Spin Spin Kiss Kiss

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: BG and Me
BG and I are turning 13. We and our guests play spin the bottle

Submitted: November 22, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 22, 2016




My toes aren’t deformed.  BG said that my toes are deformed.  She’s wrong, as usual.  My toes are pretty if you can say that about toes.  I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes.  I start dreaming of the cute Californian girls in my junior high school.  Their visons push out any thoughts of what the New Year, 1962, will be like.

I’m yanked away from a brunette, whose name I can’t recall, by a sound, a snort.  Oh no, it’s Mom.  I’m supposed to be cleaning my room.  I jump to my feet with an excuse on my lips.  But when I look at the door, it’s not Mom.It’s that redheaded dummy, BG.  She’s wearing that grin that says I caught you, ha ha ha.

“Lee, you’re supposed to be cleaning up this garbage dump.” She snickers.

“You’re on private property, fruitcake.”

She stands up straight.  “I am not!  I’m in the hall,” she says indignantly.

“Well walk back up the hall to your pigpen.”

Ignoring me, she leans into my room being careful not to cross the threshold.  She slowly looks around the room, shaking her head and muttering “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk.”  A half- built Erector Set Ferris wheel sits on the desk.  Model airplanes dangle from the ceiling.  Lincoln Log houses and Tinker Toy towers occupy the middle of the floor along with baseball cards and wadded up sheets of paper.  A variety of clothes, both clean and dirty, are piled in corners and hidden under the unmade bed, even a few socks are draped over the desk chair.

“How can you live in here?  If Mom sees this mess, you’re a dead boy and I’ll be an only child.”  A wicked smile begins to form on her face.  Her green eyes start a fiendish dance.  “That corner by the closet doesn’t have any clothes.  It must feel that you don’t love it.  I know that’s not true because my sweet brother loves all corners.  If you want, I can get some of your dirty clothes from the hamper.  You could then place them there and show that sad corner that you do indeed love it.”  She places the neck of her green sweatshirt in her mouth.  It doesn’t muffle her laughter very well.

The whole time she’s talking, I’m imagining her tumbling down an endless flight of stairs.  I have to come up with a suitable reply, she expects it.  Think Lee, think but all I can say is, “Your face looks like it caught on fire and someone beat it out with a shovel.” Yuck!

She pulls the sweatshirt out of her mouth. “Ouch!  Did you come up with that all by yourself or did you get some help.”  She giggles.  “You should see your face.  It is as red as that ratty t-shirt you’re wearing.”  Her giggles become wild laughter.

“Stop laughing BG!  I’m warning you.”

Barely controlling herself, she says, “I’m not stopping.  Do your worst.  I’m not afraid of you.”  She erupts into laughter again.

That’s it.  She’s been warned.  I quickly close the distance between us.  Her laughing stops abruptly and she retreats a step.

“Don’t you dare hit me.  Remember what Daddy told you.  Boys are not to hit girls.  If you do, I’ll tell Daddy and you’ll be in so much trouble.”  She sticks out her tongue as a final jab.

“I may not be able to hit you, but nobody said I couldn’t push you.”  I shove her hard into the wall.  She slams into it with a satisfying thump.  Before she can react, I step back into the room, slam and lock the door.  She starts beating on it and calling me all sorts of names.  I just lean on the door, smiling. Soon the pounding stops and the name calling ceases, all’s quiet.  Too quiet.  I put my ear to the door.Is she still there?I’m answered when she yells.

“Lee, you dip-stick, I’m telling Mom that you haven’t even started cleaning your room.”  I hear the sound of her retreating footsteps as she scurries down the hall toward the stairs. 

Now I’m going to hit her!  I don’t care if I’m grounded for two weeks.  I’m going to hit her.  I unlock and yank the door open.  I hear her laughing and bounding down the stairs.  In a time envied by Olympic sprinters, I reach the top of the stairs only to see her rounding the corner into the living room.  I take the steps two at a time moving so fast that I can’t make the turn at the bottom and crash into the wall.  I bounce off keeping on my feet.  I start running again but come to an immediate halt as soon as I enter the living room.  The devil, disguised as my twin sister, is in the dining room standing on the other side of our beige dining room table.  She has the smuggest of looks as if she’s saying You can’t get me.  Her protector, wearing a light blue floral house dress, is standing between the dining room and the kitchen.  She has a yellow dishcloth in her hand.

