Mike Gets a Surprise: Conclusion

Part One, Part Two

“Hey –“ I begin, and then I stop right there. Ever had a smile die on your face, and you can kind of feel it go? That's what just happened.

Standing in front of me is Dan’s sister, Amy.

Amy. Jesus Christ, what a shock. I thought Shelly would be at the door, not Amy.

In a shot, I’m glad that I just went to the bathroom, because I feel like I'd fill my pants otherwise if I hadn't. Amy has this horrible shit-eating grin smeared across her face, and she’s just standing there, staring at me like I’m a ham sandwich or something.

“Hey there, Amy…” I try, but it doesn’t work. Her bare foot slaps forward toward me, and she grabs the doorjam, blocking my escape.

“Oh shit!” I yell. I just can’t help it. You had to be there, I mean.

Amy goes to our school. Well, she goes, but not really. Amy delivers the newspapers every day to the homeroom teachers, always with a supply teacher in tow helping her do it. She’ll hold the paper out there in her paw for the teacher to take.

“Thank you…Amy…” the teacher will grunt, trying to yank the paper out of her pudgy fingers. And Amy will just hang onto those goddam papers for dear life, like a dog or something. I’m always surprised there isn’t slobber or something on it when the teacher finally gets it. As it is, sometimes it gets ripped up as it’s pulled out of Amy’s fingers.

Amy is a retard.

She never comes out of the special ed room she "goes to class" in, because this one time a couple years ago she attacked another kid in the cafeteria. She wanted the kid's french fries or something. After that episode, she was only allowed out for food and for recess and stuff when everybody else was in class. So, for instance, we'd be sitting there in Algebra or English, and then we'd hear her skipping and whooping down the hall on her way to the soccer field, and we'd all give each other looks: There goes Amy again.

She's a year younger than Dan and me, but big. Way bigger than me - Amy is maybe five-ten.

She’s a five-ten, 250-pound crazy retard, and I’m alone in the basement with her. And fuck -

She’s naked, standing there in front of me looking like she was put together out of some shit God found on his workshop floor after he made an NFL linebacker. Her hands are flexing and clenching and things, looking like they are getting set to latch onto something. And there are no newspapers in sight, just me.

I’m five-seven, maybe a buck-fifty in my damp swim trunks. Oh yeah, this isn’t a fucking problem. Not at all. How the hell did she know I’d be in here?

Amy takes another step, and the smile widens. Her eyes, those sloping retard eyes, never move from my face.

“Okay, back off, Amy!” I say. “Back off now, goddammit! Hey! Stop!”

But Amy doesn’t stop. She charges into the bathroom, pushing me against the vanity, shoving her huge, flabby body against me. I smell a heavy, greasy stink of sweat and peanut butter, and her freckled boob slaps my face like a garbagey water balloon. I gag in disgust, and then her hands, her horrible sausage hands, are all over me, groping at me in a hideous, meaty way. She paws at my hair, and then in an instant, stuffs her hand into my trunks, yanking and honking on my dick, squeezing so hard I feel like something is going to get torn off. She drools and jabbers in my ear, moaning something that makes sense to her:

“Ugghn, dubba, gubba! Blaaygg!! Abbadabba!”

“Fuck! Fuccck! Get offa me! Help! Fuck, GET OFFA ME!! Ahhhh! Ahhh!” I scream. I’m full-blown now, holding nothing back, slapping uselessly at her back. In that moment, I wish I had a bag over my head.

And then she stops, finally. Dan is here, and he's shouting at her.

“Amy! STOP RIGHT NOW!” And she does. She lunges away from me, standing between me and Dan. I drop to my knees, cupping my damaged nuts. I can barely move, they hurt so fucking much. I don't think I've ever felt worse in my life, to tell you the truth.

Dan, he’s got some stuff in his hands. He’s holding this old teddy bear out at Amy, a filthy, freakshow thing with no eyes and hanging limbs, and beneath it, his Zippo is popped open, lit and singeing the hair of the bear’s leg.

“Amy!” he yells. “Get upstairs, or Mr. Brownie is going to be burnt to a fucking crisp! You hear me? I’m gonna burn him up! Get the fuck up there!”

And Amy, she’s away, moving like a gorilla. Fuck, she’s fast.

“Aiiieee! Aiieeeeee!!” she screeches, and snatches the bear from Dan’s hand. She runs outside with the bear, and we hear a dozen surprised yells. In a moment, we hear a cannonball splash, the sound of a hippo returning to the swamp.

“…oh my god, she’s so disgusting…,” some guy yells outside.

And then it’s just me and Dan, and he hangs his head. “Whoo! Oh, my god!” Dan says. The Zippo clinks shut, and he hunkers down with me. “Some little sister, eh? I thought I had locked her door. Are you all right, man? Shit. Didn't I see you talking with Shelly outside? Let's get you sorted out before she sees you like this. Let's get you a beer or something.”

Fuck. Best fucking thing I heard all day.