Arely Anaya: I Feel Poopy

His full head of hair smelled like the farm. Pig shit and corn feed. I didn't mind moving my nose and hands through it, taking it in. I was lying on my back. He was biting my neck and making me wet. Anytime he bit too hard, I pulled his hair, and he'd say, "I know, I know." I knew he didn't, though. Everyone in town bitched at me whenever I had a hickey. Then when he had a hickey, I was still the one bitched at. So I always reminded him, “Not too hard.”

He slid my shirt and unhooked bra up my chest. His mouth traced kisses down to my boobs. His warm lips contrasted with my cold skin from the blasting air conditioner. He mumbled something against my nipple about beauty and being all his. I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention. I was trying to figure out how to tell him I really had to take a dump.

I forced myself to hold it in and save it for later, because this was sort of a big deal. I finally liked Elie enough to want to be in the back seat of his car. We'd been friends since we were in pre-K. But it'd taken the last three years of middle school, and hundreds of deep conversations about our exes, our parents, and how bored we were with our little, old town, to make me want to have sex with him. So, yeah, I guess pretty important, but fuck, I had to shit.

I tried not to think about it. I closed my eyes and thought about Elie's smelly hair, his soft lips, and his hardworking hands. Then my stomach made a growling noise. My eyes snapped open and I froze, thinking he heard it, but he didn't notice. He was too into it, into me, with his eyes closed, taking savoring breaths against my boobs and stomach. I stared down at his widow's peak. The night was actually feeling perfect. We had the right parking spot at the west exit of town. At the side of the road, a cluster of trees consumed us. We could fool around as long as we wanted. But anytime I started to lose myself in the mood, there'd be another growling noise. I kept tightening my ass cheeks, thinking it was all going to flow out.

When he unbuttoned my jeans, I thought what if I were to shit myself right there on the back seat? How solid would it be, if solid at all? Then I started thinking about women giving birth in backseats, and I chuckled at the thought of my turd baby. He thought I was giggling with ecstasy and bit my nipple too hard.

I pulled his hair just as hard. "Ow! I'd look damn weird with one nipple."

"Sorry." He started licking.

I sighed. "Can we stop?"

He looked up at me with panic and wrinkled eyebrows. I felt his hand clutch the seat next to my hip.

"What? Why? You don't like this? I won't bite anymore. I promise. I'm sorry."

"No, I like it. You're cool. I just don't feel good."

He moved off of me, and we sat up. I buttoned my jeans.

He looked down, slowly running a hand through his hair. "Are you mad we're doing this in my car?”

I really couldn't care less where we fucked. “No, I just gotta use the toilet."

"Oh, um . . ." He looked around his car.

"I'm not using a cup."

He slumped in his seat. "Dores, we'll lose the mood and my hard on."

“I feel poopy.”

"No, don't feel poopy. It just feels like you're forcing me to stop peeing."

"No, I mean I feel poopy like I have to take a massive shit."

 “Can you hold it?"

"Can you remove stains? Because I'm sure having you pound my pussy is going to make my butthole hard to control."

He tilted his head and considered it. Then he gave me nod and got out of the car without a word. I watched his silhouette walk around to the driver's seat before I crawled over to the passenger side from the back, being as small as I was. I smiled because I wasn't going to shit my pants, and pretty soon we'd be back to getting it on. The headlights lit up the trees hiding the car from the road, and the dashboard lit his round brown face. He was bummed, his shoulders sagging and eyes avoiding me. I'm sure they were empty, and he was deep into a loop, telling himself he sucked, that I didn't actually need to use the bathroom, and I didn't want to have sex with him because he smelled.

"Cheer up, and maybe I'll give you head."

And just like that, he grinned. He tried pulling the car out onto the street, but it wouldn't move. All we could hear was the motor roaring the more he accelerated, and the tires blowing wet mush from underneath. He floored it a bit more, and nothing. He stared at the stirring wheel for a second, silently tapping it with his thumb. Then he cleared his throat to fill the silence before finally looking at me with a tiny smile that begged me not to get pissed.

I sighed. "Ah, fuck me."

He spoke under his breath. "Well, I wanted to."

