Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [101]
“Give-me-yourpants,” she said between locked teeth, her lips not quivering even slightly. After we got out of this, she should consider ventriloquism as a career. There was obvious aptitude.
“Mindie…”
Sparks ignited from the pressure between her upper and lower canines.
“It’s-anudist-colony, Corky. No-onecares-ifyou’re-naked.”
Hoisted on my own petard. Whatever a petard was.
Petard. Pshaw. Irony. Add it to the list.
I sighed heavily and gave in.
Slowly, I unbuckled my pants. Ms. Waboombas whistled porn music as I slid the zipper down. After a beat glaring at Mindie, I quickly dropped the trousers to my ankles, revealing my maroon ‘tightie-whities’.
“Haines?” Morgan sniffed.
“I like them better than ours,” I said.
“Come on!” Waboombas cheered. “All of it!”
“She only needs the pants,” I said, and started to pull the slacks over my shoes, but then Mindie—for the first time since the turn of events on the freeway—smiled and agreed with Ms. Waboombas.
“I need all of it,” she said sadistically.
“What do you mean, all of it?” I asked.
“All of it. Pants, shoes, underwear. I can’t cover my top with just the slacks.”
“You can’t cover your top with tents and parachutes.” Morgan said, chuckling, apparently very amused by his ability to recklessly stick his tongue up death’s nose.
Mindie glared at him, and he jumped back as if her eyes had physically struck him. I thought I heard his skin sizzle from the heat of her withering gaze, and he whimpered. Then she returned her loving attentions to me.
“I want all of it,” she said, and smiled again, darkly. “Even your socks.”
I stared at her for a long time, but her expression never changed. This was clearly intended to humiliate me. Apparently I had dialed some dark button in Mindie that governs deeper, human behavior, and ratchets up one’s true nature, Lord of the Flies-like. I wondered how long before one of us finished life like poor Piggy, broken and dead on the rocks, or worse, with our head on a pike. This was a side of Mindie that was very unattractive, as opposed to the normal side of her, which was…um…very unattractive, also, but not to the point of making me strip in public.
I reached for the front of my underwear and gripped firmly as Mindie smiled her evil little smile.
Refusing to be ‘gotten to’ I confidently ripped down the Haines, then kicked them off with the shoes and pants as if I had been doing this all my life. I had, but usually alone, and getting into the pool or shower. So now I was in the largest, co-ed shower in the world, right? Big deal. Who cares?
“Oh, no, that ain’t dinky,” purred Waboombas. “Not the biggest I’ve ever seen, but definitely a filling meal, that’s for sure.”
Mindie seemed to tense at her words, but held in any comment. This had been her idea after all.
“Get your own,” she finally said under her breath.
Unaffected, I removed the wallet, and cell phone from my pants, folded everything neatly, and—like treasured pieces of art—carried my clothes over to Mindie, handing them to her with a deep bow. Hungrily, she snatched the items from my hands and dove into them as if she were a starving Terrier set loose on the all-you-can-eat bar at Sizzler. I suppose she had SPF concerns given the glaring sun. At least I hoped so.
Once dressed, she looked as if she belonged center ring at the circus. The pants were saggy and baggy, the shoes three sizes too big, and she had ripped my tightie-whities, and squeezed them around her capacious boobs like some makeshift bra of the damned. It looked as though it belonged on one of those cave women in the Jean Auel books, Mammary Hunters, or whatever. But this ‘brassiere’ clearly belonged on someone with far more modest proportions. Mindie’s over-ample breast tissue leaked through various gaps and holes as if being forced out by an X-rated Play-Doh machine, and her nipples were hardly