#allison handles the hygiene

[swampthingking]

neil on the run frequents my mind more than i’d like to admit

so for like the entirety of his time on the run he used fuckin 3 4 or 5-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash and like obviously he knew there were other ones he could pick but it’s dumb to lug three separate bottles of shit when there’s one viable option right there. saves space in his bag, less weight, less time in the store. get in, 5-in-1, get out as fast as possible.

so naturally allison finds out about this. she might have inquired. and of course she’s fucking scandalized to learn about the 5-in-1.

can you. imagine. the overwhelm neil probably feels at the store. and allison (who had dragged him there) is explaining that “this one will help moisturize your curls because [she ruffles a hand through his hair and scrunches his damaged ass hair] [cheap ass splat hair dye ass crunchy fried ass hair] …yeah”

and neil is like ???? frantic as fuck in the store like classic clean ??

repair and protect ??? “from what?”

smooth and sleek ?????? “allison these are all the exact same thing—”

and allison is like “omg wait?? what’s your skin care routine?”

and neil is like ??? “my??? my what??????”

allison is like “…..neil.”

neil shrugs and is like, “i just used the 5-in-1. why would a skin care routine [he kinda sneers it bc he had never heard such a thing before and is annoyed at allison’s gaping mouth] be one of my priorities on the run????”

and now allison is pissed because “how is your skin perfect after the horror you’ve put it through???”

ok and then neil is like [in his thoughts] my skin is not perfect. the scars. blegh. the horrors.

and allison sees it all on his face and she grabs his face in one hand (the other one is full of stuff; y’know how women can just carry a bunch of shit in one hand? yea) and makes him look at her, and his cheeks are all squished, lips are pouted, and she says all resolutely, “i meant it. the scars don’t ruin you. it doesn’t matter what happened to your skin. what matters is that you’re alive despite it. that is perfect.”

and when neil can’t make eye contact anymore he kinda just nods and she stares him down for half a second more and huffs. “but seriously, no acne…” continues down the aisle to the face wash and moisturizer. “no acne at all. so fuckin unfair—” and that’s that

#allison and neil are besties and i STAND BY THAT #andrew handles the wardrobe #allison handles the hygiene #not neil being on a queer eye quest #aftg: queer eye AU #renee would spar with him #matt would have heart-to-hearts #kevin would degrade him ofc (with love) #wait i’m actually dead over this LMFAOOO #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #tfc #neil josten #allison reynolds

[greystasty]

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#Embrace dental

[muskywolfthings]

Scott goes to grab something out of Stile's gym locker and finds his hoard of sweaty rank jocks, he recognizes a few of his own, and Danny and Jacksons. there is even one of Liam's jocks in there ...