I rolled my eyes. It'd been raining for days. Soft dirt should've been obvious, but all we'd been thinking about was fucking. My stomach growled again, making me want to punch it. Elie turned off the headlights. We grabbed flashlights from the glove compartment and got out of the car. I immediately wish we hadn't. The humidity made my skin sticky, and my hair puffed up despite it already being a curly mess.

We moved to the front of the car, bouncing our flashlight beams along the dirt. The front tire on my side was sunk in. He put his flashlight on the ground, facing the tire. It made the light streak stretch. He started shoveling the mud with his hands.

I liked those big hands a lot more than he knew. I stared at them a lot working at the farm. There was something so sexy about big rough hands holding and drying tiny piglets covered in blood and vagina mucus with a towel. Ugh, fuck yes. I avoided telling him things like that, though, because he'd end up asking me to tell him more and I'd feel weird.

I just wanted to tell him to forget about being stuck in the mud and fuck me on the hood of his car, but my stomach growls turned to brutal knots. I turned my flashlight off and placed it on the roof of the vehicle. I gripped my stomach to fight the stabbing ache and tightened my butt cheeks the hardest I could. I hurried off with teeny steps towards the back of the car, taking deep breaths and focusing entirely on my body. I told myself no one could command my butthole to deliver but ME. But then it felt like my butthole was trying to prove me otherwise. So I tried thinking about anything else.

I stood there as stiff as a stick, and ended up thinking about all the times I didn't appreciate toilets, but then how toilets are whatever, and I should be able to shit in the woods without feeling embarrassed. My dad would think this isn't lady-like and bring up other stuff like displaying my self-respect and self-worth. But I don't think that matters when you really gotta go, and I seriously couldn't hold it.

I took advantage of the dark, pulled down my jeans, formed the perfect squat, and pushed like I never had before. It squirted out like a broken faucet, the soggy lumps slapping the ground. Then stupid mosquitos bit my butt, and I smacked my own ass cheeks to kill them off. The smell of meat left out in the sun hovered around me. It was a long and sweaty job, but it felt incredible until I thought about wild animals or a serial killer attacking me in my vulnerable state and dying. I'd be in the newspaper. I'd make the front page because it'd be so fucking tragic.

Then Elie came over to where I was squatting. The glow of his flashlight hopped across the ground toward me until it reached and lit up my face. I squinted my eyes and gripped my bare knees. I never meant to be found in such an unattractive position: my digested enchiladas stinking it up, jeans around my ankles, my ass sticking out, my hair all over the damn place and clinging to my sweaty face.

I yelled at him, "GO AWAY. GO AWAY. GO AWAY."

The flashlight fell out of Elie's hand. The light rolled and disappeared into a bush. I accidentally farted between every word, and I tried yelling louder to hide how wet it all sounded. I nearly fell over. Elie backed away with bulging eyes from the trauma, but then his face relaxed. He tried holding back a small grin. He yanked the flashlight from within the bush before dashing back to the front of the car.

The knots in my stomach remained tight, and I moaned. I felt stupid because I knew exactly why I was shitting so severely. I had chewed a bunch of seeds that looked like nuts. I was only supposed to take one nut every night to help me lose weight. I'm not too sure though, because the label on the package was in a different language. When I was looking at them, my dad walked in on me, and I had to lie and say it was trail mix. He didn't want me buying products from sketchy websites. So I ate all the seeds to hide them. I prayed I wouldn't lose my butt. It was the only thing I had going for me. I guess the price was shitting my guts out in front of Elie.

I finished pooping and squatted for a while longer. I didn't think about what I was going to wipe myself with. I patted the ground around me. I felt mucky mud, leaves, rocks, and twigs poke my fingers. I wondered if a snake would slither along and bite my butt cheek.

Elie came over to me again but slowly. He was on guard with one hand up, pitching something between his fingers, and the flashlight in the other. The beam pointed at the ground. I turned my butt away from him. He stiffened up at my sudden movement.

Before I could swear at him, he quickly handed me one tissue with a pinch of his fingers. "It's all I could find."

