Game of Thongs: Beyond the Show

Part 4 of 4 – A Matter of Wear and Tear series
Part 1 posted on 8/24/17
Part 2 posted on 8/26/17
Part 3 posted on 8/28/17

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

Soon after the emcee breaks the surprising news of this being the last year for the thong pageant, the battle for the iron throne comes into play. For years to come, those who were here would come to pass on the legendary fierceness that was about to erupt between the top two warring thong wearers – Crissy Bannister and Dana Tara “the Dragon Lady” Gong.

Forever preserved in the town library, the local news archives include a videotaped newscast that reported the infamous event that unfolded that summer afternoon soon after the winner was declared:

Reporting live from the West Coast of Queens Bay, the resort town of Landingshire, I’m Kaye Carpenter, covering a scintillating finish to this year’s ‘Game of Thongs.’  It appears Crissy Bannister has won the coveted iron throne and a year’s supply of thongs. She’s being led to the throne now and . . . what’s this?  it looks like Dana Tara Gong, who dubbed herself the Dragon Lady this year to go with her outfit . . . oh, my. . . [The camera, gyrating wildly, shows Dana striding closer to Crissy as thick fingers of flames blast out from the long tube propped on her shoulder. Just then, Crissy’s feathers catch on fire. . .]

Fortunately, a stage hand immediately rushes onstage, carrying a fire extinguisher while an emergency care team has just arrived. [The camera shows Crissy engulfed in a white cloud sprayed from the fire extinguisher. The emcee and a couple of people carefully apprehend Dana and take her away. The camera returns to the reporter’s face.] That was quite a combustible ending to an intensely hot race. This will be one match that will be burned into the memories of everyone here forever. Back to you, David . . .”

The End

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Game of Thongs: The Walk of Confidence

Part 3 of 4A Matter of Wear and Tear series
Part 1 posted on 8/24/17
Part 2 posted on 8/26/17

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

Both fashionably late in joining the other contestants onstage, the first up is Crissy Bannister, tall and regal in her royal blue, silken thong. Rising from the waist of her thong is a plumage of peacock feathers held by a strip of flesh-toned material securely attached to her back. The colorful plumage hovers a couple of feet above her head. Appearing right behind her is Dana Tara Gong, whose presentation is equally imposing.

In keeping with her stage name as the Dragon Lady, Dana’s gilded-trimmed thong is adorned with sequins resembling reptilian scales. Attached to the back part of her thong is a pair of wings, resplendent with the same gilded and sequined patterns. Perched between her wings is a tiny, gold-shellacked canister connected to two silver hoses. From behind, one hose trails into a long tube, which is attached on a shoulder pad protruding 12 inches from where the pad is fastened on her shoulder. The other, much longer hose connects to a wrist band on her right hand. Jutting under her band is a button, which when pressed, sends out a whoosh of flames from the long tube atop her shoulder.

Theo swallows and mouths the word “shit” to Anya, who is posing next to him.

She whispers, “The person who fears losing is already screwed.”

Theo retorts, “Losing so terribly sucks, while winning gets you many free fucks.”

Sunny, who is on Theo’s other side, murmurs, “There is no humor in pricks.”

From the speakers, trumpets sound off, signaling the emcee to appear. Stepping boldly onstage he announces, “Welcome to our 70th annual game of thongs!” The audience bursts into applause.

The emcee shows off a sandaled foot, as he continues, “How do you like my thong?” The crowd laughs even though they’ve heard the same joke about his flip-flops every year. “For years we have been graced by our creative townies, showing off the latest design and style in thongwear. I would like to thank our sponsor that started this tradition, Made-in-Ware Ironclad Thongs.” Another round of applause ensues.

“This year marks a milestone for us because we will be retiring this contest after today.” Gasps from both audience and participants alike follow, with many muttering “Shame, shame, shame!” only barely under their breaths. The emcee holds up a hand to stop. “Please, this has been the longest running event ever this town has ever had, and we at the Chamber of Commerce Activities Committee think it’s time to have a new contest, but that’s going to be for another venue to announce. Right now, let’s focus on the show. As you all know, the prize has always been a year’s supply of thongs from our generous sponsor. But, this year, the winner will also receive the iron throne as the grand prize!”

