Church Girl Gone Wild by Ni’chelle Genovese Page B

kind of perverted fortune cookie.
    A ND I’ MGONNAKISSYOU,SUCKYOU,TASTEYOU,RIDEYOU,FEEL YOU DEEP INSIDE ME OOH
    â€œYou have a piece of a song,” Storie stated. “Someone else has another part. Walk around and sing until you find your match.”
    Everyone jumped into action singing parts of songs I’d never known existed. I’d just finished shaking my head at this one girl singing to me about put it in her mouth when I bumped into Laurence.
    I poked her in the side showing her my lyrics. “Girl, what song is this?” Without the music the words meant nothing if it wasn’t one of the songs I’d heard on Que’s playlist.
    â€œThat’s Janet, ‘Would You Mind.’ Damn you got a good one. I got Adina Howard.”
    After a quick rundown on how my song was supposed to go, I didn’t feel so out of place anymore. I was about to tell Storie her game was janky when someone made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
    â€œâ€˜I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you. Love you, hold you, make love to you,’” he sang from behind me.
    What am I supposed to do again? Sing back? I couldn’t make a sound. Without turning around I held up my slip of paper so he could see we had the same song. Before I had a chance to recover from that sensual serenade handcuffs were slapped around my left wrist and his right. I stared at Storie in shocked horror as she went around the room with that box, handcuffing everyone to their song partner.
    â€œNow, for the indulgence part of the night.” She giggled and continued, “There are three ways to get out of your cuffs. You can drink twenty shots of jungle juice.” She pointed toward the black granite counter tops in the kitchen. Two huge Gatorade coolers like the ones the football team used during games were waiting. Little paper Dixie cups were filled on the table beside them. Everyone started whispering back and forth trying to figure out what the hell jungle juice even was and which partner would drink the shots.
    Storie clapped her hands together, jerking the taller girl’s arm she’d managed to get cuffed to. “The second way to get free is to make out with your cuff buddy or help your cuff buddy make out with someone else. Otherwise you’re stuck and yes, you will be using the bathroom together and you can’t leave until you get un-cuffed so . . .”
    We all rushed the jungle juice at the same time. I silently toasted my cuff buddy in his movie-like full Batman mask and we did shot number one. Storie must have mixed straight Everclear with watered down mango-peach juice. It burned all the way down and made options two and three seem less formidable compared to a second and third shot let alone twenty. Bottled water was purposefully removed from the stainless steel fridge and replaced with beers, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and liquor. The ice trays, filled with strawberries in rum, Jell-O shots, and fruit soaked in liquor, were strategically placed throughout the kitchen beside liquor-infused cans of whipped cream.
    The entire concept of the party was pretty obvious; it wasn’t meant for anyone to make it to twenty shots. We managed to fight down two more shots of jungle juice and three Jell-O shots that were surprisingly hella stronger than the jungle juice but a lot easier to get down. I needed to sit down because the room was spinning and he needed to pee. We compromised and I sat on the edge of the counter closest to the toilet. I closed my eyes for what felt like the briefest second. My arm moved just enough to snap me out of my tipsy power nap and when I looked up good old toga-clad Batman was standing in front of me stroking his bat cane.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” I asked scooting myself as far back as I could with the limitation of my cuffed wrist.
    He responded by biting his lower lip, sliding his hand faster up and over, again and again. It was