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After Daren asked me out that Monday, the rest of the week zipped right by. I could barely remember what happened during class, what my homework, or even who won Friday's football game. That's how distracted I was thinking about my upcoming date with that sexy, beefy Rottie *drools internally*.

Before I knew it, time had marched on and Saturday had engulfed the world in all its weekend glory. After who knew how I long I spent daydreaming of Daren's muscles in a near comatose state, I was now eagerly getting ready in my meticulously curated room (no detectable weeb shit in here henny, only football paraphernalia allowed), because this boi had a date to get ready for.

That's right! I had a date! I had a date! I had a date! I had a date! I had a daaaaaaate!

...What the hell was I going to wear?

...OH FUCK WHAT TIME WAS IT?

My neck made cartoon creaking noises as I rotated it toward my dreaded alarm clock. My gesture was immediately followed up by a stinging wet temporal bitch slap straight to my mind:

6:15 P.M.

Holy poor time management skills Batman, I needed to hurry!

All that wasted time I spent in my room standing around in my boxers drooling over Daren and I hadn't even decided what to wear, what was wrong with me?! Daren said he wasn't going to dress up, so I didn't need to wear anything too fancy, right? But then again, he did say he didn't have anything nice, so maybe he just couldn't but still expected me to...? AGH, I was being so indecisive that someone could offer me a million dollars or shit on a platter and I'd hesitate on which to pick!

Just let your sister dress you up! That'll save time! huehuehuehuehue

Shut up Rob's Mind; you're not helping.

While I was vigorously searching my wardrobe for the right shirt to wear, my phone began ringing from underneath an emerging pile of rejected clothes haphazardly thrown together. The individualized ringtone was one of the many quirky songs that I selected as a hilarious inside joke to myself.

Tease me, please me, no one needs to know, oh no~

Tease me, please me, before I have to go.

That was my ringtone for when Scott called me. As you might have gathered, I chose the song because he had penchant of teasing my gay little self, THE FUCKING GAY-CULTURE APPROPRIATED BRO BITCH. Not like I was bitter about him being straight or anything.

But the strange thing was that Scott usually spent his Saturday nights with Katie Cockbane (yes, I always call her by her full name) when he didn't have anything else planned, meaning it was a little unusual to get a call from him at this time of day. I dug my phone up from under the pile and answered it, trying my best to multitask with my dressing dilemma. "Heya Scott, what's up?"

Scott's voice was as energetic and peppy as always. "Hey, Robby! Still good to see the F8 of the Ferocious at 7? I'm so excited. I've totally seen it before so I can guarantee you it totally slaps. It's one of my f-8-vorite movies in the Fast and Furious franchise, haha."

...What? I didn't remember anything about seeing a movie today with Scott.

"The F8 of the Furious?... Uh... Wait, isn't that the movie where Vin Petrol and Dwayne 'The Boulder' Jonson accidentally swapped characters and nobody could tell because they look and act nearly identically?"

"What? No, that didn't happen in F8."

"Really? I could have sworn I saw an article on that."

"Yeah no, you're thinking of the sixth movie. Anyway, can you still make it?"

I audibly sucked in air through my teeth, "Uh, sorry dude, I got other plans. Next time for sure."

"Duuuuude, you said you could goooo," Scott replied in a joking vocal fry, an smidgen of disappointment surfacing.

"I did?" I asked back, genuinely not remembering.

"Yeah, like 15 times! You totally said you could go. Plus, I'm always planning shit on Saturday nights: it's when my parents have marriage counselling sessions and they always fight afterwards."

"Really? I don't remember you inviting me..." I muttered as I tried my best to flashback to see if I had heard anything about this alleged invitation...

*Tuesday by my locker*

"Yo Robby, you want to see the F8 of the Ferocious with me on Saturday?" Scott asked me after jostling my shoulders back and forth. After his words didn't reach upstairs, he upgraded the gesture to dry humping. "Robby! Earth to Robby! I'm going to knock you up and you'll be a teen mother if you don't respond! F8. Saturday. You free?"

