I spend way too much time hanging around museums, my computer is constantly exploding with tons of images from all over the internet, and my sources of inspiration--as well as the way in which I elaborate my stories--are predominantly visual. Sometimes, I even suspect that many of my ideas, exactly in virtue of the highly visual component, would be better suited for a comic rather than a written piece (which is why many of them remain languishing in my notebook!). But, while I have a very detailed vision of what they should look like, I absolutely don’t have the skill to actually draw them. Which is why I was so ecstatic and jumped at the chance of seeing The Ronin and the Fox illustrated – it’s something that I have been dancing around for years.

As a writer, I am, however, quite a control freak! So, as I virtually bounced around like a ball of excitement and thrilling anticipation, I was also a little worried that I would make the artist’s life hell, bossing her around and nitpicking every little detail – especially since I had experience of drawing, and I had such precise, exacts images in my head of characters and scenes. Would I make her want to stab me in the eye with her pencil? Would I make her wish she’d taken to apiculture instead of drawing? You will find the answer to these poignant and dramatic questions in my next post – tomorrow, at Babes in Boyland ;)! For now, enjoy an excerpt of The Ronin and the Fox as well as a character sketch by illustrator Alice Girlanda!

***

Katsura the Fox

A loud, pained yelp tore the night, and Hajime sprang up, unable to contain a wild grin. The fox must have fallen into one of his traps. He launched himself between the clumps of bamboo, following the whimpers and yelps, and only slowed down when he saw the small shape of the creature twisting fruitlessly, one of its hind legs caught in the jaws of a trap.


 As he approached, the figure shifted and blurred, stretching and growing, making Hajime's eyes ache until he had to look away. When he glanced back, Hajime could see a human where the fox had been, bending to pry the trap open with frantic hands.


 "Not so fast," Hajime growled, his hand shooting out to grasp the man's arm. Before the fox spirit could react, Hajime tied a red ribbon like the one he was wearing around the man's wrist, knotting it maybe too tight. The man cried out as the fabric touched his skin, trying to tear his arm out of Hajime's hold. When the fox spirit turned around to face him, Hajime gasped.


The man had wild red hair and two furry fox ears flattened over his head like those of an angry cat. His face was contorted in agony and anger, covered in scratches and with a large bruise marring his cheekbone, but there was no mistaking his delicate features or the unusual, rust-brown eyes that fixed on Hajime with fury, and which had been full of pleasure the last time he'd seen them.


 "You," he gasped, his grip on the stranger's arm faltering.


The fox snatched his wrist out of Hajime's hold and snarled, his head held high. "Surprise," he said, sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. 

The Ronin and the Fox by Cornelia Grey

The Ronin and the Fox by Cornelia Grey
Storm Moon Press

Short Novella: 84pgs

Rating: 4/5

Blurb:
In feudal Japan, Kaede Hajime lives as a vagabond ronin, a samurai without a lord. As he spends the night at a village's inn, the innkeeper begs him to help stop a mischievous kitsune, a fox spirit, plaguing their village. But when he captures the spirit--in the form of a hauntingly beautiful man--Hajime learns that the kitsune has troubles of his own. The pearl that contains the fox's soul has been stolen, leaving him a slave to the new owner, who is forcing him to attack the village.

Hajime agrees to help the fox retrieve the jewel, but living with a fox spirit isn't easy, and the budding trust between them is constantly tested. Kitsune are tricksters above all, and Hajime must decide how much of the story the fox tells him is truth. What's worse, an old comrade of Hajime's is in town, bringing with him the sour memories of Hajime's time as a samurai. Hajime must find a way to locate the thief and steal back the jewel before the thief turns the kitsune's considerable power against him.

Review:
I am so delighted by this story you have no freaking idea. At first, it was somewhat slow for me, but then I pushed on and in no time I couldn’t stop reading. It was entertaining, sexy as feck, and filled with exciting Japanese folklore. I love this story!

Hajime is a ronin, once a samurai but has lost the favour of his lord. While passing through a village an innkeeper recognizes him as a samurai and asks for his help in the capture of a Fox Spirit. Hajime is reluctant to lend help, but he doesn’t want to disappoint the beaming innkeeper.

A fox spirit is known for being mischievous; their crimes can be completely innocent or very dangerous. Well the fox spirit is creating all kinds of trouble in the village, and the people want it gone. Hajime sets out to capture the troublemaker, but he gets a lot more than he bargained for. They never said it would be impossibly hard to resist the sexy little fox.

I loved Katsura the fox; he’s exactly how I would be picture a fox. All cunning, stealth, and with the sexy thrown in. He’s a tricky little bugger but man is he fun. I loved the relationship between him and Hajime, it’s a match made in feudal Japan.

I am happy the author shied away from being completely accurate with histories and such. That would have just bored the feck out of me. I think it was meant to be about opposites attracting, and what’s more opposite than a samurai and a fox. I enjoyed reading this fun little tale, it made me smile.

I have serious feelings for Katsura; he’s a sexy little fox. Fox spirits aren’t a thing of yaoi alone, they just work better in there because we like when pretty men have sex with men with tails *teehee*. The Ronin and the Fox is a fun tale that will leave you begging for a longer stay in Hajime and Katsura's world.

SideNote- The cover is gorgeous and check out that fox, it depicts an actual scene from the book.

4 Pants Off