Princess Imprints (Round 2)

Let’s workshop this creative-writing advertisement for a used-panties webpage!

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Princess Imprints

The Basics

Welcome to Princess Imprints, you curious deviants.

All garments are worn at least twice and then run through a washer cycle before being custom-tailored to your tier (see below). Most orders are girl-next-door cotton (pastel colors)—sometimes thong, rarely lace.

The packaging is flavor-sealed (triple ziplocked) and more discrete than a secret agent.

Oh, the murky adventures that await!

Fine Print

The garment choice is at the discretion of the source (see below). I’m not open to requests at this time. Unless you’re going to mail me the panties yourself. And even that’s an option I’ve grown wary about. My shadow-work poetry already ruffles the feathers of so many triggered lameos—yes, even to extremes of hounding my family and employers, all to report how much of “a problematic piece of scum” I am. I don’t need mail-borne anthrax to complete the package. Bottom line: if you’re looking for some press-play deejay who takes requests, go find a cheaper alternative. We simply do our thing here, dancing to the rhythm of our own brand of quality madness. Capisce?

None of the products are guaranteed STD-free! And by purchasing you agree that I’m not liable for shit, especially not for you passing out and hitting your head after huffing too much funk. In our litigious society, you wouldn’t believe the bullshit people try to pull!

All sales are final. No turning back, folks!

How It Works

First, choose a source. Using nonhuman sources became a fiasco. And the pushback from using teen sources took a great toll on me. All sources are now exclusively humans twenty years old or older!

Second, choose a tier, but only if you choose the Main Source. You get whatever fate bestows upon you if you choose any other source.

Third, choose from any of our delightful extras.

That should be simple, but still people fuck up. Why? It’s like the more I spell it all out, the more opportunity you all have to conjure up whatever interpretation you want. What the fuck!? Why am I getting hold-my-hand emails asking me how it works when I have a section—this one!—that clearly lays the shit out? I’ve kept the paragraphs short and even numbered the bitches. Three fucking steps! And yet here we are. What could be the major malfunction?

Listen. Listen, listen. Any email to me that contains that Gen-Zodiac cudgel of a phrase “Wait, I’m confused” will never receive a response. That shit might fly with your bitch-ass professor who—instead of just saying, “Read the fucking syllabus!”—forever tolerates the full spectrum of entitled disrespect, answering the already-answered questions again and again with that HR-Zoloft affect of whispery patience (as if in circus-elephant fear of being reported to some Dean for having upset “vulnerable populations”). But me? Nah, I don’t play that shit.  

Sources

Main Source ($50).—Funkier than the Queens rap group from the 90s, the current Main Source is a tall and curvaceous, and just utterly delectable, twenty-year-old black girl with a personality as sweet as the honey she is looking to spread. Her base scent is gamey cumin with top notes of blackcurrant, leather, tobacco, and sometimes hints of mushroom (red reishi). This wild child loves to explore the backwoods of her body through eccentric movement, and just recently has taken up Bikram Yoga. Trust me: the jean-walk of this double-XL diva can disrupt entire library floors, students and staff members alike slipping disks to spot the epicenter of swishing. Considering the darkened patches of burn on her opposing inner thighs, just imagine the curing-smoking alchemy that happens to fibers in their vicinity! (Curiosity piqued yet?) As an added bonus, she’s an absolute fiend for curry dishes. She is currently studying Italian and has this to say.

Ciao mi chiamo Liyah e di lavoro faccio l'assistente in ufficio. Da tanti anni mi occupo di vendere le mie mutandine usate. Sono molto professionale nei miei servizi. Mi alleno parecchio. Se volete sentire profumo post workaout sapete dove andrare. Vorrei tanto condividere con voi le mie speciali mutandine, indossate mentre porto i cani al parco, faccio palestra, vado in festa o chissà in quale altra attività sarò coinvolta. Mi piace divertirmi con il mio corpo. Le fragranze che mi piacciono di più da realizzare sono quello con il mio ragazzo. Adoro quella dolce carezza che mie mutandine dare quando sul divano a leggere o sui social o in dolce compagnia di un amico o amica. Adoro sapere che tu da lontano desideri annusare un pezzo di me. Provami in tutti i miei profumi! L'odore può diventare così così intenso che quando cammino per strada la a gente si gira ad annusarmi. Sarò entusiasta ed eccitata di ricevere ordini da voi, protagonisti di questo gioco perverso ed appassionante—miei favolosi porcellini!!!

Me ($50).—You can learn about me from other corners of the web page. Expect the level of imprint to be at the Ceremonial tier. I’m getting less saucy with age, but you never know what I might decide. The unexpected is all part of the fun!

Stranger female ($200).—You get whatever you get: an engorged gorlock or a petite pixie; bushy or waxed, nasty or sweet. Have low expectations and expect shipping delays. Ah, the thrill of the feminine unknowns—the universe keeping you on your toes!

Stranger Male ($250).—You get whatever you get here too, the full range of masculinity: from abscessed carneys with dubious pasts and drug-money needs to professors of medieval literature letting loose in their Trump-finger dance at the hotel bar after a stuffy conference. But seriously, have low expectations and expect shipping delays. Think of how hard it can be to get a guy to wear panties!

