Preparation and confrontation

You return home. You don't know much about girls. (I mean, come on, all you know is they like dates to the cinema and arms around their shoulders.) But you feel an instinctive urge to spruce yourself up. You don't need makeup or anything (and thank God for that - you'd probably poke yourself in the eye with lipstick), but you obviously need to take a bath. You quickly scrub yourself and apply deodrant. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you dry yourself off, and feel certain that if you still had your male organ, it'd be standing to salute right about now. You dress up in reasonably smart clothes (not too much - it's a slumber party, not a business venture) that your mother normally wears in the house, and set off, a smile on your face. But about halfway there, as it's pretty dark, and you're passing a car park (abandoned and a hangout of your gang), you notice something - or rather, someone. Your friend, Mike!

You pretend not to know him, but as he's dressed in black, you can tell he's up to something. And you can hardly help but giggle helplessly as you look at Mike. Not because anything in particular is funny... just because he looks kind of cute, with his messy brown hair and rueful grin. But not so funny are the several other people in black - the rest of your gang. They're up to something... and you hear the mumbled words "Gatecrash", "Back door", and "Sleepover".

Uh oh.

Written by an anonymous author (edited by wanderer)

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