"Luan Learns How to Swear" or "Laugh Loud, Last, and Lubed"

”H-hey. Do you know why they fired the s-s-sweaty policeman?”

I-I dunno, Luan.” You manage to say. “But-but that isn’t important right now. You gotta-!”

”Because he was using excessive pores!” she weakly chuckles

With what little energy you have left, you laugh. With what few liquids you can spare, you weep

The two faces of theatre pulped together just as the bards had intended

Luna Loud had never asked for much. She was the family’s Brunette Alpha, its Finest Musician, the Purple Third, and that didn’t give her much clout when it came to asking her parents for special favors. Too old to be spoiled, too young to take priority, her wants existed in the vaguer fringes of filial importance. She had needed to build her rock n’ roll arsenal from scratch and salvage. This room being the chief exception and even it had been granted less out of the generosity of her parents as it had been to cover up the fact that they had dismantled the house’s spiral staircase in a horrific attempt to make the place more “zen.”

Now the pointless, two-story wreck was a soundproof sanctuary, big on height, low on width, and loaded with enough acoustic wool to make a sonic shepherd blush.  A misfire of mid-life crisis piqué had been transmogrified – almost alchemically – into a gesture of magnanimity where Luna’s heavy metal onslaughts could be quieted without suppressing her talent

Luna didn’t care how phony this kindness was. She finally had a studio of her own where she could record in pristine peace, away from the ambient noise that tainted her tracks, and the sibling cacophony that served as both muse and saboteur to her songs. To show her appreciation, and to ensure that her parents wouldn’t change their minds and turn her chamber into a fuzzy storage closet, she declared it open to the entire family, provided that they told her ahead of time and cleaned up after they were done.

It was an offer that was appreciated, but mostly underutilized.

Until now anyway

Luan had done some soul searching, and much as she was loath to admit it, acknowledged that kidcom had an expiration date

And she most definitely wasn’t being put out to pasture. The very idea made her blood curdle. She needed to steer her repertoire in a moo direction. For veal real

She’s here all night, folks

So with you in tow, the two of you had shared earphones through popular sets of famed comedians, darkly humorous television shows, farcical musical mash-ups, and the occasional porn parody. You both took note of the timing, narrative progression, instances of self-awareness, how pop culture was used, what made a reference dated or classic, and moments of blatant audience member engagement

That’s when Luan decided that she needed to learn how to swear

Luan was not so callow as to believe that swearing itself made for good adult humor. She coveted expletives for their ability to succinctly express and punctuate emotion; for their capacity to rouse the audience and regain their attention in a pinch if used strategically. Like less ambiguous censorship bleeps

Not wanting to be the one responsible for (read: the one blamed) for warping the integrity of her younger siblings and wishing to preserve her good name to those members of the household who didn’t think of her as a golden gag goblin yet, she decided the best place to learn was somewhere away from candid ears and potential blackmailers. A place that was out of sight and safe in sound.

Once she realized such a setting existed in her own house, she roped you in on the scheme, citing your experience and ease at doling out profanity-laden gags. You agreed to help because that’s what boyfriends do. That, and there was the promise of some possible hanky-panky for your trouble

After being warned by Luna not to get fluids of any sort splashed on the foam walls and helping her move out her recording equipment, you and Luan had set yourselves down and committed to the task of rubbing mouth elbows with the lowest common denominator; foul up her verbal repertoire to elevate her from the juvenile to the reprehensible; vulgar vaudeville (her words) would be hers

It had gone well

Well, in the sense of Timmy getting trapped in one and VHS witch girls climbing out of them. Maybe that’s what this called for. An exorcist. This had to be a curse of some kind. A SFW Curse. Though you’d settle for Lassie’s jaws on your throat to get you out of this

Because while Luan had no problems listening to and enjoying crass language larks, she seemed to have an ability to dole them out. It was all Frick This, Holy Cruds, and Oh Shints. The kind of middling cowardly prudish humor that died in the lukewarm gulf between Old Eddie Murphy and New-ish Eddie Murphy (what was he doing nowadays anyway?)

This was frustrating. For her. For you. But you didn’t hate having to do this. You might have derived endless enjoyment at watching her attempt to deprogram years of oral propriety out of her system if it hadn’t been for the heat.