((Love this. Don’t have any pictures archived that I can use as reference, so if you have any suggestions, please send them to me- I love visuals!))Okay, so I got the idea for a back and forth story from a blog I followed a while back- I couldn’t decide if I wanted this to be a one shot drabble, or if I wanted it to tie into my Stackson story, because it seemed too good not to link into that, so…here we go, a back and forth between two different stories with the same premise ;D1. Scott had just been looking for an extra net. There weren’t any in the supply closet, and despite being benched all the time, Stiles always seemed to be prepared for anything, so he didn’t think it wrong just to shuffle through his things to see if he had one. He had been keeping his locker locked up tight with an industrial looking lock lately, but Scott assumed it was because they were so backed up with the supernatural, that he was probably keeping some books or whatever tucked away inside that he didn’t want anyone to find. But Scott wasn’t a part of that, so he was allowed to go in his locker. Totally.With a flick of his claws, he’d unlatched it and set it atop the lockers to open Stiles’ up- jerking back at the intensity of the smell that hit him when he cracked open the locker. Barely noticing the foam lining along the inside cracks, and instead going wide eyed as a bundle of fabric fell down from the top most shelves- and on a closer inspection through squinted eyes and a pinched nose, he saw they were….2. Same start- Scott wanting a net, taking it upon himself to break into Stiles locker. The ripe scent of cock and ass just barely touch his nose as bags of jockstraps fall out from the highest shelf in the locker. He didn’t know they were jockstraps at first, but upon ;picking up one of the bags, it isn’t hard to see the straps and yellowed pouches- the names on the bags are what confuse him. Not that he isn’t just one big ball of confusion at this point, but this is the icing on the top of the cake. One’s got his name on it, and one tentative sniff into the back, and yep, that’s his jockstrap alright. Reeking from two weeks of wear when he’d forgotten to wash, and then it had up and disappeared. He frowned, remembering Stiles telling him not to worry about it, and pulling a new strap out of god knows where. Apparently coach had them somewhere for when someone didn’t show up to practice with one. He bought it easily enough, but now he wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on. There was one with Danny’s name too. Jackson’s, with a small star above the cursive J, that only worked to confuse him impossibly more. The rest….the rest belonged to Liam. With one more of Scott’s at the bottom of the stack of neatly piled air tight bags. Liam, Liam, Liam. All of varying colors and makes, but all releasing just the barest hint of the betas scent. Thick and ripe, almost more so then Scott’s. Sweet and musky, like apples on a hairy swamp ass. It was intoxicating, and he couldn’t help himself. Unzipping one and releasing the stink into the air, he moaned, putting his nose into the bag and huffing it like an addict- leaning his forehead against the locker as he reached down to play with his cock in his shorts. Something about Liam being his, his beta, his scent was so much more potent- bringing him close to the edge in a matter of seconds, as he imagined the real thing. Soft skin and peach fuzz. Intense stink. Nuzzling his musky cock and balls, flicking his tongue out to taste his pretty dirty pink hole. “Liam’s a bestseller.” Stiles beamed behind him, laughing as Scott went rigid- hunched over over his cock and the jockstrap almost like Stiles would take it away from him. Keep him from finishing what he started. 