"Mmhm..." I mindlessly mumbled back, seductive mental images of beefy Rottweiler biceps clouding my every thought...

*Wednesday at lunch*

"Everyone still good to see "The F8 of the Ferocious" on Saturday?" Scott asked our everyone at our lunch table as I daydreamed longingly into the distance. Oh Daren my Daren... How I doth longith... for thee_..._

"mhm..." I automatically responded along with the others, relishing the prospect of getting to touch those grope-able gluteus maximuses... maximi? Whatever. His butt.

"Can I eat your lunch?" Marty suddenly asked me.

"Mhm..."

"Oh boy, thanks Rob!" the Bully responded giddily before proceeding to devour my poor school-bought assortment of reheated bio-fuel.

*Friday in the lockers after the big football game*

"Rob, this is your intervention. We're concerned because you seem like you've been on autopilot and have been saying nothing but 'mhm' for the past few days. We're really starting to worry about you. Did somebody... touch you in a bad place? Maybe your... private parts?" some anon in the football team said, probably Jayce, he's a worrywart like that.

"Mhm..." I droned back, blissfully unaware of the circle of concerned jocks around me with their feelings and concerns prewritten on little notecards.

"Yeah and also don't forget our plans this weekend! We're seeing the F8 of the ferocious at 7 sharp! You can still go right?" Scott futilely reminded me at some point between the third and fourteenth 'your mhming has affected me in the following ways' speech.

"Mhm..." I once again responded unwittingly, decadently indulging in thoughts of thick, juicy bountifully plump Rottweiler pectoralis majors...

*Literally fucking 15 minutes ago*

*bzt bzt* my phone vibrated from a text message, only briefly breaking me from my reverie of Rottweiler themed sexy thoughts.

It was from Scott, and probably read something like 'F8 of the Ferocious. Still good to go?', but I didn't read it since I was too distracted by being in Daren-induced horni jail, so I just responded with a random string of iPhone autofill word suggestions:

Okay party time I'm scoring a touchdown in Gucci sweatpants it totally slaps boots

And then, I returned to my drool-inducing mental visualization of those gorgeous Rottweiler flexor digitorum superficializes...

"...Hm, nope. I don't remember hearing anything about seeing the F8 of the Furious tonight. I've got a weird sudden urge to punch Marty though..." I mused as I made my way back to my closet. Maybe that blue polo shirt? Or was it too stripey?

"Oh, okay. Must have been my mistake then!" Scott laughed. "Look at you Robby, making plans and shit. You know you're not allowed to have plans!" the polar bear snorted jokingly.

I chuckled. "First time for everything right?" I said as I finally found my favorite pair of light-blue jeans, "Look, I'm actually in a bit of a rush here, so I'll talk to you later."

"Psh, you're no fun. Alright, See you l8r, Robby," he said as I cut the call and tossed my phone back on my bed. Good thing he didn't ask me about why I was busy; I sucked at lying unless it involves turning everything under the sun into a joke to deflect the question.

I eventually solved my self-imposed fashion crisis by settling on wearing my favorite pair of jeans with a red button-up shirt and a white tie, although I decided not to tuck the shirt in and to leave the top button undone so I didn't look too formal. I also put on my varsity football letterman jacket for purely practical reasons, of course. Oh, wouldn't hurt to bring my brilliant glasses and moustache disguise either!

Now the only problem left was to grab the keys to Mom's painfully mom-like van and sneak out of the house without my parents noticing... Well don't get me wrong, I did had permission to use the car and my parents were totally open-minded about me being gay and all, but they had the tendency to be a little bit... overbearing at times. So I just didn't feel the need to have to explain to them that I had a date and all.

I made my way out of my room and down the staircase, stepping as close to the wall to avoid making any creeks, silent... like a ninja. I slowly made my way across the foyer and then pressed my back up against the bend that led to the living room, and listened in.

Paranoid Eavesdropping no jutsu!