I said thanks, and he went away again. The tissue was thick. Using as much of the surface without getting any poop on my hands was tough, but I made it work. I pulled up my jeans and shoveled some mud with my hands to cover my poop. I went over to the front of the car, got onto my knees, and helped Elie shovel around the tire some more. The slush mixed with gravel made the shoveling hurt. We kept scratching ourselves with rocks, and as soon as the wet mud smeared over our skin, it dried. We didn't say anything to each other. Elie looked too serious with his eyes stuck on the task and lips tight. I wondered how disgusted he was by me.

"I dunno what your momma told you but girls poop, too."

He stopped shoveling and looked at me. "What?"

"You're grossed out. You're quiet."

He shook his head, relaxing his lips and grinning. "No, it's not that. I just wanted this to be special, us making love for the first time."

I never really knew what to say to stuff like that. So I let it get quiet. We shoveled another while longer before he went back in the car to try driving out again. It still wouldn't move. He went over to his trunk to see if there was anything else we could use and I heard the splat when he stepped in my poop. I faced-palmed.

I pretended to not know. "Is everything okay?"

He gave me a cheerful, "Mhm."

He was honestly a nice guy. I went to the back of the car. He had a hand on the trunk to balance himself while he tried to use a stick to scrap the poop off his shoe. I felt so pathetic.

"I'm so sorry."

“No, don't be. Just tell me if you still like me.”

I narrowed my eyes. "But that's my shit on your shoe."

Elie stopped scrapping and straightened up. He stood a foot taller than me. His eyes beamed. "I don't care. You're still perfect."

Eh, I didn't know what to say to that either, and silence is weird, so I asked, "You still wanna do it?"

He grinned, shyly looking down at the ground. "How's your stomach?"

I shrugged and gave him thumbs up. "Ready to go. Did you bring condoms?"

He tossed the stick aside. "I brought two kinds."


We found water bottles in his trunk and rinsed our hands. After scratching the crust off our skin, I went for Elie's cheeks and brought his face a foot lower so I could reach. I stumbled backward, kissing him the whole way back into the car. Escaping from the heat and back into the air-conditioned car was a blessing, but we couldn't avoid the damn sludge. Our heavy shoes were heavy and caked with mud.

"We're gonna fuck up your carpet."

"No, don't worry. You're more important."

I almost said something dumb like, "Thanks dude," before telling myself to leave the lovey-dovey stuff to him. He was good at it. I would've never known a good shit would make me want him so much. I could finally focus on getting dick.

We kicked off our shoes and let them fall onto the floor. I lay back onto my rainbow polka dot blanket. He moved on top of me and kissed my neck, harder this time. I closed my eyes and felt his hands move under my shirt to touch my stomach. I hate getting my belly rubbed, but those big hands could touch me wherever, whenever. His kissing slowed though, and I thought maybe the smell of shit was still lingering and killing the mood.

 But instead, he asked, "Did you ever think we'd end up together?"

I didn't hesitate. "No."

He moved his lips to my cheek. "How come?"

I opened my eyes and narrowed them at the roof of the car for a second. I knew he was trying to get me to pour my heart out, with those yummy lips of his, and make me get all silly. I wasn't going to let him trick me, though.

"I dunno."

"Come on, tell me." He moved back down to my neck and bit me just right.

The biting made me close my eyes again and run my hand through his hair instead of pulling it.

I still wasn't giving in though. "I dunno."

He was all about talking, especially about feelings. He wanted to know what I was thinking. I knew he really wanted to know when he moved his hand into my jeans.

 He whispered, "Come on, Dores. Tell me."

Oh damn. Those hands. Maybe Elie liked me talking feelings as much as I loved his hands. That made sense. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, because then he'd know he was doing it right, and I was close to talking.


Hell no.





"Tell me."

He was making my toes curl. Dammit. "You were too quiet."


 Breathe. "I thought things would be boring."


I squeezed the seat by my hip. "You're not boring."


Fuck, those hands. I'm not kidding. Those damn hands. "Yes. I like you. I like you–a lot. You don't mind us eating off each other's plate when we go out to eat. You never tell me to stop talking or to shave my legs. You're a sweet guy with really really nice hands."