1. …Jockstraps. And maybe that would’ve been weird, and maybe he and Stiles really needed to start taking their hygiene seriously, but on closer inspection, he saw his initials flashed upwards at him as the fabric settled at his feet. S.M., big bold red letters on the inner strap of the jock. One whiff and he knew it was his, his ass being as recognizable to him as the damn sky itself. There were other’s as well. Danny, Jackson, Liam? Even Initials he didn’t recognize, until he bent down to get a better whiff. The scent of chlorine lingered on a few, and he realized that little shit wasn’t just stealing from the Lacrosse team. He was taking jockstraps from all the sports team. Swimming, soccer, you name it. They all had distinguishable stink to them, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He was a guy, and he was a teenager, so the idea of someone loving the natural stink of his body- whereas someone like Allison had made him shower before even a blowjob for gods sake- was kind of a turn on. He wondered idly if Stiles had ever eaten ass before- something Scott could only dream of, and recreate as best he could with a wet finger.The sound of his teammates coming back to look for their captain started nearing the locker room, so Scott gathered the jocks in his hands and shoved them back up to the top quickly- snatching one of Liam’s for his own personal reasons, before shutting and locking the door, and moving back to make it look like he was continuing to search. Cheeks red as Stiles stumbled in and asked what was taking so long. 2. “Chill Scott, I just wanted to see what was taking you so long. Practice started five minutes ago.” How could he sound so calm? Did he not see what Scott was doing? Did he not know Scott knew what /he’d/ been doing?? “Hey, seriously, calm down before you give yourself the first werewolf heart attack. Even I can hear it.” He whispered, pressing up along Scott’s back- the familiar scent washing over him, while the stink of Liam continued to filter into his lungs, and his cock spat a large bead of precum into his fist as Stiles rested his head over his shoulder- nosing along his neck, and reaching around to pull Scott’s jock and shorts just below his heavy balls- taking the base of his cock in his grip when Scott gave a quick jerk of his head- stroking along the length, gathering his long foreskin at the head and pinching it gently. Sloppy sounds of precum in the folds filling the otherwise quiet room as Stiles rolled and rubbed the skin against his piss slit, and his knees almost went out. He hadn’t had someone else touch him in months, and while he was still confused as all hell, he couldn’t help but lean back into Stiles’ touch- so sure, like he knew he’d want it, or like he’d done it before. Maybe he had. Scott was starting to doubt he knew everything about Stiles. “You shouldn’t have gone in my locker dude. Locks are there for a reason.” He mumbled, nipping just below Scott’s ear, and smiling as he squirmed. “Should’ve kept out. Now I can’t not tel you, obviously. Long story short, we sell these. Me and…well, I’m not sure he’ll want me to tell you of all people, but we’ll see.” He giggled, fucking giggled, as he sucked a quickly fading mark into Scott’s skin, and moved his free hand around to cup and roll his large, uneven nuts. Scott’s hair tickling Stiles’ palm as he did so. “We make some good money dude. So many pervs out there who want a whiff of genuine teen musk. The stink that comes from underage cock and ass.” He was right, it did sound perverted, but the thickening of his cock even more didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. His head threatening to burst from the foreskin Stiles was still rolling at the tip. “Remember how you asked Liam how he was getting all those new clothes? Even put himself through drivers ed? We pay him. Me and my uh- colleague, I guess.” He huffed. “You and he are actually the highest bids we get on underwear. Liam’s for being less than yours, but sweeter, like the sweet boy he is. He caught me one day sneaking a pair of his socks someone had asked for, and I told him. Told him he could make a little money on the side if he wanted to, no real challenge but wearing things a little locker, which the little shit already does. We cut him some cash from his sales at the end of the month, and he’s set. You could do the same for us if you wanted.” While neither of them were struggling like they were at the peak of their exams, and the peak of their supernatural crisis, Scott new he could use a little extra cash. And what was the harm? He liked the smell of his used jocks too…why not sell them? He doubted he could do it without Stiles anyway, and Stiles wasn’t a shark. His tone was much more sure, independent, like he could do anything, but it was Still Stiles. Even sweeter given their current position, so there was no way he could say no. “Liam’s a little harder to keep happy- there’s a little extra payment in it for him, which makes me practically immobile for two days unless he’s decided he wants me to suck his toes while he jerks off for four hours. So I can give you something too…?” His voice dropped off into a question, high and innocent, and it lingered until Scott couldn’t find a single reason to say no to anything. Money, and sex? With his best friend? Jesus, if this was the calm before the storm, he would be ready to die in it if it meant getting this for a while more. “Keep this one on for a week and we’ll put it up for bids on Saturday. God, you haven’t showered, have you? Fucking beast.” Stiles’ voice was sharper now, lustful, as he brought the hand up that had been cupping Scott’s balls to sniff. So close, the Alpha could smell it too, and his eyes flashed. He was being handled next, pushed back up against the lockers, one smooth hand sliding over his stomach, and scratching though his thick happy trail, the other lifting his balls and sliding into his sweaty heated crack, circling his hole as Stiles took his cock down to the base- nose buried in smelly pubes. Scott could get very, very used to all of it. 1.Scott wasn’t sure what to do with his newfound knowledge of what Stiles liked to get up to. He’d been ignoring the boy for days, claiming he was too busy to hang out, and begging teachers to separate them during class because of ‘Neighboring noise complaints’. Which wasn’t entirely untruthful, because people did complain, but he just moved the complaints along himself. Finally though, after wrapping his head around it, and going red in the face all day whenever he caught a glimpse of amber eyes, or pale skin dotted with moles, he had a plan. Sort of.Waiting until he and Stiles were some of the last in the locker room after practice, he stripped down, keeping an ear out for the showers, as he met Stiles’ gaze across the room. Tossing out his jock to him, he caught one last sniff of it before Stiles caught it. Wide eyed, and nerves spiking so hard the room stank of anxiety. And it was gross. “Saw them…in your locker on accident…i’m cool with it. Sort of uh- hot. Cool.” You said that Scott, be a man, speak up.” Cool you like the way I smell. Flattering or whatever.” He was shifting around on his feet, scratching at his neck, before frowning as Stiles moved forward quickly, reaching up to run his fingers through Scott’s hair, before smashing their mouths together. Scott needing no time to pick up, as he parted his lips, and he tasted Stiles’ tongue. The boys in the shower forgotten as Stiles whined into his mouth, and he held him by the hips to steady them. Kissing him hard, and power tripping hard when he pulled back and saw just how wrecked Stiles was. ‘Yours are my favorite. I kinda have a problem dude, I’ve been doing it since we were twelve.” He admitted, and Scott had only a moment to really let that sink in before he was going again. “Jesus Scott, do you know how fucking sexy your stink is? I can cum from just smelling the straps where they meet your ass, and rub your nasty hole all day. Or from sucking the cum stains out of your pouch, dude.” He was practically crying as they kissed again, and Scott, bolder now as of previous admittance, smirked. “You can taste the real thing if you want. Starting with my hole..I really want to feel your tongue on my hole.” Now he was whining. So much for being the top, or whatever. He wasn’t sure how gay sex worked. He just knew he wanted Stiles tongue in his ass, on his balls, and slobbering on his cock. And he kind of wanted to taste Stiles too. Yeah…fuck, yeah, he did. 