“What’s going on?” Mom barks, absentmindedly running her free hand through her light brown hair.  Her tired blue eyes still gleam but they really sparkle when Dad is around.  Her figure may have plumped up a little since I’ve known her but you couldn’t say she’s fat.  The only jewelry she wears is her wedding ring.  If she isn’t looking through them, her glasses sit atop her head.  Her face is flawless except for a few wrinkles and a small mole near her left temple.  She’s a combination of one of those sweet, wholesome TV moms, Betty Crocker and your worst nightmare.

BG hesitates, giving me the time to blurt out, “Mom whatever she says is a lie.”  I give BG a smile that conveys the message So there.  I think about sticking out my tongue at her but decide not to stoop to her level.

“Mom, he’s the liar.  His room is a disaster area!  I told him so and he got mad and pushed me into a wall and was going to hit me when I said I was going to tell you.”  She glares at me, holds up her hand and is about to flip me the bird but pauses and shakes her fist instead.

“I know my room is a little messy.  But the fruitcake is making the rest of that sh… uh…stuff up just to get me into trouble and she was going to flip me off.”  Mom pulls her glasses down over her eyes and gives me a look that chills my bones.

“A little messy? Ha!  I’m not making up anything, Mom.  By the way he was going to say a bad word that begins with S and ends with T.  I wasn’t going to flip him off.  I don’t even know what that means.  I’m a good girl!”

“Good girl?  There’s nothing good about you.  And she’s lying.  She knows exactly what it means to flip somebody off.  BG you should be sold to gypsies.  I hear they like fruitcake.  You’re – “ 

“Stop!” Mom shouts.  We freeze.  She looks towards heaven and speaks to God, “Lord give me strength!” 

There’s a frightening silence. I’m terrified that God is going to strike me dead.  Mom emphatically points at the copper colored leather living room couch. “Sit and keep quiet,” she snaps.  We rush to do as she commands.  We sit side by side.  Mom stands over us with her hands on her hips.  Her face is red.  No, purple with anger.

I speak up.  I don’t know why.  I must have a death wish.  “Mom I’m sor— “

“I said quiet!” She screams.  She leans close to my face.  I can smell the coffee she drank earlier.  Speaking slowly and stressing each word, she asks, “What do you not understand about the word quiet?” I don’t know the answer so I just shake my head, shrug my shoulders and become like loose change lost in the crevices of the couch.  She straightens up and growls, “Now listen carefully.  You both should be ashamed, talking about who is flipping off who. You’re raised better than that.  Lee, you were told over an hour ago to clean your room.  You’ve got thirty minutes to get it presentable.  If it doesn’t meet my approval, you’ll be grounded the week between Christmas and New Year.  BG, you clean the toilets for tattling.  You’re both grounded the week between your birthday and Christmas because of your constant fighting.  Stop it!”

I start to protest on the behalf of both of us but Mom gives me a look that could cause dead people to die a second time.  I wisely shut up and lower my eyes to keep them from being vaporized.  Mom walks to the kitchen, but when she reaches the dining room, she stops and turns to face us.  Seeing that we’re still sitting motionless on the couch, she yells, “Well, what are you waiting for?”  BG and I both jump.  I race upstairs while she rushes to the downstairs bathroom.


Early in the morning, two days later, I’m awakened by loud banging on my bedroom door.  BG is yelling, “Get up Lee! Get up. We’re teenagers!”  More banging.

“I’m up!  Stop your pounding.”  Teenagers, huh?  I don’t feel any different.  I don’t know what BG thought would happen when she turned thirteen.  I guess she thought boobs would magically appear on her chest.  I stretch and hop out of bed.  The bathroom, I have to get to the bathroom.  I pull the door open and there BG stands, blocking the hall.  She’s wearing her green and white pajamas.  No boobs.  She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck.  Oh crap.  She’s in one of her I love all moods.

“Can you believe it?  We’re thirteen and we’re going to have a bitchin’ birthday party.  I’ve got plans.  Geez, Lee brush your teeth.  Your breath smells like sour milk with clumps.”

