Slumber Party

“Your aunt sure has big boobies, Grog.” Goober whispered. Through the keyhole he watched Grogs aunt drag a disposable razor around her areola. “Golly, she’s shaving them.”

“Yeah, but just the nipples and her pits.” Grog panted. “Her bush is as big as a honey badger. You could raise game birds in it.”

“Let me look, it’s my turn.” Coach whined. Grog and Goober had hogged the keyhole, ever since she had gone into the bathroom. Why did Goober even get invited to Grog’s sleep over? He smelled like pee.

“Shut up Coach, you give Aunt Edna the creeps, she feel you staring.” Grog snapped over his shoulder. “You’ll get us pinched. Besides, I already told you, this is a boner free slumber party.” Coach had been his BFF for years and he knew exactly what would happen if he was to see Aunt Edna naked. Coach would get a boner. It’s for that reason he had designated his birthday to be boner free. Once Coach got a chubby going, it lasted for hours. Coach wouldn’t try to hide it either; he would walk around with the front of his pants poked out like the top of a circus tent. He had a dick like a farm animal. It had been Grog’s experience, that retards always had big ones.

“What about Flea, doesn’t he get a peek?” Coach nodded toward Flea, hopeful he would side with him. He needed an ally. “You want a peek, don’t you Flea?”

“Nah, I’m going to wait until Grog writes about it. I like to live vicariously through the written word.”

“I never get a turn.” Coach pouted.

“You’re not going to stop are you?” Grog hissed. “Move over Goober, let the baby have a peek.”

Coach’s face brightened instantly, he was going to be included. As he switched places with Goober, Grog hissed into his ear.

“I’m warning you, no boners, this is a boner free sleep over. If you get an erection, you’re calling your mom to come and get you.”

Coach giggled, Grog said erection, he liked it when Grog used big shiny words. One time he had heard Grog replace the doggie in doggie-style with the word canine, turning doggie-style into canine-style. It was one of the cleverest things Coach had ever heard. It was clever because, there was so much truth to it. Cats did do it like dogs.

Coach pressed his face to the door and squinted through the keyhole. It was pitch black inside the bathroom. Had she turned off the light? “I can’t see anything.” He whispered.

“You closed the wrong eye.” Grog grabbed Coach’s ears and carefully lined up his other eye with the hole.

“I can see now, she turned the light back on.”

Though the view was restricted, Coach scanned what he could of the room. Suddenly they came into sight. First one and then the other, they were magnificent. Boobies! They hung from her chest like silky saddle bags. These weren’t the first boobs he had ever laid eyes on, but they were the first ones that weren’t attached to his mom. Big Boobies! These weren’t shaped like wine bottles, they were round and full. Strangely, the nipples were on the front, instead of on the bottom at the end.

Coach stared unblinking until his eye began to burn. Not yet ready to give up his turn, he switched eyes, but as soon as he did, the bathroom went dark again. Frustrated, he leaned forward, the doorknob rested snuggly in the dent in his head. “It’s over mofos, she turned off the light again.”

“You deviates have had enough anyway.” Grog tugged on Coach’s ears, dislodging the doorknob from his head. “It’s time to get this slumber party started. Let’s go to the playroom.” Grog skipped down the hall. Coach tried to follow his lead, but skipping had always given him trouble. He put his left foot out in front of him and hopped down the hall on his right.

Goober waited for Flea to go first, it was a boner free party and he was breaking the rules. He didn’t want Flea to rat him out. Looking at Grog’s aunt had been nice, but it wasn’t what had given him a fatty. When Coach had squeezed in between him and Grog, Goober had felt the warmth of his breath on his cheek. It had smelled of milk and grape Jolly Ranchers. The scent was wonderful; it had gone into his nostrils and right down to his wiener. Flea got up and walked down the hall. He stepped over Coach, who had fallen when he had tried to switch feet while hopping. Goober stretched the front of his shirt down over his small bulge and followed.

Aunt Edna was the coolest aunt in the wide world. Grog was a full on Brony and she let him keep all of his My Little Pony collection at her house. Flea looked around the room in awe, his mouth hanging open. The walls were covered with pink and white stripes with a mural of a unicorn on the far wall. A window seat interrupted one wall, but was filled with mauve and chartreuse throw pillows. It was gorgeous! There were My Little Ponies everywhere.

