“I’m going to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear.”
During the last stream, we spun the Wheel of Prompt-icality, and it told us to pick some random sentences from Fifty Shades of Grey to use as a prompt.
Watch the full stream here.
These are the five random sentences we got:
- You wanted to know why I felt confused after you — which euphemism should we apply — spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me.
- And it feels like I’ve time traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.
- “Jesus. How far can you go?” he whispers.
- I don’t have any condoms, Anastasia.
- I’m going to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear.
And, of course, chat voted on number five.
Here’s what we wrote:
I’m going to see his parents and I’m not wearing any underwear. It’s not like I had any choice in the matter. Today was supposed to be laundry day… actually, the past two weeks, every day was supposed to be laundry day. Each pair of my finely-aged undies has already been christened on both sides, like well buttered toast, and wouldn’t you know it but the damn washing machine up and broke right when I was about to finally get some adulting done yesterday. Typical.
Anyway, as you can see, it was either wear my crusty week-old double-dipped chonies to my boyfriend Trent’s parents’ house for a friendly first meeting barbeque, and have the summer heat blast through my nasty Grand Canyon for all to smell, or simply go commando and become one with the breeze.
Sitting in Trent’s passenger seat and pulling into his parents’ driveway, feeling every bump of the asphalt in my nethers along the way, I was satisfied with my choice.
“So just to warn you in advance,” Trent said. “My parents are a little… weird.”
I shrugged. “Mine were alcoholics too.”
Trent did a double take and shook his head. “No, like, I mean… they’re kind of, like, nature lovers.”
That made sense. We were parked in front of their log cabin stowed away at the end of the driveway that seemed to go on forever through the deepening woods. Here, at the end of it, the brush was thicker than my shower drain on trimming day.
Trent and I got out of his car and walked over the thick, squishy moss around to the backyard. There were slate stepping stones, but personally, I enjoyed the ripples that each squelch sent through my bits. Maybe I’d have to neglect my laundry more often….
“Oh hey there, kiddos!” Trent’s dad Jim hollered out to us, waving a spatula from his grill. “Hope you’re hungry for meat!”
My jaw dropped open wider than a fat kid’s thirsty mouth sucking down a King Size Mountain Dew. Jim and his wife Tawndra were hanging out on the porch… literally.
Jim’s bat and balls dangled nearly down to the shellacked deck, and Tawndra, holding a plate of toasted buns, had buns herself that had been put through the crisper too.
“Yeah,” Trent said with a sigh. “My parents are proud nudists.”
“Oh thank god!” I said, eagerly removing my shorts. “I was chafing up a storm down there.”
I tossed my pantaloons over the deck rail, into the woods. Trent looked on in disbelief, but Jim and Tawndra hooted and tooted.
“Atta girl!” Tawndra said. She set down her plate and moseyed on over, bongos swaying to the beat of her hips, coming for a big nude hug while side-eyeing Trent. “This one’s a keeper, baby.”
“You know what?” Jim said, shaking his greasy spatula and running a hand through his even greasier flabby-chest hair. “You should join us for nude yoga nights. Really helps keep the grundle growling if you know what I mean!”
Oh no. Oh wait.
“Yes!” Tawndra said, sizing me up like a freshly unwrapped popsicle on a hot Florida night. “Pubic health is much more than just kegels, you know. It’s important to keep your birthing bits nice and sturdy.”
Oh crap. Nudists were one thing, but this, I could not stand for. That group of people who would just never shut up about their groinal gains.
A bunch of crotch-fitters.
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Hope to see you next time, friend!