This was probably the worst possible way you could’ve learned the reason why this DIY recording booth wasn’t used by anyone other than Luna, and even then for less than an hour at a time:

It wasn’t a very well-ventilated room

Neither of you were in any danger of suffocating, hopefully, but with the way it had been built, cool air didn’t last and hot air was invited to linger. A negligible nuisance if Luan had managed some heretic speech in 5-10 minutes, but 90 had gone by, rendering the both of you sweating and delirious

The frustrating part about all this is how she’s close. So close. You can sense it. Maybe it was her growing bile at her inability to do so, or maybe the knack had always been there, but you were on the cusp of a major Pompeii-tier eruption of verbal foulness. There, bubbling beneath her phantom surface. And you needed to find that vein soon, because you can also sense that she’s also on the verge of resenting YOU for how you aren’t as much of a help as she hoped you’d be. Not that this was a picnic for you either. You’d always fantasized about getting Luan sweaty and short of breath while the two of you were alone together, but this was in poor taste

To avoid getting dumped, you hatched an ingenious, if hazy, plan; if Luan couldn’t SAY something crass, maybe she could GESTURE something crass

The Finger. The Finger would save you both from this sweltering hades

From all the sunbeams reflected off of parasols, dissipated mafia bathhouse steam, and re-entry friction shrugged off by space shuttle alloys that seemed to pulse from the solitary, merciless lightbulb that hung overhead. From the descending ceiling of humidity formed from your mutual perspiration layering in the upper rafters

”H…hey, anon. Knock-knock.”

So close. The tilted knuckle, the raised joint ready to snap the rest of the extremity open

”Who’s there?”

One flick, that’s all it will take. Just one and you’ll have broken through. What remains will come naturally, it has to

”Sauna”

Won’t it?

”Sauna, who?”

Flip me off, flip me off, flip me off, you think

”Saunava-“

Nearly there, you tell yourself. Her hand’s merely trembling with excitement. Most definitely not hesitation

”Son of a…”

25 Joules. That’s all that she needed to make this happen

”Son…of…a”

the back of her hand falls to the ground with a splat

”…batch. I’m…I’m sorry. I just-I just can’t”

“It’s okay,” you say, resisting the urge to quit being her beau so you could leave. You wouldn’t even be the bad guy in this situation, you just didn’t want the both of you to boil in your own fluids

Or maybe…maybe you could have her dump you instead

Relationships ending were okay when girls did it, right?

You just need to prompt it. Gently prod her to do so

Maybe by telling her how you really feel. What she makes you feel. The things that come to mind whenever you think of her

Sunflowers swaying the in the Breeze

Almonds dipped in Honey

Bruce Lee Tracksuit Cirque de Soleil

All that horribly sincere romantic garbage that kept trying to spill out of your head, threatening to dissolve the wry foundations of irony that your relationship was built on

You need to…need to…

”I gotta take my shirt off,” you declare

”Yeah? L-let me buy you a drink first at least,” she smirks. “Unless you have change for a 20.”

There might be hope for her yet

”Luan, behave yourself. It’s just a little hot in here and I need to cool off somehow. Although, it might just be me”

”It’s not just you,” she says in a tone far more blunt and flat than her usual

”So is that an okay?”

”As long as you don’t mind me doing the same,” she replies. There’s no playfulness. No hint of embarrassment or reluctance. She’s going to do it whether you mind or not

Why not? You think. You’ve all ready seen her in a (one-piece) swimsuit and there was that one time her blouse got wet when you paid that homeschooled kid to throw a water balloon at her during your April Fools’ Date. Besides, you are way too tired to do anything but nod approvingly

You take off your shirt first and it’s just a lackluster coincidence that you do so just in time to see her remove her top. It’s quick, to the point, almost mechanical, and seeing her glistening and letting out a breathy sigh isn’t doing anything for you. Then she tucks her arms behind her and her bra starts to fidget. Newfound urgency snaps open your eyes and gets that mouth of yours moving

”Whoah, Luan. What’s, uh, what’s going on over there?”

”My girls are drowning in this thing so I need to get them some air”

”Do you think that’s really…appropriate?”

”Why wouldn’t it be? You’re bare-chested right now, aren’t you? What? You don’t want to see me topless?”

”Of course not. I like both halves of you.”

