Slumber-Party Games

The first one is unoriginal.

He leaves his pants half on.

He looks around the room to see who else is watching.

How unsexy.

Waffle shirts and flannel bottoms.

Secretly stashing our stuffed animals

And our special bankies from each other.

The second one seems a little nervous,

the kind of guy who gets pushed forward by the others

while getting his hair tossed.

I smirk and pull him toward me.

I femme fatale “Come here,”

while I look around the room to see who else is watching.

Sleepy hands in warm water.

Cupless bras frozen in jars.

I have seen the third one looking at me.

I think he adores me.

Oh, yeah, for sure he does.

I can tell by how his cheek and his open lips smash against my temple.

Laughing out loud at the scary movie.

I don’t know why.

The scary parts are just funny.

The fourth one,

that naughty boy,

rubs my ass before giving it a hard slap.

The rest of them laugh.

A couple decide it is a good idea to keep that going

until he pulls out for a money shot.

Cute boy, he watches too much porn.

Sweet little slaps.

They must know that I like it that way.

Sterilize the needle before you pierce the ear.

The fifth and sixth boys are at the same time.

I guess the BFFs do everything together.

When they are all finished, I smirk and call after them:

“Why don’t you just do each other?”

That’s when I got punched.

I’m not sure by which one.

I feel the blood spurting from my mouth.

“Yum,” I say

And I spit out a slimy wad of red.

“Who’s next?”

Slightly ripe armpits that I hope nobody else can smell.

Disks forming behind my button nipples:

What is that, anyway?

The seventh one grabs onto my hair

As he plays to the crowd. “Eat that fat chick.”

I did in that moment realize

That the way I was kneeling in front of him was probably giving me belly rolls,

So I arched my back a little deeper to smooth out my stomach.

I am a woman from another time.

Botticelli, Marilyn, Betty Page.

Oreo banquet followed by one hundred synchronized sit-ups.

What do you get when you pinch your inner thigh?

The eighth one wanted me from behind,

But only because I wanted it that way.

Shut up. Shut up. I so do not like him.

The ninth one walked away from the door,

Telling the others to stand guard and watch for my friends.

They needn’t worry, I thought to myself.

I am not the kind of girl you check in on.

Of that, my friends are sure.

Will we be best friends forever?

I am just hard to tame, I think to myself

As the tenth one does it between my tits.

I am not a woman who can be controlled.

This cute little monkey boy is awkward as he tries to squeeze them together

While at the same time dipping himself up and down like a dumbwaiter.

“Need a hand, sweetie?”

I hold myself in place for Curious George to do his business.

I watch him as he loses control of himself.

That grown man was so looking at us.

Ew. Gross.

That is the effect I have on all of them.

They lose control around me.

They all must be in love with me.

Spilling the beans about the older C.I.T.

Who secretly copped a feel around the campfire.

Throw a pillow at you if you tell!

Ow. I feel a sizzle as a cigarette falls from my arm.

I look to the boy that flicked it at me.

I smirk.

“Thanks for the smoke, sailor; how about I take you next?”

Giggling at the hairy pizza man,

Who is breathlessly looking for ways to blow our house in.

I am an anomaly to my little groupies.

They wonder what I am thinking.

What makes me tick.

They have never been with anyone like me before.

I know this, because I sometimes wait and listen

At doors of rooms I have just left.

Blood-y Mary. Blood-y Mary. Blood-y Mary.

The twelfth one pushes me down on my back,

Pins my hands up over my head and gets real close to my face.

He dives in like a bear.

He is going to kiss me.

He looks deeply into my eyes and strokes my face.

Just like the magic eight ball confirmed my future husband would.

“I wouldn’t fucking touch you, you slut. Too many there before me.”

He stands up over my head and has his way with himself,

Right there over my face.

I stare up from underneath while he is growing and growing.

I have an effect on him.

I have an effect on him.

I wait for him to lose control.

I watch and wait and wait for my body to lift off the ground.

I am light as a feather.

Light as a feather.

Stiff as a board.

Stiff as a board.

 

Pick a color, R-E-D.

Then a number, 1-2-3.

My fortune is:

Get to them before they get to me.

~ Megan Dobkin

Megan Dobkin spent fifteen years as a film and television producer, working with writers on such films as Girl,Interrupted; The Recruit; Walk The Line; The Vow; and the two middle films of the Scream franchise. Now she stares at her own damn blinking cursor. Her writing has appeared/is forthcoming in The McNeese Review, Word Riot, Crack The Spine, The Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles, Literary Orphans, The Bicycle Review, Apeiron Review, Story Shack and Chrome Baby. She just finished her first novel. When she is not writing, she is fielding tough Star Wars questions from the two criminals who live in the backseat of her car. She graduated with degrees in English and Cultural Anthropology from Kenyon College.

Featured Artwork: “Right Here in My Arms” by Amra Khan.