#scott mccall #stiles stilinski #asks

[rutisup-blog]

Mendocino Magic I

“Geodesic” says Jonny as we’re cruising down the road. “Huh?” I say, the expanses of Mendocino County rushing past us.

“Geodesic dome” he says, pointing to this little dome roofed hut off the side of the 101. I start writing in this journal, observing all of the beautiful Madrone trees.

My Levi 501s are dirty, adding a little character to them after this camping trip. I’m still wearing my blue outer space shirt from last night. Besides brushing my teeth and putting contact lenses in, I haven’t done much in the way of personal hygiene.

We’re probably 15 miles outside Laytonville now, headed South back to San Francisco–woooo. It’s been a fantastic camping trip. We’re just passing the blind horses now in Willits.

*** 25/5/17 — Saturday Morning — Fort Badass — Mission District — SF

It’s about 8:30 AM and I’m feeling a bit of a sore throat. I’ve got the blue pop t-shirt on, and a cleaner iteration of the Levi 501s on my gams.

Mizzle and Jonny eat turkey bacon and eggs. We watch Arsenal versus Chelsea at the house. Arsenal got a single goal in first quarter, coasting 1-0 until half-time. Jonny keeps freaking out every time Arsenal blows a clear shot on goal. “Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!” He yells. A true fan.

Half-time hits and it’s time to roll out. The three of us walk down to the car, loading it up with our stuff. We’re off now to his family home in Novato to grab Beowulf, the huge F-350 we’re going to bring camping.

Jonny is streaming the audio from the second half of the game, British commentators voices echoing out of the speakers. I can’t help but get into the game–Jonny’s enthusiasm proves to be contagious. “I just want Arsenal to win so I can gloat over my sister, she’s a Chelsea fan!” rings Jonny.

Beautiful views of the San Francisco Bay avail themselves as we roll on over the Golden Gate Bridge, enhanced by British commentators yelling “GOAAALLLLL!!” and Jonny cheering ecstatically in the driver seat. We get to Jonny’s house in Novato and find Crissy’s crew already waiting. The boys head inside, and I mill around a minute before I go in to grab a glass of water.

There’s a freshly sabered bottle of champagne on the ledge overlooking the sunken living room, where inside a huge TV screen is playing the Chelsea vs. Arsenal game. It’s like I can’t escape the ‘footy’.

