Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #295

Irene: “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of standing outside a wagon-wheeled bungalow while a dark-haired man tried to win my affections.”

Cary: “How fascinating. When I was a little girl, I dreamed of wearing questionable socks and glossy short-shorts.”

Irene: “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure you didn’t dream of making me your wanton plaything?”

Cary: “Oh. Maybe I didn’t understand the question. Are you old enough to be taken wantonly?”

Irene: “I believe the door number makes it clear.”

Cary: “I see. Well, I suppose there could be wantonness, but I’m thrown off a bit by your couture.”

Irene: “Really? One would think that a referee-based outfit would appeal to your beastly love of sports. Pretend that I have just made a ruling in favor of the opposing team, which has inspired you to teach me a lesson. I must be punished. Repeatedly.”

Cary: “That does have a certain charm. But no referee I know would wear shoes like that. Nor anyone who actually intends to go swimming.”

Irene: “Oh, I plan to get wet alright.”

Cary: “Well, then. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your agenda. Should we head to your locker room?”

Irene: “With extreme haste. But first…”

Cary: “Yes?”

Irene: “Could you reach behind me and open the door? I managed to get my hair caught when it closed and I’ve been waiting three hours for somebody to walk by.”


Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 08/23/15 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 12/27/15. No changes made, as the toilet in the guest bathroom pulled a Linda Blair and I’m a bit behind with my duties this evening. (I love old houses, but sometimes I hate them…)

Current NaNoWriMo Word Count, for those interested: 12,210


27 replies »

  1. Were those shorts a “thing” in the day? (not that I expect you to know that answer…neither of us were born (yet) or we were still dependent on someone else to make our decisions for us. (some things never change). I just recall my first exposure to shiny short shorts on a guy…it was recently, and in some very obscure film from the 50s about a nudist camp. Because in those days (and still today in America) men did not go about dangling their tender fruits in front of the camera (unless it was one of THOSE films where they got paid very handsomely to do that). The film had no actors of note (because damned if I can recall even one of them) but the plot was interesting…what does one do when one is a refined young lady of good family and one discovers her supposedly upright pillar of the moral community has secretly been funding (and participating in) a nudist camp. And has left it to the refined young lady. The shorts left a bigger impression than anyone IN the film. They were disturbing on a level not before experienced and I’m a bit aghast that Cary would don such things. The lack of adequate crotch comfort would seem to ban such items from any male on the planet…

    Liked by 1 person

    • There’s a lot being revealed in this comment, no pun intended. I feel compelled to drive to Utah and hold your hand through this troubling time. But I’m not sure if Huny would approve… 😉


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