PINKY’S SLUMBER PARTY

(from EVERYTHING I LEARNED ABOUT SEX BEFORE I TOUCHED A WOMAN)

Donny Pinkberg was a squat, red, furious kid in my grade seven class who loved the Dallas Cowboys. When he got angry, his fat face would go from its normal bright tomato to deep crimson, his ears flushing too. He lived in a small house with his angry, round mother while his father lived across town in a mansion with his new family. Sometimes Pinky’s dad would pick him up from school in a Jaguar convertible and the next day Pinky would brag about the wonderful technological marvels displayed at his father’s house.

“He’s got a rear-projection TV and a Laser Disc player,” Pinky said in his nagging, nasal voice.

“So what?”

His colour deepened and he spat.

“Listen,” he said. “Come over on Saturday. My mom’s going out with Bill.”

We had all heard about Bill—his Mom’s semi live-in boyfriend, legendary not for any fatherly heroics, but for giving Pinky his old porno mags; that is, after making him swear an oath not to tell his mother.

“Where are they going?”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“Fuck you Pinky.”

“Fuck you Otis. Listen. Fuck. They might spend the night at Bill’s place so I’m going to have a sleepover and I got some fucking good movies.”

“Yeah?”

“I never told you before, because I didn’t know if you were cool. I’ve had a few movie nights. Bill gave me some videos.”

“What kind of videos?”

“Hard core porn. Mostly lesbian.”

“Jesus,” I said, wide-eyed. I’d never seen a porno before.

“So, are you going to come over?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I have to ask my parents, but I’ll come.”

Pinky’s grumpy, fat, beast of an older sister answered the door, scowled, and turned around.

“Donny!” she screamed into the house. “Another of your loser friends.”

I came in, closed the door and took off my backpack and shoes as she watched me, arms folded across her budding breasts.

“Don’t break anything,” she said and then trudged off to the kitchen.

Pinky came hobbling up the basement stairs, a little out of breath, and I followed him down to where Skittles, Kraft and Will were playing Donkey Kong: a giant barrel throwing ape swinging through the trees. The small dark room had three couches arranged around a TV—the middle one pulled out into a bed. The floor was half-covered with action figures that Pinky was a little too old to be playing with and the walls were lined with shelves filled with VHS tapes and picture frames. I said hello to everyone, then looked at the photos, finding one of Pinky’s mom on a beach—sunburnt flesh spilling out of a tiny yellow bikini.

“Hey guys,” I said picking it up. “Check this out.”

They all laughed.

“Do you think she’s been in Playboy?”

“Do you think she’s made a porno with Bill?” Will asked.

Nearing purple, Pinky punched Will hard in the arm and grabbed the photo.

“What the fuck Pinky?” I said, “You can’t invite people over to punch them.”

Will sniveled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“It’s my house and I do what I want.”

“It’s your house and you eat what you want,” Kraft said. We all laughed.

Twitching, Pinky stormed out of the room with the photo. He wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone bigger than him and Kraft was one of the biggest kids in our grade.

We went back to the Super Nintendo, letting Will play first to stop him from crying.

Pinky came back downstairs grinning. In his hands he had a VHS tape, a towel, and a jar of Vaseline. He dropped the towel and the tape on a couch and held up the jar.

“This,” he said, “Will be in the bathroom.”

Skittles started laughing, and Will, smiling now, turned off the game console and we all sat on the couches. Pinky went to the bathroom and then came back without a shirt on.

“Nice tits,” Skittles said.

Pinky flushed, his flabby hairless body reddening too.

“Do you want to watch or not?”

“Fuck you Pinky,” Skittles said.

“Fuck you Skittles. I can’t feel good with a shirt on.”

“What movie is it?” I asked.

“Spice Up Your Wife 2.”

Pinky dimmed the lights, popped in the tape, picked up the remote, and wedged himself between Skittles and me so that he would have the best front-on view. Pinky’s flesh was hot and damp against my shoulder.

“Hey Kraft,” Pinky said, “Toss me that towel.”

Kraft threw it over and Pinky spread it across his lap.

The black flickering on the television came into focus and a tanned blonde with big teased hair and fake plastic breasts was on the screen with a behemoth of a translucent dildo wedged into herself. Pinky hit pause.

“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot to rewind.”

The movie covered everything: masturbation, toys, and sex—both lesbian and heterosexual, with a big group climax.

Pinky worked at himself under his towel while the other boys drooled, laughed, and gave florid juvenile commentary.

“Holy crap,” Will said at one point, “How can you fit a fist in an asshole?”

“Special effects?”

“Naa,” Pinky said panting, “Practice.”

When Kraft came back I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I felt dirty, sleazy, and I wanted to go home. I thought I was supposed to feel aroused but I wasn’t. Was something wrong with me?

When the movie finished Pinky said that it was time to sleep. I picked a spot on the pullout and stared at the ceiling all night while Pinky’s disgusting sweaty mass snored next to me. At first light, I woke Pinky up and told him that I had to go, then walked home where I found my mother drinking tea in the kitchen. It was a little past eight and it was strange to see her out of bed before eleven.

“Daniel!” she said as I came in the door. “Aren’t you a little early?”

“You’re up early too.”

“What’s wrong? How was Donny’s slumber party?”

“It sucked.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said, evasively, “I couldn’t sleep. My bed at home is better.”

The answer satisfied her—she had just spent a small fortune re-furnishing every room in the house.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 by Daniel Shawn Otis