She doesn’t laugh. “Dang it. My finger slipped. Almost got it.”

”It’s just. It might be in bad taste…”

”Don’t worry about it. Just be quiet for a second so I can concentrate.”

”…considering where we are.”

”It’ll be fine. Please. All I need is a moment to-.”

”What if Lincoln or one of your sisters somehow gets in here while we’re both exposed? What do we do then? What do we say?”

”I DON’T FUCKING CARE!”

You’re so blown away that your sweaty fluid-laden back nearly collides with Luna’s precious fuzzy walls

”Luan…”

”Oh my gosh. I am so sorry for yelling at you like that,” she cries, hands clasping over her mouth in hasty apology.

”No. Don’t you see? You did it! You swore!”

”I did? Um, ffffffffuck. Fuck. Oh my god, I said it! And I said GOD!”

”Do more! Swear at me more! Just really lay into me!”

”Crap! Ass! Damn! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! It worked! It actually worked! I can cuss now! I’m cussing!”

”You’re flipping me off!”

”I am! This is a thing my hands can do now! HAHAHAHA!”

Never has anyone ever been happier to see a pair of raised middle digits.

You really ought to leave, put your shirts back on, towel off, and leave this cushy oven behind

But you guys are on a roll

After the novelty of saying curse words wore off, you and Luan begin coming up with brand new ways to talk dirty to one another

”So with no one else willing to break the tension and me being a belligerent 12 year-old piece of shit, I decided to save our family Thanksgiving dinner by asking my previously girl-crazy uncle Trey and his new husband Abel, ‘Which one of you is the Turkey and which one of you is the Baster?’ The soap was delicious by the way.”

”Hey there, Pilgrim. I fished my girls out of the dunk tank, but I think they’re in desperate need of some CPR. How about a little ‘mouth-to-mound’?

And while combined, you forget more filthy japes than most kids your age will ever think up in a lifetime, it’s the quite possibly the most thrilling your relationship has ever been since that time she played footsie with you during Lucy’s birthday, and that’s not just because she was using a fallen prosthetic leg and fake blood to pull yours

Bit by bit, your clothes are shed to keep your bodies cool and the flow free until you’re both down to your lower undergarments. Bare Sweaty Back-to-Bare Sweaty Back to create more legroom

You’d blush, but that energy, in your mind, is better spent laughing at tastless jokes

”How, hrm,” Luan begins. “How do Canadian demons fly?”

Uncut, Unabridged, Unrepentant, not fit for Outside Consumption Japes. “They go Maple SyrUP?”

”Nah, but that’s a good guess,” she dreamily assures. “With Hell-eh?-Copters.”

Racial and religious humor tied together with an atrocious pun. Nice.

”Powered by Pagan Poutines,” you add

”Gravy that could work. That might grab ‘em if the first part doesn’t.”

”Mmm…so, can we use your shower now?”

Her soggy ponytail slaps the back of your head as she shakes hers. “Nooooo. It’s too risky. Let’s use the one at your house.”

”It’s ten blocks away, Luan.”

”And my house is lousy with ten siblings.”

”What do I tell my parents if we run into them?”

”The truth? That you were helping your girlfriend?”

”They’ll never believe it.”

”Fine, if your folks are home, we’ll just say we were so busy working on new material that we didn’t look where we were going and…fell into a swimming pool.”

”That might fly,” you mutter. “Maybe…maybe we can do that, but after we use your garden hose to get the scent of human salt off of us. The smell might give them ideas.”

”Right…” she sniffs. “I think…it’s giving me some ideas right now.”

”Luan?”

”Before we get out of here. Wanna…y’know…make out a little?”

”In your sister’s stupid soundproof recording booth? Half-naked? As we’re in danger of passing out from heat stroke and dying from dehydration?”

”Yes?”

”…’kay.”

You twist around to face on another and find yourself looking slightly down at Luan, having somehow slid yourself atop her lap. Eyes cloudy, but brimming with a carnal focus. Her grin, while lopsided, is no less predatory. Her head’s got other stuff too. Like a cute little nose, adorably pinchable cheeks, and a lush hairline that sometimes made you feel self-conscious, but you are hardly in a state to moon over those right now

”Hey.”

”Hi.”