God, what a mess. He was breathing hard against my neck, as hard as me, and I wasn't even touching him back. I reached down to unbutton his jeans so we could just get to it. But when I opened my eyes, I noticed the roof was lit up. Someone's headlights were facing our car.


He froze. "What? I hurt you? I'm so sorry."

He pulled his fingers out of me and wiped them on his jeans.

I whispered, "Somebody's out there."

I pictured the damn sheriff walking up, taking one look at me before saying he was going to call my dad to come whoop my ass and take me to church. He'd said that the last time he caught Elie and me making out at the shelter at Voss Park in the middle of the night.

Elie popped his head up to see who it was. Their headlights lit his face, and his mouth dropped. He came back down, hurrying like he was now the one that had to poop. He buttoned my jeans, fixed my shirt, and gave me my shoes, all in a beat like he had a plan. I know he didn't though, because he kept glancing around the car like he lost his balls.

I slid down onto the floor and hid behind the driver's seat while slipping my shoes on. "What? Who is it? The po-po?"

"No. It's my dad."

He stuffed the bag of condoms under the passenger seat. The crinkling of the bag clashed with our panicky breathing. His dad, Lonnie, was going to snarl at the sight of me just like he did at work, at the gas station, the post office, and everywhere else in town. He didn't want me with Elie because Elie could do better. I was too frank and loud and short and fat for Lonnie's liking. He reminded me every time he saw me.

“He hates me."

"I know."

We stared at each other for a split second before we heard a car door slam, pushing me to speak.

"You just gotta go out there and tell him you're by yourself. I'll hide here."

I grabbed the blanket and threw it over my head.

He pulled the blanket back to get me to look at him. "I'm here alone doing what?"

"Doing drugs."


"Yeah, dude. Drugs. Go, he'll forgive you for doing meth, but not for wanting to fuck me."

I covered my head again, and he didn't say anything else because he knew I was right. I heard the car door open and shut. I pulled the blanket off and watched him walk toward the headlights like he was about to die. He tried to catch his breath. I thought about our plan again and faced-palmed. His dad wasn't going to believe the drug thing. It was ass talk. Elie wasn't the type.

I peeked from behind the driver's seat. Elie jogged over to his dad's black truck parked a few yards away. It stood between the trees, at the entrance of our spot to get back onto the road. Lonnie meant to trap us not knowing how trapped we already were. His truck towered behind him, making him look even shorter. The headlights still managed to shadow him like a god. Elie tried rambling to keep him there. Lonnie had his arms crossed and kept narrowing his eyes at him, staring at the mud smeared at the knees of his jeans. He made Elie look dumb and small with that stance and his intimidating goatee. It was all too familiar. It was the only way Lonnie talked to him. Now that puberty had added a few pounds and made Elie a whole foot taller, he could snap Lonnie in half, like the twig he was. But it hadn't changed anything. Elie was still small inside, so Lonnie always won.

It made me sure that Lonnie was going to walk to the car no matter what. So I grabbed the condoms from under the seat and wrapped my blanket around my head and shoulders. I watched them a second longer as Lonnie walked toward the car, but Elie pulled him back by the arm. I cringed because I knew Lonnie didn't like being touched. He turned away from my direction to face Elie and swear up at the poor kid. Elie leaned back as Lonnie ran his mouth. I opened the door, crawled out on to the ground and into the damn humidity again. I pushed the door closed, leaning against it with my shoulder to let it silently click shut instead of slam.

I crawled away from the car on my hands and knees, my palm crushing the box of condoms. Lonnie and Elie's arguing hung behind me.

"I'm sorry. You're just not listening. I said I was going to get . . . high."

Lonnie mocked him with a laugh. “You’re too pussy. You'd think you were dying. But I’d rather you do drugs than that fat bitch!”

I could hear Elie was shaky, but still trying to keep his voice firm, “Dores. It’s Dores!”

I stopped crawling and let go of the box of condoms. I’d never heard him yell before. There was a struggle, shoes scrubbing gravel, a thud, and a drop to the ground. My hands scanned for a glass bottle or a branch in case Lonnie decided to hit him more than once, which he never did because Elie never fought back.