Liv, Nick, Rachel, Chrissy, and Chris are seated down in the living room. I walk into the kitchen, to find Jonny’s sister talking about the saber. It’s a small heavy thing, the blade about eight inches long. It’s sitting in this cool wooden holder, blade down. Jonny’s sis shows me a video of her sabering the champagne–very well done. “It’s my party trick” she says.

Jonny pours me a warm glass of water and throws some ice in it for me. I’m befuddled, as I feel the heat from the glass on my hand. These Californians sure hate to waste water by running the tap I suppose. Soon Dimitry and Britt arrive. I talk to Jonny’s dad and say hello.

It’s not long before we’re loading up Beowulf. I toss my Gregory 85L backpack in the covered pickup of that F-350XL Supercab and we set off as a huge convoy. Beowulf leads the pack, followed by Dimitri and Britt; Chris(sy), Nick, Liv, and Rachel; and finally Nick and Allison.

“Oh shit, the music isn’t working” grieves Jonny in horror. “This happens sometimes” he moans. We fiddle with the settings a bit, but nothing seems to work. “Sometimes you have to turn the car off” says Jonny. “Ah…The ol’ turn it off and turn it back on again trick” I say.

We pull the car over to the side of the road, and pop the door open to shut off the stereo (since it’s a Ford). The convoy is in confusion now, and the fix doesn’t even work. So we keep moving, and then pull over again a few times, really confusing the hell out of everyone else.

Jonny calls Chrissy and tells them to keep it rolling. We stop in at a Chevron parking lot to try and fix this. It’s futile, nothing works. I grab my Jambox bluetooth speaker out of my backpack, and we just end up playing the music through that.

Beowulf cruises up US-101 headed north towards Mendocino county. Soon the trees yield to rolling burnt orange hills. “These were all green a few weeks ago” remarks Jonny. We keep on cruising, and begin to enter the forests of Mendocino as we leave those burnt hills behind us.

Rocky cliffs start to dominate the landscape. Mizzler teaches us this game called “contact” that is really fun. Jonny’s on the horn with Chrissy now, and we all decide to rendezvous at the Wal-Mart in Ukiah. Nick and Allison have already beaten us to the camp-site.

As we pull into the vast parking lot of Wal-Mart, my stomach grumbles. “Let’s ride around in these things” I quip, motioning towards some electric scooters we pass in the entrance to Wal-Mart. A subway presents itself on the left as we enter into the depths of a Super Wal-Mart. I’m so hungry.

Lots of cheap Fourth of July / Memorial day gear is on display here. We grab a cart and immediately get a little lost and disoriented–the intended effect of the store’s design. We need some alcohol and charcoal, but other than that we’re sorted.

I buy smore stuff, and I’m trying to determine just how much chocolate to buy. I ask the chubby mother of two trying to control her kids just beside me in the snack aisle.

“I would say four bars…Although if you’re drunk you might just throw the whole thing on!” she laughs. It wasn’t that funny but she’s in good spirits so I laugh with her.

I’m walking with Jonny, trying to find a cooler for the rum punch he plans to make. We end up with some collapsible two gallon container. The volume level seems to increase in the shop. I start running into other members of the crew, one by one. Soon, 15 young adults are roaming around, pushing carts and getting ready to party amongst a sea of sad, depressed looking people doing their shopping. It’s on.

We’re in the beer aisle, studying our options.

“Coors or Hi-life?” says one of the boys. “How about Natty Ice?” jokes Jonny. “Jesus Christ” I say, shaking my head. “We’re getting Colorado piss water” I say, grabbing a 30-rack of frosty Coors. We buy some more shit, and then hit the checkout stand.

There’s a sad collection of alcohol on a flimsy metal shelf behind the counter. Our checkstand is the “one with the alcohol” I grab the third to last bottle of Jamieson and Jonny grabs two handles of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum for the punch. Everyone meets at Beowulf, and the whole gang loads all of their combined cargo in the massive pickup. We all resolve to meet at the campgrounds.