“Please tell me we can sleep in here!” he squealed with delight and twirled through the center of the room, careful not to bump into Coach who was still hopping on one leg. “Is that unicorn painted to scale?” He asked, panting excitedly.

Goober walked over to the painting and made a pretend telescope by rolling the Batman coloring book he always kept in his back pocket into a tube. He looked through his fist and measured the animal carefully. “It appears to be approximately 99.9999999999999% scale, plus or minus a naught.” He said, as he smoothed the coloring book out flat and re-creased it. It was his favorite book. There was a picture on page twelve, that he could fold the middle out of and make Batman kiss Robin on the mouth. Sweet.

Coach let out an ear piercing scream, startling the twinks so, that they gasped in unison. He had stopped hopping on one leg, but was pointing to the unicorn’s horn and pulling at the front of his pants. “It’s horn is a pee pee!” he exclaimed. “It’s horn is a pee pee!”

Grog smiled proudly. “That was my idea; it’s modeled from the penis of Barrack Hussein Obama. He put his dinky in my bottom at the convention in ’08 and I poured plaster in my behind as soon as he finished.” Grog reached behind himself and absentmindedly ran his finger along his butt crack as he recalled the cherished memory. There was a lot to be said of the old saying. ‘Once you go Black…’

Grog reluctantly extracted himself from his warm nostalgia and skipped over to the bed. He pulled several T-shirts from his Miley Cirus overnighter. “Here put these on.” He tossed a shirt to each of the twinks. “I made these special for tonight.” He held one up to his shoulders daintily. “They’re midriff shirts.” He beamed. “This way we don’t have to tie a knot in the front.”

Goober and Flea were out of their own shirts and into the new ones in a flash. They admired each other for several minutes, finishing with a hug. When Grog joined in, Goober broke away and grabbed his old shirt off the floor, tucking it quickly into his waistband like a loin cloth. Grog’s breath smelled like purple Jolly Rancher milk too.

In the awkward silence that followed, they noticed Coach had stripped down to his underwear and was struggling to put this belly shirt on backwards and inside out. His nipples appeared to be bright red, swollen and raw.

“What happened to your nipples?” Grog asked, feigning concern.

“It’s where the reflector stripes on my caution vest rub me……….And I pinch them a lot.” He said sheepishly.

“Do they hurt?” Grog poked at one gently, defying the urge to take one into his mouth.

Goober’s mouth watered involuntarily as he suddenly wished he was Grog.

Finally Coach pushed his head through the neck hole. He smiled proudly. The shirt rode up on his belly, causing it to look more like a sports bra, than a belly shirt. His bright red nipples poked at the sheer fabric. Grog gently poked the other nipple. Flea looked away from Coach in disgust and walked over to the unicorn. He traced his finger lightly around the horn. One day he would have a room like this.

“Guess what’s next?” Grog chirped

Goober and Coach looked at each other with confusion. Grog hadn’t mentioned that they would be tested with questions on the invitations he had sent out. Suddenly panicked at the thought of thinking, they moved together and held hands for emotional support. Goober’s pee smell wasn’t so bad, thought Coach. Goober almost collapsed when he felt Coach’s hand perspire. They had exchanged fluids, as far as he was concerned, they were going steady.

“It’s selfie time! Come on, dumb dumbs, we need to have something to put up on social media.”

Coach smiled, he wondered what it meant. He liked it when Grog talked shiny. “Come on Flea, we’re going play circular meteors with Grog.” The excitement of once again being included caused Coach to start hopping on one leg again. “Hodor, hodor, hodor!”

“Nah, I’ll wait for Grog to write it down. I live vicariously through his written word.”

“Nevermind, I don’t have the energy to explain it to Coach.” Grog huffed. He walked over to the bed and reached back into his Miley bag. “Looky here.” He produced a pink cassette tape and handed it to Goober. “Mystical Buds made me a mix tape. We can listen to sloppily played blues, performed by irrelevant has-beens, while we zip our sleeping bags together.”

To Be Continued…….