Evidently mom and dad were laughing at the TV in the living room, probably to that shitty Bill Mahis show while drinking some pre-dinner libations. I quickly peeked my head over for a split second and confirmed that Mom left the keys on the kitchen isle right near the exit to the garage. Okay, so unless I spontaneously acquired the ability to turn invisible or teleport, they were definitely going to see me pass by. I just had to be as inconspicuous as possible when I made my way to them.

I heard dad start laughing crazily at some joke or the other, so while he was distracted I took the initiative and began to GOGOGO, but like, nonchalantly. All I had to do was not be too loud or make any sudden flashy movement, and I should be golden!

'Twas but a mere two seconds into my 'don't mind me, I'm not doing anything special' walk when and I tripped on my shoelaces and proceeded to faceplant myself on the floor. Loudly.

"Fuck!" I yelped out, before covering my fat mouth and looking over to my parents in panic. Somehow their eyes were still glued to the T.V., my cover apparently not yet blown.

"I love centrist humor!" mom proclaimed, paying no mind to my general direction.

Okay, still safe...

I managed to make it halfway through my stealth voyage to the kitchen island drawer before my phone began buzzing uncontrollably, undoubtedly from a GroupMe conversation that was blowing up.

Was there a silence button for it? Fuck I didn't remember, I just had to go to settings and put my phone in sleep mode. Unfortunately, when I unlocked my phone the first thing up was my Utube app with a video loaded: one of those funny ones where they sentence mix Spongebob into saying ridiculous things. To my horror it started autoplaying. On full blast.

I nearly fumbled my phone as I scrambled to turn off the volume. Unfortunately, my stupid uncoordinated ass allowed for 4 whole seconds of the loudest part of the video to play:

"I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANY FUCKING H&M, YOU BETTER GLITTER THE FUCK OUT OF IT!" Spongebob's sentence-mixed voice resounded throughout the kitchen, backdropped by Patrick's exaggerated yelling in terror. I resigned myself to my doom as I finally set my stupid phone to silent mode, and existentially turned over to my parents to face the music...

Only to realize that they were staring at the T.V. in complete rapture. "That is so true! We should definitely invest in crypto currency and Gamestop stock!" dad declared excitedly, as if his idea were a stroke of genius.

I sighed in silent relief, knowing that my luck certainly would not hold for a third time. I cautiously tiptoed over to the kitchen isle, hell bent on not making any more noise. Alas, my toe stepped on something that responded by ripping out the loudest goddamn honking noise.

My heart sank as my eyes shifted downwards to identify the culprit: A Fother mucking airhorn?!

What the fuck is this even doing here?! Did the author put that there just to fuck with me?! I FEEL VERY ATTACKED RIGHT NOW!

Pushing through the pain of having to check if my cover was blown yet away, I glanced back to my parents WHO SOMEHOW STILL DIDN'T NOTICE ME.

"Oh man, I love all this non-pandemic related news coverage!" dad confusingly announced.

"I know, so glad we're not in a global pandemic right now," mom agreed.

What the hell? Did they seriously still not notice me?! Were they breaking out the DIY moonshine tonight or what? Whatever, I had more important things on my plate: namely getting ready to pounce on 200+ pounds of Rottweiler beef after this like the horny virgin I was.

I shrugged at the stupidity of the situation and just walked normally to the kitchen counter. Then the moment I grabbed the keyring and the tiniest of jingles escaped, I could practically sense dad's ears twitching. "Why you all dressed up, Rob? Got a hot date tonight?" he asked, bristling up the entirety of the hairs on my back. I painfully turned over in horror to see the smuggest grin imaginable on dad's face. It took all my will power to repress the urge to scream all my internal organs out. God fucking dammit, the fucking keys jingling is what gave me away?!

Okay, Rob's Mind, it's make or break, swim or sink, do or die, jazz or cise time right now! I know you and I don't always agree on things, but I really need your help here! We cannot let the breeders know that I'm about to go on a big gay date or they'll never let me hear the end of it!

Query Accepted: Activating Panic Protocol.

Compiling Answer...

Answer found: in a fun madlib format!

I'm not going on a date, I'm just going to an Adjective Noun , where I'll Verb Person , and Verb Preposition Adjective Noun .

No time to question it, let's just hope it works!

