by Eirik Gumeny
"Oh, God, Hope, baby, I love you."
"Oh, God, Danny, Danny, oh God, oh God."
"Oh, Jesus, baby, oh God."
"Oh, oh, ohhhhhhhh, Danny, oh God."
"Oh, baby, I'm coming, I'm coming."
"Danny, God, so am I, so am I!"
"God, Hope, Hope!"
"Sweet fucking Jesus, Danny! Danny!"
Samantha clenched the pillow tighter to her ears, her arms twitching from the strain. She was buried under two blankets, she was humming to herself, she was thinking about anything and everything else in the known universe. But still she could not drown out the sound of her parents in the next room.
"Oh, Danny, God, baby, that was amazing."
"Oh, Hope, baby, I love you."
"I love you, too."
"How much do you love me?"
"Oh, I dunno, about this much."
There was giggling, Samantha could their bodies moving, rolling across the bed.
"Shit, wait, you don't think..."
A thump, floorboards creaking -- her father walking out of his room. Samantha could hear every step -- the thud of his heel, the smack of the ball of his foot, each toe that hit the floor amplified like hail on aluminum. Creak, creak, stop. A light knock at the door, knuckles barely brushing wood, the handle turning.
"Sammy? Honey?" her father whispered.
Samantha stayed hidden in her sheets, didn't move, didn't so much as breathe.
Creak, creak, stop.
"Goodnight, baby girl."
Samantha knew her father would have kissed her forehead had he been able to find it. Through her armor of blankets, she could feel his hand on her side, tender as it passed over her ribs and slipped away.
Creak, creak, creak.
Her father closed the bedroom door and crept back to his room as quietly as a thunderstorm.
"No worries," he said. "She's out for the night, babe."
"Well, then, break out the Jolly Green Giant and see if you can't make me scream."
Samantha twitched and repeatedly prayed for death.
Samantha's parents didn't sleep at all that night. As a result, neither did Samantha.
She stumbled out of her room sometime around noon, not entirely convinced her parents weren't simply going at it on the kitchen table.
Samantha peered cautiously into the kitchen. She found her mom wearing her bathrobe and making waffles. Her father was asleep on the couch in the living room, the Weather Channel muted on the television.
"Morning, Sammy," said her mother. "You sleep well?"
"No," she replied, stepping into the kitchen. "You and Dad are disgusting."
"I heard you, Mom. All. Fucking. Night."
"Watch your mouth, young lady."
"No God damned way, Mom," said Samantha, grabbing the orange juice from the refrigerator. "Do you have any idea what I had to put up with last night?"
"Sammy..." began her mother. "You'll understand when you're older, honey."
"I'm sixteen, Mom, I understand plenty. You guys are just sick."
"Sweetie, it's a beautiful act..."
"Maybe at some point it was. You two, though, you guys are just... just... kinky freaks. Kinky disturbing freaks."
"And what's wrong with being kinky?"
Samantha choked on her orange juice, covered the counter with it.
"Honey, I told you, you'll understand when you're older. Sex can be fun. It... well, it feels really good. Especially when your father--"
"Oh my God, shut up, please, Mom, please. I am so sorry I brought it up."
"No, no, I'm actually glad you did. It's better to hear about all the things you can do now, rather than some day in the future when your boyfriend or your husband just springs it on you. Take your father, for example. Don't get me wrong, I love urinating on him, but the first time he asked? I can't say I wasn't taken aback a little."
"Holy shit, Mom."
"But that's all part of it, the excitement of trying something new. The uncertainty itself is kind of a turn-on. And, over time, you'll learn that certain things feel better than other things, so, sometimes, you need to get creative, experiment, to see what you like best. Sometimes that means doing things that other people--"
"Stop, stop, please, Mom, please just stop. I am so, so sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. It's OK. What exactly did you hear last night, though? I thought we kept it pretty vanilla. Was it the 'put it in my ass' part, because I can explain that. When your father's--"
"Please, please just fucking stop."
"Stop swearing, Samantha," replied her mother. "And, well, no. Sooner or later these things are going to come up. Lots of girls your age are having sex. You may as well know what you're getting into."
"Oh my God, Mom, I am not getting into anything. And I mean, like, ever. You are so totally creeping me out. Every time you talk, I start picturing you and dad and--" Samantha shuddered. "I am not going to be having sex for a very, very long time."
"Good. Now finish your waffles, honey."
Eirik Gumeny is the editor of Jersey Devil Press. He once scaled the Empire State Building, only to be murdered by several bi-planes and a pretty girl. He was not happy about it. His favorite word is undoubtedly "motherfucker." "Fuck" may be more versatile, but "motherfucker" is a lot more fun to say.