Your mouths collide sans the violence associated with the action. This is not the meeting of two high-speed vehicles or a pair of unfortunate locomotives, but a dizzying mesh of an encounter; your bodies splash against each other; your toes dig into the floor so as not to overwhelm Luan with your weight whereupon she would no doubt burst if her precious moistened form were to so much as graze the ground with the bare minimum of force

At first, her mouth is as dry as yours, your tongues scramble clumsily against everything in reach for some form of moisture, competing jealously in a dental judo arena to flip their counterparts over to get at the presumable juicy underside. Sweat slips in through the dry cracks of your joined lips, wetting the toothy atrium bridging your beings. The salty fluid slickens your efforts, even as it begins to ravage your bodies of true hydration

Rather than crippling your ministrations, the ensuing delirium invigorates your embrace. You feel detached from heat and light and confinement. Your five senses honed in on their immediate perception; elevating the mundane into sheer delight. The scent of her that you can get as you try to operate on the barest minimum of oxygen. The chestnut wilderness of her hair between your fingers that you always long to explore, damp or no. The hazy glimpses of her amorous reciprocation through half-lidded eyes. The perverse smacks and slurred moans muffled by your own. Even the metallic taste of her braces as your tongue runs over them is intoxicating, its lubricated state exempting it from the usual dangers

Your hands don’t so much roam across Luan’s body as they swim, attempting to find greater depths of connection in the shallows of her flesh. Her bottom, turned so tender by your shared ordeal, simply yields to your touch as you tease the outskirts of her panties

Her pert nipples rub against your chest, euphoric, but more of an obstacle now than the perverse prize you once coveted; in the way of the absurd impossible desire of your mind and heart to get closer, ever closer to her. Honestly, how much closer to Luan could you get? Aside from that one other way, but the angle was all wrong. Whatever. That might just break this phenomenal rhythm

Who knows what kind of mental or spiritual orgasm the two of you might have achieved? What soulful melding might have occurred if you could’ve been afforded another minute of this intense exchange? But inevitably, you break from each other to breathe, oxygen still essential no matter how much of a star child either of you felt on the cusp of becoming. A subdued smile graces Luan’s features, a rapturous departure from her usual histrionic expressions, but you can’t help but feel a degree of ennui that at this conclusion

That, and you had a faint, unwelcome sense that you’d been intruded upon

”Luan…is that…I feel…is that your finger up my ass?”

”I hope not. Let me check.”

”How are you going to-yaaagh!” you yelp as you feel all the nerves around your tailbone tug in a very specific direction. “Yup. It’s there. Way up the chute.”

”Sorry, sorry, sorry! I guess I got a little too frisky while I was down there and with you being so sweaty and all it kind of just…slipped past,” you feel the other digits of the offending hand drum across your nethers. “I think it might be my ring finger”

”Well…that’s just…appropriate, isn’t it?”

”You might say that it’s a FITTING situation. Heh.” She giggles. “Um, does it hurt?”

”I’m not in pain, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just odd, y’know?”

”Beats me. I’ve never had anyone inside of me. What’s that like by the way? Luan asked academically to her recently deflowered beau.”

”I wouldn’t say you’re inside of me. That would be, that is, you’re more like at the entrance or tollbooth. You haven’t necessarily deflowerAAHAHAUGH! Quit it!”

”You’re the one that said it didn’t hurt.”

”That doesn’t mean I want you to play Captain Hook with my lower cavity!”

”Oh, pipe down, Tinkerbell.”

”Tinkerbell? Why can’t I be Peter PaaaARMMMFFFF?!”

”Rule of 3.”

”Screw you.”

”Maybe later, but for now, wanna make out again?”

”Can we do that without fainting?”

”I hope so. It’ll be a nice distraction for you while I pull out.”

”…all right, I think might have a little gas left in the tank.”

”Try not to get any of it on me.”

”I’ll do my best,” you let your forehead touch hers. “Can I say something first? It’s really important.”

Your husky imploring tone catches her off guard. “Shoot.”

You tilt your head; your lips brush against her nose then start peppering a tasteful affectionate trail of pecks across her jubilant, blushing cheeks

>”Luan Loud…” you whisper into her ear. “Thank you for clipping your fingernails.”

She giggles and lightly bites your neck

That might leave a mark

You kind of hope it does