It happened on a slow, hot afternoon while Mary Lou was “helping” you pick out an outfit from her closet.

You stood there, halfway dressed, trying to button a shirt when she suddenly turned to face the wall of clothes.

Then she dropped to her knees.

And started twerking.

Full kneeling, slow-motion bounce. Hips rolling. That thicc rear jiggling like it was professionally sponsored.

You blinked. “...Mary Lou?”

She looked over her shoulder—tongue out, eyes lidded, face full lewd. “I learned this from a girl on TikTok. She called it ‘country thunder thighs deluxe.’”

You backed into the wall like a man under spiritual assault.

She rose up, never breaking motion. Bent forward slightly. Still twerking. The jiggle intensified. You weren’t even sure where to look.

She smirked. “You gonna say somethin’, sugar? Or you just gonna watch me bounce till your soul leaves your body?”

You stepped forward—whether by choice or gravitational pull, unknown. Then—

The closet door BURST open.

“Mary Lou, have you seen—”

Her mama.

Stood. In the doorway.

Saw. Everything.

Mary Lou froze mid-twerk, eyes wide, tongue still halfway out.

Her brain short-circuited.

“I—uh—WAS DOIN’—CLOSET CARDIO. VERY—PRIVATE. VERY NECESSARY.”

Her mama stared in silence.

You? Still standing there. Red-faced. Probably dehydrated from blood loss.