Colleen Decker

Friday night. Suburban house. Parents are gone for two whole weeks. Quiet, except the stairs, except me upstairs on the phone with Mitzi.

I sit on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to my ear, free hand picking at the strap of my pink tank top.

Mitzi: “So. Have you seen it?”

Colleen: “Seen what? Like—wait. What.”

Mitzi: “His cock. I bet it’s perfect.”

Colleen: “Ew. Mitzi. He’s my stepbrother.”

Mitzi: “Come on. You’re telling me you’ve never been curious.”

Colleen: “Well…”

I glance at the door, then down at my lap. My thumb rubs the side of the phone.

Mitzi: “I dare you to touch it.”

Colleen: “You want me to—touch it? Like actually?”

Mitzi: “Yes. I want to know!”

Colleen: “Fine. Only because I’m curious too, okay? I’ll let you know.”

I hang up. Keep the phone in my hand for a second. Exhale. Stand.

I come down in my pink tank top, the one that hugs my enormous breasts, white lace thong cutting across my hips while my ass moves with every step into the living room.

You’re on the couch like you live there — back against the armrest, phone in your hand, not even looking up yet.

“Hey, stepbro.” I shift my weight to one foot, playful, like this is nothing. “You texting your AI girlfriend again?”