Grog had dimmed the lights and the four twinks sat in a circle on the giant sleeping bag they had created. It would have been larger, but Coach had mistakenly brought a table cloth instead of a sleeping bag. In the background Jimmy Page struggled through a guitar solo.

Grog looked deep into Coach’s eyes. “Truth or dare?”

Coach looked nervously at Goober, then back at Grog. “Could you repeat the question?”

“Truth or dare, pick one. If you pick truth, you have to answer a question truthfully, if you pick dare, you have to do what I tell you. Truth or dare?”

“Oh, I get it now. Truth or dare.” Coach smiled. “Could you repeat the question?”

“Pick one you fucking idiot, pick truth or pick dare!”

“Truth?”

“Have you ever touched a penis other than your own?” Grog asked coyly as he pushed a bead of flaming pink nail polish up to his cuticle.

Coach smiled big, he was going to win this game. “No!”

“Using your mouth counts as touching.”

“Damn!” Coach groaned. He should have never bet on the Colts.

“Goober, truth or dare?” Grog blew lightly on his fingernails and held them up for Flea’s approval. Flea giggled, he liked it when Grog paid attention to him.

“Truth.” Goober said defiantly.

“Have you ever touched a penis other than your own.”

“No sir.” He said. Hoping Coach wouldn’t take his answer the wrong way and assume he wasn’t willing.

“Using your butt counts as touching.”

“Damn!” Goober groaned. He should have never bet on the Colts.

“Flea, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you ever touched a penis other than your own?”

“Yes, I gave Goober a reach around after the Colts’ game.”

“Let’s play something different….”

“Wait a second, mofo, you haven’t taken a turn. Truth or dare?” Coach asked.

“Truth.”

“Did you know the Patriots were going to win, when you bet me?”

To Be Continued…

“Can I borrow someone’s phone? I need to check in with mom.”

The twinks had been playing Pretend Coach Doesn’t Exist for ten minutes and Coach hadn’t caught on. Grog sat cross legged in a pair of his aunt’s panties, while Flea knelt behind him brushing Grog’s comb-over. In one of his frequent glances at the famous triple Oscar nominee, Hollywood screenwriter’s crotch, Flea noticed Grog was becoming untucked.

“It looks like your tape has come loose, would you like me to reattach it for you?”

“Would you?”

Goober was playing along, but was having a hard time keeping his eyes off the massive bulge in Coach’s tighty-whiteys.

“I’m getting chilly, has anyone seen my caution vest, I….” Coach’s voice trailed off as he watched Flea repeatedly smooth and re-smooth the tape on Grog’s wiener. The butterflies in his tummy stirred and Coach felt his own tummy stick twitch. He quickly tried to flood his mind with baseball statistics. This was a no boner slumber party, for heaven’s sake.

The action between Coach’s thighs was not lost on Goober, he shuddered as the bulge twisted and grew. Soon it looked as if Coach had a horn of plenty stuffed down the front of his Hanes.

“Groggy, tell your little friend not to bother, it’s time for your bath. I’ll re-tape you after I dry you off.” Aunt Edna stood in the door to the playroom, the wine sloshed out of the glass she held as she waved it about. She walked across the sleeping bag and held her free hand out to Grog in order to help him to his feet. He took her hand and started to get up. Edna glanced from twink to twink, smiling until her eyes landed on the disturbance in Coach’s underwear. She quickly shook her hand free of Grog’s and offered it to Coach. Grog fell back to the floor.

“Hi there, I’m Edna, you must be the retard, I mean Coach.”

Coach reached up to shake her hand. Edna quickly grabbed his hand and turned it over in hers. “This will not do. This will not do at all. Look at how dirty your hand is.” Edna clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, we must remedy this immediately. Goggy, your bath must wait until tomorrow, this dirty boy must be cleansed this instant.” Edna jerked Coach to his feet, the junk in his underwear bobbed and swayed heavily, causing both Edna and Goober to gasp simultaneously. Quickly, she wisked Coach out of the room and down the hall. The sounds of Coach repeatedly mumbling “Hodor”, faded and were silenced by the slamming of the bathroom door.

Grog sat opened mouthed and staring. The retard had just stolen his birthday bath.

Goober sat opened mouthed and staring. He was sleeping next to Coach, no matter what!