Stranger Nonbinary ($400).—Embrace the enigma. Now that gender chaos is all the rage, shipping delays might not be as horrendous as they once were. On the flipside, there’s more of a chance that those who claim to defy gender norms (whether as gender cocktails, gender shapeshifters, genderless, or whatever) are just social-capital-craving wannabes, passing—as black color-line crossers once did in the 1920s—for opportunistic reasons: to get a callback for a job, or to keep their careers secure, or to take advantage of sympathy induced leniency, or to enjoy a larger dating pool, or to avoid riling the censoring and deplatforming sentinels of DEI, or whatnot. But hey, if you really can smell the difference between a fake queer and real queer, stop buying used panties off the web and put that nose to good use! Get certified as a sommelier or a perfume evaluator. Become a hazardous material inspector or a forensic odorologist. Sniff out the diabetes and cancers of friends and family. Do fucking something for the good of humanity!

Star Guest ($500+).—You get whatever you get. The price depends on the star. We’re hoping for big names like Mena Carlisle and Destiny Mira at some point in the future! (As we know from Mena’s own openness on Twitter about her struggles with gonorrhea, keep in mind that all of this—no matter the source—comes with risk. Just because you swipe your credit card doesn’t mean everything is safe and sound, my friends.)

Tiers

Conservative (Add $0).—Kiddy pool level. If you’re tentative about stepping in with the rest of the people in the party pool, the conservative option is best for you. Like all imprint options, the garment is worn at least twice. Remember, though, this ships already washed. (Great option for budget buyers who don’t require much titillation or are just getting their feet wet.)

Ceremonial (Add $10).—Shallow end of the adult pool where a lot of laid back fun is taking place. Before being shipped off, the source runs a quick errand or goes on a walk (or something of that sort) in the washed garment. A bit of scratching and wedgying, the quantity and quality of which is at the discretion of the source, will lock in a hint of the flavor you’ll encounter at the higher tiers. (Ideal option for face-masking and for keeping in a pocket for travel whiffs! Because, why not?)

Nine to Five (Add $20).—Welcome to the deep end! The name says it all. The washed garment is worn for the complete workday for a robust imprint. Expect a Dolly Parton blend of sweat and ambition as the source navigates the dreaded meetings and the elevator awkwardness of the caffeinated jungle, or swelters in the summer-camp sun of sexual tension fueled by the frenzy of teen-spirit hormones, or just sits there answering phones while stewing like a crockpot of coq au vin back home. (Best bang-for-your olfactory buck. Take on travel if you dare!)

Close Call (Add $30).— Here we’re not just at the deep end, but the deep end with bullies pulling you under! Expect various discharges, including some skids. Recommended for home use only.—NOTE: THIS TIER HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED FOR THE TIME BEING. The Nine to Fives of the Main Source are regularly too close to Close Calls to justify the separate tier. There is no guarantee, though, that they will always be close.—(Mr. T. Voice) Hey, boy. Hey, boy. If ya over there worried Nine to Five too weak, get yoself some  Clubber LAAANNGS!

Clubber Lang (formerly: Nerd) (Add $40).—Strap on the scuba gear! The pool party has been left behind and now our nerdy selves are taking things to the alienating extreme of night swimming at sea. I pity the fool who enters these waters. Let’s just say that at this level all shame is dropped, no more worry about an accident than the toddler turning red and grunting while holding on to the side of the sofa and staring at you. (Do not take these outside of the home. Have some decency!)

Hand Me Down (price of one of the above tiers plus $30).—Our newest option has the potential to be more depraved than the Clubber Lang. The idea is as simple as it is clever. Pick one of the above tiers and the product will come not from us, but from another customer! Say, for instance, customer A bought the Clubber Lang. If you purchase the Hand Me Down version of the Clubber Lang, customer A will ship them to you after he is done. If these garments could talk, huh? (For his efforts, customer A gets a $50 store credit toward future olfactory escapades!)

Extras

Massager Buzz (Add $5).—Zaps from the Magic Wand perhaps after some rips from the bong. (Main Source only, climax not guaranteed.)

Hair (Add $5).—A tactile keepsake to weave into your fantasy. (Me or Main Source only.)

Tears (Add $5).—The essence of vulnerability captured in salty pearls of emotion. (Me or Main Source only.)

Spit (Add $5).—Animal disinfectant, sign of disrespect, cheap lubrication, a mother’s makeshift wet wipe—think of it as you wish. (Specify the source as well as whether you want something more like a morning loogie.)

Spunk Blast (Add $10).—Our most popular choice, so don’t ruin it by letting me find out about some Mini-Me walking around. (Me only.)

Menstrual Blood (Add $15).—The essence of life and love, iron and passion in one. (Main Source only. Expect delayed shipping.)

Yeast (Add $15).—Lactic acid bacteria included in the swab, the elements of vagina beer. (Main Source only. Seasonal, so expect delayed shipping.)

Personalized Note (Add $5).—A poetic whisper or a humorous jibe, even the verbal equivalent of a high-heel stomp to the groin. (Me or Main Source only.)

Foot Chakra Polaroid (Add $10).—Arches like bridges to enlightenment, frozen in time; a glimpse into the secrets of balance and stability. (Me or Main Source only.)

Heart Chakra Polaroid (Add $15).—Epicenter of compassion and connection; a visual ode to the milky wonders of bonding. (Me or Main Source only.)

Root Chakra Polaroid (Add $20).—Visual gateway to the foundation of primal energy. (Me or Main Source only.)

HIIT Shot (Add $10).—Sweat, adrenaline, and the sweet taste of accomplishment after a round of burpees. (Me or Main Source only.)

Traditional Stuffing (Add $10).—Savor each morsel, for within lies the essence of home and hearth. (Main Source only. Note: this is the same move for the yeast extra.)

Backdoor Stuffing (Add $20).—Curry all day every day, often yogurt-based. (Main Source only.)

Thwamp (Add $5).—Don’t ask. All I’ll say is that I wanted to call it “Abu Ghraib.”

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This piece is unpublished