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My name is AJ McLean and I hate blisters.

So combine my two greatest dislikes - body fluids and pain - and what do you get? Blisters. They're painful sacks of body fluid. Literally, I may even like blisters less than I like clowns. At least a clown doesn't grow on your feet. Although now that I've said that I'm kind of imagining red curly hair and a freaky fake ass smile on my blisters. Shit. Now there’s the stuff nightmares are made of right there. That'd be the absolute worst thing ever. Nobody ever tell Nick this, or next time he gets a blister he'll be drawing all over it and showing it to me.

I’m not sure what would be worse: Nick and his clown blister or Howie and his needle.

My name is AJ McLean, and this is my story.

~*~

“This is the walk that never ends,” I sang under my breath, “Yes it goes on and on my friends…” I glanced sideways at the llamas surrounding us and groaned. My feet had been killing me for the last fifteen minutes. God damn these boots I was wearing.. I glanced down at them and swore.

“Do not sing the fucking Lamb Chop song,” Howie commanded.

I looked up at him, “You knew the Lamb Chop song?” I asked, perplexed.

“I have siblings, what’s your excuse?” Howie asked.

“You’re the youngest, asshole,” I pointed out.

Howie looked momentarily crestfallen when I took away his excuse, then he perked up and pointed at me, “Nieces and nephews.”

I blinked at him in surprise. “The fact that you’re trying so hard to cover up that you watch it speaks volumes.”

Howie sighed.

“My feet are fucking killing me,” I grumbled.

Howie glanced down at the fancy cowboy-style boots I’d bought in Brazil. “Maybe it’s because you’re wearing those ridiculous shoes?”

“They ain’t ridiculous,” I said. They were red and had nice detailing.

Howie shrugged, “I’m just saying, you walk in ridiculous shoes, you end up with blisters. Has Rochelle taught you nothing about shoes with her stilettos?”

“I don’t know..” I muttered. I stared at the boots. “They ain’t ridiculous…”

“They have heels,” Howie pointed out. “I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be for senoritas.”

“Hell no,” I cried, “They’re 100% men’s!”

“Uh huh.”

“Get offa me! Get offa meeee!”

Nick’s shrill cry made Howie and I stop.

“Now what the hell is going on?” Howie muttered as we turned around, “Are they freaking mounting him or something?”

Brian was on top of Nick in what was possibly the most awkward man-man position I’ve ever seen, other than those times when you’re searching for porn and you accidentally stumble across the gay stuff. “Oh Jesus,” I groaned.

“Brian?” Howie sounded surprised.

Frick and Frack however, proceeded to start a yelling match. It was the weirdest yelling match I’ve ever frickin’ heard, concluding with Nick shouting that Brian’s eye was bleeding.

“I KNOW!” Brian yelled.

“Bleeding?” A look of concern flashed across Howie’s face and he started toward Nick and Brian.

“Yo why the hell does his face get your concern, but the fact that the bottom of my foot is one giant blister gets no mercy from you?” I called after him as Howie quickly started back towards Brian and Nick. I sighed when he didn’t respond, “Oh God dammit, do we have to backtrack?”

Reluctantly, I started back toward where Nick was pegged to the grass. Howie was kneeling down beside Brian by the time I got over there. If someone took a picture of those three about then, we never would’ve dispelled the throngs from singing Which Backstreet Boy is Gay ever, ever, ever again. They looked like they were involved in some weird ass threesome.

“Guys,” I called from about ten feet away.

None of them looked up, Howie was too busy examining Brian’s eye. Brian was still straddling Nick. I got closer and Nick turned his head up to look at me. “Hey,” he said, sounding a little winded. Probably because Brian’s weight, while low, seemed to be resting right on the soft of Nick’s stomach.

“Sup?” I said.

Nick paused, “I’m getting squished.”

“Noted,” I answered.

He blinked up at me.

I sat down after a few moments as Howie was assessing Brian’s shiner. “How did this happen again?” he asked.

Brian blushed. “The llamas… one of them beat me up.”

“Hoofed him,” Nick confirmed. “I’m telling yall – it’s us verses llama.”

I was tugging off my boots by this point.

“The llamas aren’t ganging up on us,” Howie argued Nick, shaking his head. He glanced at Brian’s face once more, then sighed. “But I will admit we need to be more careful arou—“ he stopped mid-sentence, and looked at me, his nose scrunched up. “What the hell man?”

Just as Howie’s words came out, Nick, who was still pegged down by B-Rok, started choking ridiculously, his face contorting. Brian waved his hand over his face, “Oh g’Lord, Alex,” he complained, and fell to the side off Nick’s stomach, landing in the grass.

Nick quickly scrambled to his feet, still choking, a look of horror on his face as he looked back at me.

“Put the shoes back on, man,” Howie said.

I sniffed the boot. It didn’t smell that bad. “Yall are overreacting,” I accused, pointing the boot at them. Nick jumped back like I was armed with a rifle. “Jesus,” I muttered. I glanced down at my feet. “Speaking of Jesus,” I said in surprise, seeing the bubble that had taken over my foot. It was the hugest ass fucking blister I ever saw, and it was taking over the entire underside of my toes and the ball of my feet. “Fuckin’ look at that,” I held my foot up for the fellas to see – especially Howie.

“Ouch,” Brian cringed for me.

Nick’s eyes widened, “Holy bejesus,” he whispered. He looked down at his own feet, “Get no ideas, toes.”

“This is why I’m bitching while we walk,” I explained, “I’ll have you know this is extremely painful, thank you very much.”

Howie rolled his eyes. “If you pop it, it won’t bother you as much.”

POP it?” I exclaimed. My stomach turned with the image of a breaking water balloon dancing through my head. “Hell fucking no.”

Howie shrugged, “Its not my problem if I give you a solution you just don’t like,” he said.

“Do you know how fucking gross that would be?” I demanded.

Brian was cringing and nodding.

Howie shrugged again. “Like I said, not my problem.”

Nick laughed.

“Fucking A,” I muttered. I pushed the boot back on – with much cringing and swearing – and struggled up to my feet. It hurt worse now. Taking the boot off was definitely a mistake.

“Okay, let’s go,” Howie said as Brian, too, got up. “There’s got to be something over this next hill.”

“Yeah,” Nick nodded, “The next circle.”

Brian shook his head and laughed, but Howie and I gave Nick strange looks.

“Nick thinks Dante wrote about llamas,” Brian explained.

I snorted. No, I thought, he did write about blisters though.

As we walked, I quickly fell behind. My feet were screaming curses at me every step I took. I kept pausing to double over and yell at them that they had to pull it together. “I’ll pamper you fuckers later,” I muttered at them, but they were in too much agony to listen.

“Come on AJ,” Howie called back. They were quite a ways ahead of me.

I tried to catch up but the dogs were barkin’ in my boots and the blisters were like walking on those Sketchers exercise sneakers, with the rolling sensation, except it wasn’t comfortable. It just hurt like hell. I could literally feel the water in them stretching as I put weight on it.

“Oh for cryin’ out loud,” Nick said… and with that he doubled back after a few minutes, and in a single gesture, before I could stop him, he’d bent down in front of me and pulled me onto his back in a piggy back ride. He ran to catch up with Brian and Howie. Brian was laughing.

As weird as it sounds, I was fucking thankful for Nick’s help. But hell if I’d ever tell him that…