Car Beowulf and Car Brittany stop at Chipotle. There’s this large butch emo chick working the counter, and I grab a carne asada burrito bowl. I order it to go, low-key knowing that I probably will end up just eating it here anyways.

Jonny and I both have to go to the bathroom. There’s a single person bathroom with both a toilet and a urinal in it–no divider. “Fuck it, let’s both go”. So I’m pissing in the urinal while Jonny is taking a shit in the toilet. I’m done in short order, and Jonny says “Lock it on the way out” as I’m washing my hands.

I start to crack up “Oh dude, It’s going to unlock itself as soon as that door shuts when I leave! You’re fucked!”. There’s not much I can do to help him, so I walk out of there, leaving Jonny with his pants down on the can, 10 feet from the door. I lock it on the way out, but as soon as the door slams shut I hear a muffled “SHIT!!!” coming from the bathroom. I was right, it’s unlocked now.

I can’t help but laugh, all red in the face and giggling as I try to tell everyone the situation. We make a plan to walk in on him and give him a surprise. He’s just a s(h)itting duck in there. There’s a group of Asian tourists milling about as well, and we’re hoping one of them walks in on him first. One fast minute later, and he’s already back at the table. His shit was clearly ruined.

We make fun of Jonny’s burrito, it’s pretty fucking sad looking. Jonny’s burrito was more like a flour tortilla money-bag, the big husky emo girl at the counter just mashed it all into a big hunk with the tin-foil and called it a day. It’s a very BORDERLINE ‘burrito’ that’s for sure. It’s round in all the wrong ways. I’m feeling happy I got the bowl.

Britt, Mizzler, Dimitry, Jonny, and I are chowing down and chatting a bit. “This is great, we got to park in the shade…the cars will be cool” says Dimitry with a smile on his face.

“Where you from?” I say curiously. “Well how far back do you want me to go? Conception” I love backstories. “The whole thing, conception, why not?” “Well from what my parents tell me, it was on a retreat in the Ural Mountains of Russia. At least that’s the story my parents tell me. I was probably a drunken mistake” he laughs.

He starts going through where he’s grown up, but my ear is just listening for that sweet F L O R I D A. “New Jersey, this is where I met this girl” he says, pointing at Brittany.

“Florida for a bit-” “A-ha! I knew it. Your shade comment gave it away! You Floridians always go for the shade!” “He was telling me to pahwk in da shayde!!” exclaims Brittney in a heavy New Jersey accent. I felt like Sherlock Holmes for a second there.

Time to roll out. The boys and I hop in Beowulf, Jonny at the helm, Mizzle riding shotgun, and me laying down in the backseat for a little nap. We purr down the 101, heading ever north down towards Laytonville. “I’ve never driven this far down” remarks Jonny as we pass through the cute little town of Hopton.

We push on forward, passing some horses with full blinders on over their heads and eyes in Willits, CA.

“Fuck, that place looks decrepit” I say as we pass a worn out and abandoned looking MOTEL sign on the side of the road. “Decrepit, that’s a good word” says Mizzler.

A discussion breaks out on the word dilapidated, decrepit, and why bad words seem to start with “de”. We’re nearly there, and I’m getting stoked. Before long we’re pulling up past a sign on the side of the road that says ‘Mendocino Magic’. Jonny swings Beowulf up the windy road into the campsite.

There’s a clearing here with a bunch of cars parked in the lot. The ground is reddish dirt mixed with burnt orange grass. We see Nick and Allison, and swing Beowulf around to say hello. “We’ve just moved our car back here, the campsite is up that way” motions Nick.

We continue driving on the gravel road, further into the campsite. “MAX SPEED, 5 MPH” reads a sign upon a wooden fence. Some people block the road up ahead, and we slow down to a stop.

This little hardy early 20s looking girl approaches the window of our truck with an air of authority, and we roll out windows down to say hey. “Where you guys going?” she says, holding a frosty Pabst Blue Ribbon in her left hand. She’s holding it pretty high, so it’s probably pretty full.

