Part 1 of 4

(Warning: Some language and sexual references may be objectionable)

Summer has come. The annual thong pageant has begun. A throng of staunch thong supporters gather before the stage, set against the nautical backdrop of the beach. Friends and families of the contestants call out to their hopeful entrants. Locals and out-of-towners alike sit and stand together with anticipation. For as long as any of the loyal followers can remember, the battle of the thongs is an event that’s been going on for years. Because the competition is open only to permanent residents, the ceremony has a rather incestuous reputation. Nonetheless, everyone ultimately has great fun and the celebratory bash after the show is even more of a blast.

Meanwhile, in the makeshift backstage, made up of rows of connected cabanas, the contenders get ready as they string on their thong, along with other accessories. Every year, the stake gets higher for how original one can be in designing and presenting their strips of decadent material.

“If I look back, I can see your crack.” Theo Silverbliss teases Juan Nieves, as they both don their thongs.

Juan sighs, “If you keep looking, you’ll get lost in the abyss.”

“This place makes people strange,” Sunny Lark says from her own little area, across from them.

Sunny’s sister, Anya, pipes up, “I swear to you wearing a thong is a thousand times harder than designing one.”

Sunny and Anya’s cousin, Tyrone, groans as he walks by them. “A sore is a reminder . . . and each reminder makes me angrier.” By “sore,” he is referring to the unfortunate red scratch marks in his pubic area. “Once you’ve acquired crabs, no one will want to sleep with you.”

“TMI, dear cuz, please.” Anya shakes her head at Tyrone. Sunny smiles at Tyrone and agrees. “That’s shorthand for a little too much information, darling. Come on, let’s go and show them our stuff!”

The three cousins, Juan, and Theo head toward the stage. Passing a portable toilet, they see a friend, Walter, stumble out, gasping and mumbling, “O’dore . . . o’dore . . .” Barely strung on, his thong threatens to flap open, and then he trips, face down.

To be continued . . .