Flea lay his head in grog’s lap and looked up into his face. “What does Hodor mean?” His voice saturated in adoration.

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” Grog screamed. “This is exactly why I said NO BONERS!!

To Be Continued…

Fear gripped Coach’s soul as he listened to the water fill the tub. He held fast to the waistband of his tighty-whiteys as Edna tugged at them viciously. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that she was trying to remove them. “Grog’s Aunt, I always leave my skivvies on when Mom gives me a bath.”

Aunt Edna tugged harder. “That will not do. Dare I say, I have seldom seen such a dirty fellow. We must endeavor to cleanse you properly.” Reluctantly Coach released his white knuckled grip on his skivvies.

The fancy talk that Grog’s aunt used helped to put him at ease, it reminded him of Grog’s shiny words. Coach looked around the bathroom. He didn’t see any toys. They must be put away, the idea of bath time without something to play with seemed unthinkable to the man-boy. “Grog’s Aunt, where do you keep your toys?”

Edna looked up at twink and smiled wryly. “So you like to ‘play’ do you?” Edna leaped to her feet and trotted out of the bathroom. The breeze from her sudden exit felt good on Coach’s swollen nipples. He moved to pinch one, when Edna burst back into the bathroom. In her hand was a large brown plastic pee pee.

“I call this toy Juan-Pedro the undocumented landscaper. Let’s go south of the border.” She placed Juan-Pedro on the sink and eased Coach on to his hands and knees in the tub. Coach’s confusion grew, he had never taken a bath in this position before. Edna grabbed the large dildo from the sink and took careful aim.

Flea dabbed at the tears in the corners of Grog’s eyes, as he tried to prevent the mascara he had just applied, from running. Grog’s breathing was ragged and halting and it broke Flea’s heart to see him like this.

An earth shattering scream erupted from down the hall. “HODOR!!! Hodor, hodor, hodor!”

Grog groaned in misery. “Not Juan-Pedro too!” He began to sob uncontrollably.

Goober fumed. What was that bitch doing to his Coach? He wondered.

Flea reached between Grog’s legs and gently re-tucked him.

To Be Continued…

Across the room a phone chirped. “That’s me!” Flea exclaimed. He stood up straight and touched his fingertips together in front of his waist. Slowly he brought his right foot up dragging the instep up his left calf. Once his knee had formed a right angle, he began to pirouette across the room, toward the sound of the phone. He had been practicing dance since a young age and if sycophant turned out to be a bad career choice, he could always fall back on the ballet.

“It’s from Protean.” Flea poked and tapped at his phone feverishly. “He says, smiley face emoticon, sad face emoticon, sad face emoticon, sunglasses emoticon, crying emoticon.”

“What does that mean?” Goober asked. Protean’s use of emoticons, punctuated with sporadic and random words, had always confused him.

“It means Goby is on the board, forcing God down everyone’s throat again. He sent a copy of the post.”

“Fuck Goby, he’s a brainwashed fool. Come back here and comfort me.” Grog pouted angrily. He hated Goby and was pretty sure the nick was a sock concocted and manned by a team of angry, white conservatives.

“What? You don’t want me to read it?” Flea asked. He was shocked and confused. Why wouldn’t Grog want to read it? “Are you serious? It’s a Goby post about God, are you sure you don’t want me to read it?”

“Do you like Goby?” Grog’s attitude and jumped from pouty bitch to snotty cunt in an instant.

“No.” Flea replied, sounding wounded.

“Do you believe in God?”

“No.”

“Will you ever believe in God?”

“No.”

“Then why would you want to read it?”

“Because………….I can’t help myself.” Flea’s voice trailed off shamefully. Grog was right, of course, he had no reason to want to read anything Goby posted, but Goby posts had a power over him. He would find himself reading and rereading them, over and over to the point that his health had begun to fail.

Grog saw that his words had hurt his dancing toady, deeply and truth be told, he was dying to know what the thread contained himself. Mystical Buds had sent him an alert about the posts earlier, before the retard had stolen his birthday bath. “Go ahead and read it. I understand you have needs, simple and base needs, but needs none the less, dare I say.”

