Bikini Floss

@theo

“Are those going to work?”

I look up.

Eva, ponytailed, lipsticked, and sporting some kind of amazing designer loincloth bikini, has appeared by my side, and is smirking at my shorts, my hat and sunglasses—at pretty much all of me.

“Oh, I’m not going swimming,” I say.

“You came to a swim party to not go swimming?”

“Chlorine’s bad for your skin.”

“That’s why you shower right after.” Eva gestures at the clubhouse.

Fidget-fidget. “I’ll be fine.”

“What about the Fundoshi Mandate? Your spray bottle?”

I flash a cheesy, conspiratorial smile, and glance over my shoulder, as if the fundoshi police might burst onto the scene at any moment. “Will you keep my secret?”

“Hey, dressed or undressed, thanks for coming.” Eva gives me a hug—

Oh, God, there’s something moving around in my shorts!

—turns to Ernie, who’s scrutinizing her bikini bottoms disdainfully. “Hi, Ernie.”

“Can I floss my teeth with that little number when you’re done with it?” he asks.

No hug from Eva. “Where did you shop for the towel? Chin & Jowl?”

“Yeah, actually. My Gramps gets a senior discount. I can see your mons from here.”

(My shorts stir of their own accord for a moment longer before I realize, thank God, that it’s only Mini poking his head out of my pocket.)

Eva rolls her eyes, puts her hands on her hips. “Grow up, Ernie. It’s the twenty-twenties and it’s a dosequisvirus swim party and bare skin is kind of mandatory and you can not see my mons and anyway, there’s much worse in your porn videos.”

“Those are tragic tarts with no prospects beyond their artificial racks and road-weary vaginas. You, on the other hand, are a titless jockette with bug eyes. You’ll never have to defend your narrow-waisted honor against wave after wave of horny schlongs exploiting your good years by asking you to do the carnal arts for petty cash. When you dress like that, though—” He points fixedly at Eva’s crotch. “—you insult not only me, but yourself as well.”

Eva’s jaw had dropped at “road-weary vaginas,” and is still hanging open as she faces me again. “I can’t tell if that was an insult or a critique or even a coherent thought.”

I sigh. “Welcome to my world.” And for what it’s worth, I think your bikini is absolutely stupendous.

Ernie sticks his tongue out at us and begins investigating the snack table more thoroughly.

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Jesse Gordon

Geek. Writer. Supreme overlord of the SUPERMEGANET pseudoverse. Author of THE OATMEAL MAN, DOOKIE, and other such wasteful nonsense.