The emcee directs everyone’s attention to the glistening throne with an M-shaped back. Although the seat of honor is referred to as an iron throne, it is made of stainless steel. The seat is mesh, usually found in office chairs, but that is the only similarity between the two. Sewn on the throne’s mesh is the front of an oversized thong.

All the participants’ eyes light up. Dana and Crissy give each other the evil eye. Juan, Theo, Sunny, Anya, and Tyrone seek out one another’s attention, each thinking their friendship might be on the line by vying for the prize.  Tyrone rolls his eyes and philosophizes to himself, “Breeze and bullshit. We are only dust, and our maker created us for fun. That is our great challenge, and our great demise.”

To be continued . . . 

Game of Thongs: The Outhouse


Part 2 of 4
A Matter of Wear and Tear series
 Part 1 posted on 8/24/17

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

Anya runs to Walter. “What happened?” She can hear his muffled voice still uttering, “O’dore . . .” She turns him over and cradles his face. Then she presses her ear close to his mouth. A look of realization flashes on her face.

“’Oh, the odor’ is what you’re saying! Portable toilets can be stinky. Walter, I’m sorry it was so bad, but you need to get up if you want to be in the running.” Anya gently shakes him. Sunny joins them and tries to straighten out what little fabric she can salvage. To make matters worse, Walter’s fall landed him on some pebbles that poked some holes on his thong.

Walter sits up and thanks them. He looks down at his ruined design and says, “When you play the game of thongs, you wear it or you tear it. You can’t return it.” He exhales, “Looks like I’m sitting out the contest this year. I shoulda listened to my mom and used a real toilet before coming here. Never use a port-o-let without adequate cover . . . and a nose clip. Let that be a lesson learned.”

“The things we sniff destroy us every time, man. Store that in your skull,” Theo reinforces Walter’s words, as he and the rest continue walking toward the stage. Secretly, he’s glad to have one less rival to compete with.

Juan, Theo, Sunny, Anya, and Tyrone are met with applause as they parade onto the stage, taking their place among the others. Good to see not too many participants this year, Tyrone thinks. His plan in spreading his crabs apparently worked, although at the expense of having to suffer through it himself. But he had cleverly designed his thong to hide any evidence of discomfort and disease.

Juan surveys the group and notices two more people have yet to join them. Just then, the crowd erupts into cheering and hand-clapping, louder than the reception he and his friends received. As the cheering continues to grow louder, he sees the two, fashionable late-comers prance onto the stage.

This year is going to be a slaughter, Juan thinks, as he eyes the two show stoppers—two well-known locals who also happen to be arch enemies: Crissy Bannister and Dana Tara Gong.

To be continued . . . 

Game of Thongs (A Matter of Wear and Tear series)

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 . . . 

The Laundromat

Space is tight inside Lu’s Launderette. Stacey finds herself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a man about her age. They’re both folding their shirts, pants, shorts, and undergarments. She starts feeling self-conscious as she knows it’s not her imagination that he’s been surreptitiously eyeing her lace-trimmed thongs and silk teddies. Her face reddens when he catches her eyes.

He smiles and says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m wondering where you buy your underthongs.”

Stacey suppresses a laugh as she’s never heard such a term before, though they sound just as accurate as panties. She clears her throat to quell the urge to giggle and replies, “At Madam Madison a couple of blocks from here, actually.”

“Excellent. That’ll be my next stop, then. Hey, men wear those crotch covers too. Check this out.” He shows her a pair of black nylon thongs. “They’re comfortable, and as you know, they dry quickly.”

For a minute, Stacey doesn’t know how to respond. Then, she thinks, why not. She remembers her father wearing Speedos, why not thongs indeed?

“By the way, that’s a nice looking bra. Are those from the same place too?”

My father had man boobs, but he didn’t wear a bra, Stacey thinks. She hurriedly stuffs her last articles of clothing into a duffel bag and leaves without an answer.