Under the twinkling stone-age stars, Fred and Wilma Flintstone park their foot-powered car at the drive-in, eager for more than just a movie. Wilma, her ample assets straining against her prehistoric dress, leans over to Fred, her tongue tracing his ear as she whispers, "Let's skip the film, honey." Fred, his club tenting his loincloth, agrees. Their passionate making out escalates, Wilma's large, firm breasts heaving as Fred's hands roam, their grunts of pleasure echoing around the stone screens.