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Sometimes Boys Don’t Know

There are a ton of passages from books and stories written by men that make me wonder if they had ever seen a woman in real life. Boobs that expand to show arousal and Barbie crotches if they’re virgins, wild stuff like that. I just took what they started to its monstrous extremes.


• • • •

“Bonnie,” I say. He asked my name! I should have thought of something, but I wasn’t expecting him to notice me. Talk to me. “Bonnie,” I repeat, fighting down nerves, ignoring the fluttering in my middle, hoping I sounded closer to those other girls, the ones he likes. I’ve been practicing.

“Bonnie,” he repeats, smooth as his smile, and my insides tickle and shudder. Bonnie was good. Simple. He liked simple. I could be simple. For him, I could be anything.

My eyes feel too wide, and I blink to try to make them normal. I pull my lips into a smile, tell my body to be still, relax.

“Where are your friends? Did you come alone?” He’s looking around now and those flutters in me drop, turn into a pit. I want him to look at me. Just at me.

“I came by myself,” I offer. Is this the right answer? I don’t know.

But he turns back, smiles bright and wide. “You shouldn’t be alone, it’s not safe.”

He hands his cup to me and I take it, drinking deep without asking. The taste is bitter but I smile because he’s smiling and it’s perfect. He sees me. He’s never seen me before.

He passes me in the halls all the time, like a star, like the sun, so bright and perfect, and I’m not like the girls I’ve seen him with, but he sees me now and that’s all that matters. I can be good enough for him. I’ve changed so much for him. And he notices it. Notices me.

He pushes the cup, prompts me to drink more, and I do. Of course I do. It’s what I’m supposed to do. I think.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. It’s so easy to say yes. I want to say yes to everything he asks. Yes, yes, yes.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulls me close. He’s so hot and the pit turns back to flutters again. My palms are wet, my legs are shaky. Is this right? It must be right. I want it to be right.

I’m so happy, it doesn’t even bother me that he doesn’t ask where I live. I don’t have an answer for him anyway. His arm slips, drops to the dip of my waist, holds me closer.

He’s leading me away from the house party. Down the street. He’s talking, but I can’t follow the words. I’m too happy and all I can focus on is the feel of his hand on my waist, his arm around my back. The heat pours from him to me, and it’s like we’re already one, already together.

My body tingles with the joy of it. I’m so nervous. Wet slicks my skin. Does he notice? I look up at him and he’s talking. It doesn’t bother him. He turns into an alley, leads me into an abandoned building.

“Do you live here?” I ask. What a silly question. Of course he doesn’t. I know that.


I open my mouth to say something else but then he’s pressing his lips to mine. His tongue is in my mouth.

Is this right, I think as his hands creep under the fabric of my clothing, searching, searching and I don’t care. I’m so happy. If he asked I would have said yes, yes, yes but he doesn’t ask.

I could cry, I’m so pleased. His fingers sink into me. He moans into my mouth. Past his knuckles and his whole hand is inside. He’s confused, I can feel it, taste it.

Maybe he doesn’t know about this part? Boys don’t always know what to do. So I help: I split from where I hold his hand all up my belly and chest, spill out the ribbons of my private form. It’s ok now, we’re together, he can see it. I wrap around him, hold him closer, tighter.

His eyes are watering, he’s trying to help. My hearts swell. I knew he would be perfect. I pull him tighter, fuse him to me so there’s no break between us. Pull him so tight as his skin melts and he’s bare and open before me as I am before him and we are one mass together just like I hoped.

He’s twisting and moaning. My ribbons shiver as he sinks deeper into my channel, deeper, deeper. I let my head drop back, no need for it, let my split open to the night air, take him in up to his eyes.

I want to tell him to relax. I am doing all the work, sucking his seeds from him. I ask him if he can feel the coming spawn in me, tell him how happy I am they have such a beautiful, perfect boy to feed on. But I can’t. My mouth is gone.

He’s filling me all up and I am so happy that he finally noticed me!

Donyae Coles

Donyae Coles is a writer of weird fiction. She’s been published on Pseudopod and Vastarien. Her debut novel, Midnight Rooms, is forthcoming from Amistad Press. You can find more of her work on her website, or follow her on Twitter @okokno.