I bravely faced Those-That-Spawned-Me with a relaxed expression while secretly feeling like I was sweating away half my bodyweight. "I'm not going on a date, I'm just going to an adjective noun, where I'll verb person and verb preposition adjective noun." I stated confidently. It took a moment before a feeling of dread began pillaging the pit of my stomach.

Oh shit... I was supposed to fill those in with other words, wasn't I?

I could practically hear my parents blink in confusion as they exchanged concerned glanced. Dad finally broke the silence, "I think this is that so called 'gen-z' slang. Harmony, you're hip with the kids, do you know what that means?"

My mom took a moment to think before, EUREKA, she had the answer, "Oh, I know! I think 'adjective noun' means 'doing hard drugs', and 'verb preposition adjective noun' means 'pimp slapping' cheap hookers."

"WHAT?!" my tiger father bellowed in sudden indignation, his wrath directed toward me. "No son of mine is going to do hard drugs and pimp slap cheap hookers! Not while he lives under this roof! I'm so angry and disappointed with you son, that I'm going to chug this entire bottle of DIY moonshine," he proclaimed before doing just that as my mom looked at him utterly aghast, viscous brown liquid dribbling down his white fur.

"Look what you've done Rob. You've turned your father into an alcoholic!" mom cried out in grief.

"What?! How is that my faul-"

"-And look how fat you've made your mother!" dad admonished, gesturing to mom who was a perfectly normal weight.

My mom began sobbing uncontrollably, "Oh, I knew I shouldn't have birthed you under a Capricorn moon, Scorpio ascendant Gemini sun Virgo! Your star chart is leading you astray and it's all my fault!"

Holy shit, somehow this is even worse than if I just told the truth?! "What, no! I wasn't serious! I'm not butt-snorting crack and pimp slapping hookers around: I'm just going on a date! I just didn't want to admit it," I pleaded desperately, fears of disinheritance doing a trollish mix of the hokey pokey and fortnite dancing in my mind.

My moment of sincerity was met by the emerging grins on my parents' muzzles paired with a medley of snickering. That confirmed it, yup, I had just been HAD by my parents.

"Hah, got you to admit it!" mom laughed playfully.

"I totally knew you were going on a date!" dad chimed in with a sideways arm pump to add salt to the wound. Hopefully he drank enough to blackout and forget all of this...

As humiliation tauntingly weighed down my shoulders, mom's expression grew all the more elated. "Joking aside, Oh my spirits and astrological entities that collectively make something akin to a God, my baby's on his first date!" she said gleefully and she ran up to me and started crushing me in her 'iron mom hug of certain doom'.

Objective Failed: restart last save?

If only Rob's Mind, if only...

I began to question if mom was secretly trying to assassinate me with her vice-grip hug. "Mom, you're squeezing me way too tight!" I croaked, the words barely able to slip out of my mouth.

"Oh, sorry about that," she said ruefully as she let go and allowed me to breathe once more. "I didn't mean to snatch your kneecaps there, sweetie."

I nearly doubled over and started gasping for air, but I still managed a snarky 'you're not using that expression right, mom...'. After a moment of recuperation, I was more or less fine, but when I looked up, oh no, Mom had that smile on her muzzle again. Oh poopie.

"Come one Rob, tell me, tell me: are you planning on, maybe... bumping nasties after the date?"

I furrowed my brows. Goddammit more weird slang. I was good with fresh internet lingo, but not this boomer urban dictionary crap! "Mom, I don't know what that means."

She was still giving me that unnerving grin..."You know, are you going to be playing bury the feral weasel tonight?"

I still didn't understand. "Huh?!" was all I could manage to say.

Mom gave me a pretend pouty face. "Oh come on, you know: knocking boots, getting a grease and oil change, feeding the feral kitty, having a Hershey highway snowplow, exploring the map of Tasmania, riding the skin bus to chocolate town?"

"What are you talking about?!" I cried out in exasperation, more than a little confused.

This time she asked her question in very clear terms, "Are you going to be fucking or not?"

