Moderately Homo
KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING
“I want you to raise your hips, keeping your hips square to the ceiling as you pulse, pulse, pulse!”
Pilates.
Sam promised himself he wouldn’t go back, he made a freaking oath to himself that he wouldn’t fall victim to his mother’s puppy eyes ever again. For God’s sake, they weren’t even good ones – not nearly as heart melting as Puss ‘n Boots’ debut in Shrek 2. His mother’s puppy eyes looked more like enlarged, constipated fly eyes. Which, no. But here Sam is anyway, booty-bridging it out with The Gals.
Maybe it's because he has a big heart.
The Gals were a weird mix of middle-aged housewives, soccer moms, tree-hugger’s mom, and the few stragglers in the back were absolutely about to start menopause.
To his right is Jaime who has the Brazilian butt. He could bounce a penny off dat ass. To his left is Carla, a fifty year old woman who breeds Shih-tzus. And knits – she said something about how she’ll have to take measurements of his chest sometime. At the time Sam had thought this was rhetorical, cobra-pushup induced mumbling.
Nope. Because after class was over she pulled out a measuring tape from God knows where (Sam tries not to think about how Yoga pants don’t have pockets) and took his measurements right then and there as Carla and his mom talked dogs. Sam had made it a point to never go back to find out what exactly said measurements were for. Well, until now.
His mom, on the other hand, was powering through this week’s workout up front as opposed to Sam’s position in the middle. He’d meant to join the Menopause Gals in the back, but Sharon was looking extra violent. Death by woman experiencing menopause is not exactly how he wanted to go. For obvious reasons.
(One time, he tried deep-throating a banana and epically failed. He hopes that had the events taken an even worse twist of events that he would’ve been able to at least dislodge the banana from his throat. Sydney had walked in his room in time to see Sam sputtering with ashamed, red-rimmed eyes that were looking down at the banana gripped in his hand.
And she just instantly knew and stopped laughing herself to death to pinky promise that they would never speak of this, ever.)
(In retrospect, maybe Death by woman experiencing menopause would look a lot more manly and shit on the coroner report.)
"You all look amazing. Now raise your right leg in the air, foot flexed, and keep pulsing."
"Oh, Nancy, can't you see you're killing me," Sam grumbled.
"Sam!" Where's Carla? Here's Carla! "I have something for you. Don't let me forget after class," she huffed between booty-raises.
"And, switch!" The instructor chirped. Shame, Sam's left glute was starting to get numb, he could've done that shit forever.
"I won't let you forget," Sam lied.
--
"Sam, Carla made something for you."
"Jesus, mom, you're supposed to knock," Sam started at his mom's sudden invasion to his room. "Don't you remember what happens when you refuse to knock?"
"I'm sorry, were you masturbating? Sam's special time?"
"No, oh my god. Mom."
"Then it's okay that I didn't knock."
"It really isn't you're going to regret living one of these days."
"Not if you remember to lock your door."
"Not if you remember to knock."
She huffed, "when you were little--"
"I'm filing for child abuse."
"Fine. But here, it's from Carla. Make sure to wear it at least once." She through the blue gift back towards
Oh, God. "Wear it?"
--
It'll be 4:30 in ten minutes.
Pilates.
Sam promised himself he wouldn’t go back, he made a freaking oath to himself that he wouldn’t fall victim to his mother’s puppy eyes ever again. For God’s sake, they weren’t even good ones – not nearly as heart melting as Puss ‘n Boots’ debut in Shrek 2. His mother’s puppy eyes looked more like enlarged, constipated fly eyes. Which, no. But here Sam is anyway, booty-bridging it out with The Gals.
Maybe it's because he has a big heart.
The Gals were a weird mix of middle-aged housewives, soccer moms, tree-hugger’s mom, and the few stragglers in the back were absolutely about to start menopause.
To his right is Jaime who has the Brazilian butt. He could bounce a penny off dat ass. To his left is Carla, a fifty year old woman who breeds Shih-tzus. And knits – she said something about how she’ll have to take measurements of his chest sometime. At the time Sam had thought this was rhetorical, cobra-pushup induced mumbling.
Nope. Because after class was over she pulled out a measuring tape from God knows where (Sam tries not to think about how Yoga pants don’t have pockets) and took his measurements right then and there as Carla and his mom talked dogs. Sam had made it a point to never go back to find out what exactly said measurements were for. Well, until now.
His mom, on the other hand, was powering through this week’s workout up front as opposed to Sam’s position in the middle. He’d meant to join the Menopause Gals in the back, but Sharon was looking extra violent. Death by woman experiencing menopause is not exactly how he wanted to go. For obvious reasons.
(One time, he tried deep-throating a banana and epically failed. He hopes that had the events taken an even worse twist of events that he would’ve been able to at least dislodge the banana from his throat. Sydney had walked in his room in time to see Sam sputtering with ashamed, red-rimmed eyes that were looking down at the banana gripped in his hand.
And she just instantly knew and stopped laughing herself to death to pinky promise that they would never speak of this, ever.)
(In retrospect, maybe Death by woman experiencing menopause would look a lot more manly and shit on the coroner report.)
"You all look amazing. Now raise your right leg in the air, foot flexed, and keep pulsing."
"Oh, Nancy, can't you see you're killing me," Sam grumbled.
"Sam!" Where's Carla? Here's Carla! "I have something for you. Don't let me forget after class," she huffed between booty-raises.
"And, switch!" The instructor chirped. Shame, Sam's left glute was starting to get numb, he could've done that shit forever.
"I won't let you forget," Sam lied.
--
"Sam, Carla made something for you."
"Jesus, mom, you're supposed to knock," Sam started at his mom's sudden invasion to his room. "Don't you remember what happens when you refuse to knock?"
"I'm sorry, were you masturbating? Sam's special time?"
"No, oh my god. Mom."
"Then it's okay that I didn't knock."
"It really isn't you're going to regret living one of these days."
"Not if you remember to lock your door."
"Not if you remember to knock."
She huffed, "when you were little--"
"I'm filing for child abuse."
"Fine. But here, it's from Carla. Make sure to wear it at least once." She through the blue gift back towards
Oh, God. "Wear it?"
--
It'll be 4:30 in ten minutes.
♠ ♠ ♠
Filler before Daniel's Debut. 