Avoiding Amy Jackson by N. A. Alcorn Page A

could make my little snatch drip. I remember clenching my thighs tightly together the entire ride home and hurriedly rushing into my parents’ house, making a beeline for my room. I locked myself in and decided tonight was the night I was going to figure out how to work my vagina. I had read plenty of Cosmo magazines and watched enough soft-core porn to have an understanding that my little box had magic inside of her and I just needed to figure out how to rub that pink lamp until I forced that orgasmic genie out. Are you singing Christina Aguilera in your head right now, James? If you’re not, you should be, because that song is really working for me.”
    He lifts his head from the table and provides me with an annoyed stare. “How long is this god damn story?”
    “Am I making you uncomfortable?” The idea of making him squirm gives me a thrill of excitement.
    “In more ways than one, doll. This is like the raunchy, teenage version of the Vagina Monologues and it’s making me feel like a dirty bastard.”
    A small smile makes its presence on my face as I continue with my story and ignore his sarcasm completely. “So I got myself cozy on my Hello Kitty bedspread and spread my legs out like a gynecologist was going to come in any second and perform an emergency Pap smear. I took a mirror and explored my snatch like I was on CSI, inspecting every nook and cranny, every lip and bud. I was going to find this orgasm if it was the very last thing I did. Tap. Tap. Tap. I gently tapped my fingers on my clit, impatiently waiting for something spectacular to happen. Tap. Tap. Tap. I remember thinking, Is this thing on? After a few more taps, I realized that rubbing was where it was at. And boy oh boy, did I rub.”
    James lifts his head, groans, and goes back to his favorite face-to-table position.
    “I rubbed and rubbed and I rubbed some more. I fingered my little glory hole and dry humped my Justin Timberlake pillow until I eventually had myself trembling so bad from climax that I had a fleeting moment of worrying if my mom was going to have to call 911 because I’d just masturbated myself into a seizure. Another wave of an orgasm rolled through me and that fleeting thought was replaced by blissful thoughts of scheduling my next masturbation session around my school schedule. I decided that four p.m. was the preferred time of double mouse-clicking, seeing that this gave me enough time to get home from school, watch Days of our Lives and Passions, and then get my mental spank bank pictures of Brody Lancaster in order before diving finger-first into my little honey pot.”
    A few moments of silence descend upon us. James slowly lifts his head up, looks around the coffee shop, and then locks his eyes with mine. “You… I… What…” He stammers a few more times before running his hand through his hair. “That story seriously just happened in the middle of this coffee shop, didn’t it?”
    I nod my head confidently. “Yep.”
    “I’m completely speechless right now. And I can’t believe you had a Justin Timberlake pillow.” He raises his eyebrow, apparently questioning fifteen-year-old Amy’s musical taste.
    I point my index finger in his direction. “Don’t you dare say anything about J-Tizzle.”
    “Stop.” He holds his hand in front of my face. “Do not say any more and never say J-Tizzle again.”
    I swat his hand away and focus on my demands. “Fine. Now it’s your turn. Let me hear your first-time masturbation story.”
    He smirks and responds immediately. “So this is what friendship with you is like?”
    I nod enthusiastically in response.
    “I was thirteen and woke up one morning after having a wet dream and found out that jerking off was fucking awesome and that was all she wrote. It became a daily ritual for me.”
    “That’s it? That’s your masturbation story?” I question dubiously, my nose crinkling in aggravation.
    “Yes, that’s it, my friend. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not as