“I have got to pee!  Let go or I’ll pee on the floor and all over you.”  She releases me and I make it just in time.  After I’m finished I straighten my pajamas which are blue with a picture of a red race car on the chest.  Pajamas?  A picture of a red race car on the chest? I’ve got to stop wearing dopey pajamas and find something more manly to wear to bed, after all I’m thirteen.  Tommy says he sleeps in the nude.  I don’t believe him. 

I examine myself in the mirror.  I look closely at my face.  My hazel eyes look back at me just as closely.  There’s a cleft in my chin and a small one on the tip of my nose.  Sometimes I wish I had dimples like BG.  I inspect my entire face for the signs of a beard.  It will probably be black like the hair on the top of my head.  I find a few hairs maybe I need to shave, after all I’m thirteen.  BG is banging on the door and yelling that she has to pee.  I leave the seat of the toilet up, smile and hope she falls in.  I open the door.  “It’s all yours sis.”


Since we share a birthday, we share the birthday party.  I’m sitting on the couch and BG is pacing the floor waiting for our guests to arrive, six in total; three boys I invited and three girls she invited. BG was able to talk Mom and Dad into staying upstairs until we were ready to cut the cake and open presents.  She told them that we would be just talking for a while and they would be bored. They weren’t too hard to convince.

 She’s excited.  She keeps fiddling with her pigtails which have green ribbons tied at the ends.  Every other minute she carefully looks around the Christmas tree and out the front window.  I just sit and twiddle my thumbs.

“How can you just sit there?  Aren’t you excited?” She asks. 

“It’s just a party,” I reply.

“Yeah but it’s a special party.”

“I don’t see why it’s so special.  So we’re thirteen.Big Deal.”

“It’s a big deal.  We’re teenagers now.”

“I don’t feel any different, do you?”

“Yes, I do.  I can’t explain it but I do feel different somehow.  I think you do too.  You just won’t admit it.”

“Whatever you say.  Now tell me about these plans of yours.”

She smiles and sits down close beside me. “We’ll listen to records, maybe dance – “

“Dance?  Where will we find room to dance?  The living room isn’t very large.  It has all this furniture and the Christmas tree.”

“Don’t worry.  Furniture can be moved, you know.  I’ve got it all worked out.  After all I do have more brains than you.  Now shut up.”  She drops to a whisper. “Later we’ll play spin the bottle.  You do know about spin the bottle?”

“Yeah, I’ve played it before.”  Now I’m starting to get excited.

BG’s eyes open wide in surprise.  “You have?  When?”

“When we were living in Key West.  It was at Sammy’s birthday party.  You were sick.  I kissed several girls!  One was your best friend, Donna.  I liked it!  So did Donna.”

“You rats.  You never told meI can’t believe Donna didn’t tell me.”  She slumps in the couch and pouts.  A few minutes later she jumps to her feet.  “The heck with dancing.  We’ll listen to some records and start playing spin the bottle right away.  I want to kiss a boy!”

She wants to kiss a boy, huh?  I certainly would like kissing a girl again. I want to try out French kissing.  Kevin, a boy in my scout troop, said that girls love to be French kissed.  He ought to know, he’s in the 10th grade.  He told us that when you French kiss you put your tongue in the girl’s mouth.  We all thought that was disgusting.  He reassured us that it was a great way to kiss and he emphasized that girls really love it.  The girl may even French kiss you back.  I’m definitely excited.


BG informs our party guests that we’re going to play spin the bottle.  A variety of pleasurable comments are made.  To make room for the circle the couch is pushed up against the wall by the stairs and the couch’s matching easy chair is man-handled up against the low separating wall between the living room and dining room.  The walnut stained coffee and end tables are stashed in the dining room while the lamps are placed on the dining room table. Nothing can be done with the T.V. or the Christmas tree which is standing in the front window.