Flea liked it when Grog condescended to him. He opened the post, it was though a ray of sunlight had burst through the Hello Kitty curtains above the fabulously decorated window seat, ricocheted off the horn of the unicorn and landed on Flea’s face, like a carefully aimed shot of spooge. Flea could feel his face glowing as he scrolled through the Goby post. Flea felt most alive reading Goby.

“What does it say? What does it say?” Goober asked excitedly. The moment he had heard Goby mentioned, his mind had started racing and pouring over the thousands, nay millions of possibilities there were to use bible-thumper and mortals in a sentence. His steel trap mind had locked on one….and a half really, really, really good zingers. “Read it out loud!” Goober was embarrassed that he had shouted involuntarily.

“Goby says blah, blah, something, something about a quasar, blah blah, big word, blah, something about the locality of quarks, blah, blah, blah big number, blah, blah, gravity, blah, blah something, something science, blah, blah, blah, red shift, blah, blah, planck theory……Gotcha motherfucker! Did you hear what I read? That motherfucker is shoving that shit right down our throats!” It was Flea’s turn to fume.

“That bible-thumping piece of shit!” Goober had become extremely confused after the first set of blahs, but he wasn’t going to let on, that he was.

“It’s right here in black and white!” Flea shouted. “Planck theory! Jesus was nailed to a plank! Oh my God, I feel violated!”

“Baby Jesus! That Goby is one devious motherfucker. He knew what he was doing.” Grog hissed. “Flea, grab my lap top. Goober, run downstairs and get a couple of sixers of Becks out of the fridge. It’s going to be a long night and I need some liquid courage.” Grog re-tucked his penis and hitched up his aunt’s panties. This time Goby had gone too far. “While Goober gets the beer, I need you to find a couple of baby Jesus images and as many D cups, no, make that double D cups as you can get your mouse on. I need to loosen up, there’s going to be a cyber-war!” Grog bowed his head as if in prayer and began to chant. “I know what you are, but what am I? I know what you are, but what am I? Believe what you have to believe. I know what you are, but what am I………”

To Be Continued…

“Let’s hit him on all fronts at once. Use the search feature and find out all the post he used the word Jesus.” Flea suggested. Grog rewarded him with a light slap to his pantie clad rear end. Flea and Goober both had donned the required uniform for this war:

Midriff shirt, 1 each.

Aunt Edna’s panties, 1 each.

Sparkly lip gloss, 1 each.

When Grog had mustered his two troops for pre-deployment inspection, a tear had formed in his eye and was too choked up to deliver the inspirational speech he had written. He couldn’t have been more proud.

Grog’s index fingers worked the keys feverishly and flawlessly.

“Where are they, General?” Grog had felt that Boss sounded inane and weary, and had suggest, rather demanded that Flea call him General. “ The only posts that use the word Jesus are your posts, Boss, err, General.”

“Let’s search for the word bible.” A grin spread across Goober’s face. They were going to give that preacher man a darn good thrashing before this night was over.

“Grog, the only posts that use the word bible, are Goober’s.” Flea’s forehead perspired profusely. Something wasn’t right. Goby might be using some sort of Christianic scorcery.

“What was the name of the thread, the post on your phone came from?” Grog asked

“Space and Time Cease to Exist Beyond the Plank Level.”

“There it is again! Planck!” Goober snapped. “That bible-thumping piece of shit!”

Grog tilted a bottle of Becks and drained it down his throat without swallowing, a trick he had learned back in the day on Fire Island. “Beer me, Goober! I’m going in for a post!”

Flea cleared his throat in preparation of his recitation. “His last post says, Blah, blah, big word, blah quantum gravity, blah, blah, science, blah, blah, physics, blah, blah big number, blah, big word.”

“Watch this.” Grog worked his index fingers over the keys like a master, only hitting the back key twenty four times. The post read:

Posted by Grog:

Oh yeah, baby jesus cries when you lie!!

‘rolling eyes’ emoticon.

“Good one Boss, I mean General”

“Yeah, good one General.” Goober had a good feeling about this.

Posted by goby:

‘laughing emoticon’

Aaaaaggghhhaaawww!!!

“Aaah! I hate it when he does that. The motherfucker is diabolical!”

“He sure is, General, he does that to me a lot.” Goober felt that things might be going south. He took out his Iphone and googled the word diabolical.

Flea did the same.