"What?! Why would even feel the need to ask me that?!" I all but shouted back, completely dumbfounded at her forward question. It was official: I was being interrogated by the most uncomfortably sexually-motivated Spanish inquisition out there. Someone please slay me with a rake...

Dad got up from the sofa, walking on over to me with a fat smirk plastered on his face. "Why are you even asking Harmony? Of course he is! How could anyone resist such a fine-looking young man! Why, I'd say Rob's almost as good looking as I was when I was his age! In fact, I bet he could make a fortune selling his body by verb adjective something something nouning!"

Did I say a 'little' overbearing? I meant 'What the fuck is you guys' problem?!?!' overbearing.

Dad started talking in his 'I'm the man of the house and I know-it-all' voice and wagged his index finger as if to educate us philistines. "Just remember son: if you're going to be fucking tonight then just make sure that you're not the one on the receiving end. You're a Hamilton, and Hamiltons are always on top! Just like Alexander Hamilton at the end of the Hamilton musical! That totally ended well for him!"

Raptor Jesus take me now and smite my being from existence.

"Daaaad," I whined embarrassed as all hell. "That is so none of your business! Not to mention you haven't even seen Hamilton!"

Mom gave dad an offended glare, not at him not properly knowing how Hamilton ended, but at the other thing. "Edward! Don't be hating on tail-raisers now! Getting caverned out totally slaps yo diggity diggity dawg hashtag hashswag Tokyolo Drift." Did I mention Mom likes to talk like she's 'in the now' when around the younger generation? Incidentally, it only made her sound like a clueless boomer. My apologies if reading that eroded away your grey matter. "Rob has a very nice rearview pillows, and if he wants to get them screwdrived and dicked-down on aisle 7, then that's his choice!" she stated matter-of-factly. "Also who says you have to batter dip the corndog on the first date? It's perfectly fine if all he wants to do is get finger plastered!"

Where was that incredibly convenient blessing of death I humbly asked for, Raptor Jesus? Really starting to crave death's sweet embrace here!

"Moooom!" I groaned, the cringe slowly gripping me in its maleficent embrace. "Please stop with the sex euphemisms! My kneecaps are very distinctly not 'snatched' right now!"

Evidently my desperate plea fell upon deaf ears, because mom just playfully sashayed over to the counter, digging through the contents of her purse. "But on the chance that you do go for some 'fanny lancing' tonight Rob, just make sure you use these," mom said nosily as he handed me an unfamiliar looking package and bottle. I read the labels and immediately regretted it.

...She just handed me a package of condoms and a bottle of lube. NOPE. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, all of my nope. Not on this Christian Minecraft server! What did she even carry that in her purse? Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know. I'm just going to mentally compartmentalize this in the 'don't fux with this' file.

I felt sick, and quite clearly lacking the energy to protest, I decided that it was time to hit the emergency exit on this conversation. "Thanks mom, I guess... My cup runnith over," I mumbled lifelessly as I began painfully waddling over to the garage, utterly defeated and humiliated.

"Bye son! Make me proud!" dad said with a grin and a thumbs up, before pantomiming an anal fisting at me.

Mom started waving goodbye energetically. "Yeah, and I want to hear all the dirty details when you get back! No slut shaming in this house," I heard her declare as I entered the garage, wasting no time taking off and absconding the fuck out of there.

...That wasn't just cringe. I knew cringe. No, that... was a bloodbath. And now you all know why I can't have nice things, and why I'm more guarded than a sentient wall of spikes.

My brain was so severely rotted from my conversation with my parents that it wasn't until I backed the car out of the garage and started driving that I realized I actually took the condoms and the lube with me. I stared at them with feigned disinterest.

Meh, I should have just refused them. I wasn't going to need them. It wasn't like I was a horny person or anything, right? Of course not, I was like, so grounded and totally not thirsty like a complete virgin this whole chapter! This date was going to be chill and low-key; it wasn't like I was even looking forward to it THAT much.

Or so I told myself for two and a half seconds.

My eyes suspiciously darted back and forth, making sure the coast was clear before I deviously stored the objects in the elbow rest compartment.

"Muhahahahaha."