We form a circle on the wooden parquet floor.  I’m sitting between Cathy and BG’s best friend, Rachel.  Rachel is a blond with brown eyes while Cathy has brown eyes and black hair.  They’re a couple of the girls I dream about.  I would love to go to the movies with one or the other if I just had the guts to ask.  BG announces that she’s spinning the bottle.  There’s a collective giggle.  As soon as she has the bottle, which is an empty RC Cola bottle, spinning she retreats to her spot between my best friend Tommy with his sandy hair and freckle-face Greg.  The bottle stops spinning and points at Monica, another blond.  BG groans.  Monica is cute but one of her eyes is blue and the other is green.  Weird.  Monica spins which results in another dud.  This trend continues for several more turns leaving me to believe that God doesn’t want us to do any kissing.  Finally, Rachel scores a hit when the bottle stops on Carl, who is in the early stages of zitdom.  They look at each other, not too sure what to do next.

“Good gosh Carl, go kiss her!” Monica says. 

Carl hesitates a second or two before scooting over to Rachel and awkwardly presses his lips against hers.  He scoots back with a stupid grin on his face and just sits.

BG rolls her eyes in frustration. “Spin the bottle, dopey!”

“Okay, okay.”  He gives the bottle a twirl.  It stops and points at me.

I reach over and cause the bottle to revolve at a furious rate.  I pray that when it stops spinning it’s pointing to a girl, any girl.  It begins to slow; it goes slower and finally stops….pointing at BG.  But not that girl!

The circle erupts in laughter.  They demand that we kiss.  There’s no way I’m kissing Godzilla breath.  BG puts both hands over her mouth and vigorously shakes her head no.  They try to push and pull us; cajole us and even throw in a few threats.  We don’t budge!  Eventually they give up and Monica tells BG to spin.

“If it points to Lee, I’m spinning again!” She says.No one objects.  She gives the bottle an energetic spin.  It ends up pointing at Greg.  “It’s about dang time!”  She turns to face him and places her hands on both sides of his face and kisses him.  She looks very satisfied with herself.  A crimson blush quickly develops on Greg’s face.   He waits a few seconds before spinning the bottle.  I’m its target again.

“If it points to BG, I’m spinning again!”  I say echoing BG’s words.  There’s some giggles and BG mutters, geez.  I put the bottle in motion.  It finds Cathy.  So, Cathy is the lucky girl, the girl who is to receive my very first French kiss.  We turn to face each other.  I put my hands on her upper arms.  I pull her in, close my eyes and our lips connect.  Before she can end the kiss, I push my tongue into her mouth.

Cathy reacts as if I’ve given her the bubonic plague.  She jerks away nearly taking my tongue with her.  “You dork! What’s the big idea of sticking your nasty tongue in my mouth?” 

Everyone looks first at the agitated Cathy then at the bewildered me.  “I’m… ah… sorry.  I thought girls like being kissed that way.”

Cathy snorts.  “Well, bird brain, you thought wrong.  Who would want somebody’s yucky tongue stuck in their mouth?”

Monica chimes in, “I don’t know if I would like being kissed like that but my big sister told me her boyfriend kisses her that way.  I don’t know why but she likes French kissing; that’s what she calls it.”

A heated discussion about French kissing starts and continues for several minutes without reaching an agreeable conclusion.  The game is restarted with the condition that there will be no French kissing.  Spinning and kissing.  Talking and giggling.  Eight young teenagers couldn’t ask for a better time but the fun comes crashing down when Mom stomps down the stairs yelling, “It’s time for cake.”


Party over.  Parents put to bed.  BG and I are sitting together on the couch.  She yawns and leans into me. 

“I had a good time.  Even when you french kissed Cathy and she freaked out.  I kissed every boy there at least twice except you.  I wouldn’t kiss you for a million dollars.  Your last kiss with Rachel must have lasted at least thirty seconds.  I bet you two were French kissing.”

“Nope, you would have lost that bet,” I lie.

“I don’t believe you.  I’ll get the truth out of Rachel.”  She pauses and looks at the Christmas tree.  “I wonder what Santa will be bringing us this year.”

I raise an eyebrow not believing that she really doesn’t know.  “You know there’s no Santa, don’t you?  It’s Mom and Dad pretending to be Santa.”

“I know that, silly.  But Mom and Dad don’t know that we know that they’re playing Santa.  Let them have another year of thinking that they’re fooling us.  They get such a thrill out of it.”  She stands. “I’m tired.  I’m crashing, goodnight yo-yo.”  She snaps her fingers.  “Oh crap.  I just remembered.  We’re grounded until Christmas.”  She starts for the stairs.



“Are my toes really deformed?”










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