“We’re camping…uhhh…not sure.” “Cannonball? You with Cannonball Camp?” she says. “Uhh…Hold on”.

I pull out my phone, and find the e-mail. “Mill Pond” I respond. She directs us to the campsite, and then parts with “Gotta deal with a rattlesnake…”

We drive onwards. “Did you see the gun she was holding?” asked Jonny. She had a little case for it in the other hand apparently. We park Beowulf and start unloading the whole gang’s supplies. Soon the whole crew is here to lend a hand.

There’s these sad little carts to ferry the supplies to the campsite, and Max and Jonny load one up and start pulling cargo to the site, while I grab armfuls full of stuff and do the same.

The whole gang was at the site now, and we start setting up camp. A banging sound rings through the camp as Max and Jonny hammer the stakes into the huge ten-man tent they would be sharing. The banging sound is interrupted by the sound of a gunshot ringing out over the campgrounds. I guess she found the snake.

Camp Coconut Bra

C-dog, Britt, Nicole, and Dimitri were sharing one tent; Nick, Rachel, Olivia, and Steve in another. Nick and Allison had their own tent, as did Chrissy and Chris. I’m riding solo in a 2-man tent by the fire.

I set up my tent, then the slackline, and then finally my hammock between the trees. It’s a beautiful day.

“Oh, Steve’s here! I’m going to go get him” says Chrissy. Steve got a ride down to the campsite through a Craigslist rideshare, and miraculously made it down here in good time. He rode with a woman who had a weak grasp on the English language, and shared the backseat with a smelly shiftless fisherman trying to find work. He literally ‘missed the boat’.

“I kept the window down, he stunk. I kept alternating between being cold, and having the window up and smelling this guy. I’d rather freeze than smell that guy.” laughed Steve.

Jonny lit up the charcoal stove, and Alison busted out our dinner for the night. Ziploc bags of pre-cooked veggies, sausages, and meatballs. It was a grab a wooden skewer and create your own shish-ka-bob kind of meal. It’s delicious.

I’m many beers deep at this point. I started drinking as soon as we started unloading, and the pace has been swift. Rachel busts out a game of Jenga, and it doesn’t take long for people to get interested.

It’s Dimitri, Britt, Rachel, Max, and me at first. A bit of a debate breaks out on if you’re able to use both hands, or if you are allowed to touch other pieces. The sun begins to set on the crew, and the beers keep flowing. Some attempts to slackline are made.

A crude map of the campground

Someone rips a paper bag in half and proclaims that we’re playing ‘pizza box’. “So you flip a coin onto the surface, and then do whatever the rule it lands in says what to do. If It’s a blank space, you get to make up a rule”. At first there aren’t many rules, but soon nearly every space of the ‘box’ is filled.

“Boys Dance” was a pretty memorable one, all the boys had to dance. Shotgun a beer, girls dance, coconut bra, or the mini-game “Thumper” were also pretty great ones. My Thumpers symbol was doing the dab. It gets too dark to read the board, so I bust out my lantern.

“Hey! Where did you find the lantern?” says Chrissy incredulously. It turns out that this cool lantern I found in the house was one of Chrissy’s forgotten items when she moved out a few months ago.

I’m wearing a coconut bra over my clothes, my punishment for flipping the coin on the coconut bra square. The stars are so beautiful out, and I’m playing with my super strong green laser, shining it up into the stars. There’s some serious sounds of nature coming out from near the pond. “Fucking bullfrogs” says C-dog.

***

I don’t know what time it is, but I’m laying in my sleeping bag now, getting ready to sleep. I can hear a funny conversation going on in the tent next to mine about first memories, something about wearing spaghetti straps to pre-school and being sent home. I drift off to the sounds of nature and giggly young adults.

Mendocino Magic I was originally published on RUT-IS-UP

#California #Mendocino #San Francisco

[kimoramorory]

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