Prompt 21 [Prompt 37 is next]
Added 2025-06-29 22:28:11 +0000 UTCIn a town where all clothes are forbidden
There's little to keep bodies hidden
So the boney, the bubbly,
The thin and the chubby,
All take their turns being ridden
When shame isn't in the equation
Everyone's figure starts looking bangin'
So the hard and the soft
Get each other off
It's like some sort of sexual haven
Go celebrate all your uniqueness
With a pulsatung pussy or penis
Or maybe some buns
[or whatever is fun]
it really doesn't take a genius
[Next is Prompt 37]
Comments
...I am so hot for your brain š«
Margaret Peffy Margie Maggie
2025-06-30 23:03:09 +0000 UTCperfect, Doc ā”ļøš itās a limerick opener, but I got deep in vignettes, so sorry! this prompt carried me places and Iām flowing with it In a town where all clothes are illegal, thereās an L-shaped swimming pool and an ancient sauna. Thereās yoga, pĆ©tanque, themed dinners, free WiFi, nature trails, and āwine hangoutsā in Cabin 43. Canasta in the clubhouse and cocktail parties on the deck [BYO cocktails]. They read Ishiguro in a communal circle of bare feet and participate in something called Cat & Edās Mac N Cheese Throw Down. Thereās a gas station at the corner just beyond town lines: No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service. Reality check, or something like it. What a drag. But my best friend lived across the street from this place, Americaās oldest continuously running nudist club. We tried not to let teenage interest turn us into peeping toms. Once, we stayed up all night in her garage, stealing time back from Procrastination as our senior critiques approached with daybreak. I painted furiously in doomed-to-be-wet oils, she slapped papier-mĆ¢chĆ© and ignored the paste nesting in her hair. We smoked shitty weed and were quietly in love. We never said it, even with the impetus to lay bare shining up at us, half-illumined by harsh Citgo floodlights. I moved away, she moved away; but her parents still live in those woods and clothes are still illegal across the street. Should I call her? In a town where all clothes are illegal, your day doesn't start with laundry roulette. Thereās a promised shedding of self-consciousness/shame/hiding, maybe. But the premise also spikes something tricky and ticklish. Images of Too Good to Be Trues wrapped in nakedness. The sun feels marvelous from far away and so lethal up close. I hear the Black Mirror openerās fizzing neon screen crack. And I like being naked, I do. But my clothes are a decision, expression, and fabric is pretty. The town sounds great for a moment or six, though. [crack] In a town where all clothes are illegal, C watches a spider spin its web. Her eyes focus on shimmery threads, as bolts in the Ikea stool beneath her dig into thighs and glutes. Her hands glide over worn walnut desk, brushing Faber-Castell pencils, an apple. Her wrists make imagined bangles out of coffee ring stains. She envies the spiderās silk and wants to wear it. To cover herself, not from embarrassment, but curiosity. What does it feel like to be robed in material beyond ancestral cells, growth spurt grit, nutrition and movement, and the stuff of being? C likes her sheets, soft like her skin, textured like her skin. She throws them around her when sheās alone, swanning in infinite yards of cotton, a ballgown for washing dishes and waiting for sirens. [OPEN ON: A SUNLIT SMALL-TOWN MAIN STREETāCOLORFUL HOUSES, DINER, CLASSICAL GUITAR PLUCKING LAZILY IN THE BACKGROUND] VOICEOVER [Don LaFontaine-esque: playful, assertive, omniscientāmovie trailer God] āIn a town where all clothes are illegalā¦ā [CUT TO: A woman in her 30s, clothed, chicly frazzled, stepping out of a taxi] āWait, itās literal?!ā [MONTAGE: strategically nude townspeople shopping, sipping coffee, biking; a charming local handyman waves her over, one hand on his toolbox] VOICEOVER: āShe lost her job, her boyfriend, and her luggageā¦ but when Mara arrived in Bare Springs, she found something even more unexpectedāherself.ā *TITLE CARD: āSKIN DEEPā (2025) TAG: āThis fall, sometimes the best way to start overā¦ is to strip it all away.ā Limericks: In a town where all clothes are illegal, All debate is both mad and cerebral With no pants to be found, Some still argue, spellboundā The ethics of massaging their ego End with sweet: In a town where all clothes are illegal, Their sparks danced and flew bright, never feeble With no layers between, And in eyes, true and keen, They found, with loveās dear embrace, their equal
caroscope
2025-06-30 19:00:15 +0000 UTCThis is lovely
siesta_maven
2025-06-30 15:19:10 +0000 UTCIn a town where bodies are not hidden, whatās left to protect is whatās still forbidden. Not nipples or thighs, not curves or skinābut the truth we carry, quiet within. We touch with ease, we moan, we playābut few ask what we donāt say. Itās not the riding that makes us runāitās needing someone when the night is done. When bodies are open, with nothing to hide, itās the soul that retreats, the feelings denied. To be seen in the light, to be known in the deepāthatās the kind of naked that doesnāt come cheap.
Amanda
2025-06-30 01:15:38 +0000 UTC