"So then you were with her?"

“No,” he groaned through his teeth. “I was going to get high."

He wasn't actually lying because he'd get high on my pussy for sure. I grabbed the box of condoms again and crawled into the bushes. Branches scratched my face and leaves found their way into my mouth.


It started raining before I reached the railroad tracks. The rain dripped down my face, and I kept wiping it away although I knew it'd keep dripping. The blanket over my head and shoulders got heavy and seeped water on my clothes. My skin felt saggy, and so did my soul because, well, damn, I was really looking forward to getting dick, but Elie just ended up getting hit. But small town living is ridiculous. Make out point was probably the same point it'd been back in the ’70s. No wonder Lonnie had found us.

A car pulled up next to me, and the window rolled down. I kept staring straight because if it were someone nosy, my dad would find out I was out and at about three in the morning before I even made it home.

"You okay, kid? You need me to call somebody?"

I recognized him based on the sound of his muffler. It was the mail guy. "I'm fine. Thanks."


"Yes, Mr. Pederson. Please carry on."

"Does your dad know you're out here?"

"Yes, sir. He sent me to get milk."

“Elie's looking for you.”

I stopped and spun my head in his direction. "He's actually looking for me?"

I thought his dad would send him straight home. Mr. Pedersen gracefully stepped on the break, and his scruffy, chubby face grinned. It teased me. He knew all too well that only Elie's name could break my guard in any situation. He also knew I would never admit to something like that.

I turned away, dropped the emotion, and started walking again. "Not that he would be. It's whatever."

"Get in the car, Dores. He's stationed at the park. He said he was looking for his dog, but I know Vicky ran it over a year ago."

I gasped. "You didn't remind him, right? Or I'll have to sit through another three seasons of Gilmore Girls to get him to stop crying."  

"Of course I didn't. Get in."

I sighed and walked around the front of the car. The headlights blinded me for a second before I got into the passenger's side. I quickly got a whiff of the peppermint air freshener he used to hide his pot smoking. He headed east of town.

 He rolled up his window. "I got a hoodie here somewhere."

He kept a hand on the wheel and the other dove into the darkness of the back seat and came back with an XXL gray hoodie. The print on the front was Threshing Bee 1972. I had five similar hoodies at home that Elie had bought me every summer for the past five years. I think tractor parades are boring, but he took me for the homemade ice cream. It was guaranteed to give you an orgasm.

I set the wet blanket and plastic bag at my feet.

"What's in the bag?"


He glared at me. The light from his dashboard and stereo made the shadows of his face look more skeptical. "Elie's out looking for you at three in the morning, and you're carrying a bag of gum?"

"Yeah, it's what the kids are into."

I didn't notice him reach for the bag while I pulled the hoodie over my head. He was staring at the crushed box of condoms the second the hoodie was past my face. He was wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry. I thought you meant drugs."

He put the bag back. He looked awkward for invading my privacy. He rubbed his chin, stuck his eyes to the road, and didn't say anything else.

I tried lightening the mood. "Sex is so much fun."

He shook his head, too familiar with how I talked, and chuckled, "Well, good thing you have a big o’ box of condoms. Looks like you got enough for weeks."

I grinned. "Nope, days."

We made it to the park, and before I got out of the car he said, “You and Elie. You sure about that? He seems too timid. You’re too . . . I don’t know.”

Mr. Pedersen had known both of us since we were third graders when he volunteered as a para at our school. He'd witnessed me fighting off sixth graders during recess. I'd force Elie to back me up, and he would because he liked me.

"I'll decide that, Mr. Pedersen. You just worry about your rattling muffler. It sounds awful. Call my pops, and we'll get it switched out for you."


Elie spoke the instant I got in the car, “I'm so so sorry."

As I shut the car door, I noticed Elie looked even muddier than before. It was all over his shirt and the crotch of his jeans. His lip was cut and a little swollen, too.

"I should be the one sorry. It looks like your dad used you to wipe his ass."

He glanced down at his clothes and awkwardly brushed off a few dried chunks with his fingers. “No, it’s whatever.”

He pulled away from the park and headed south of town to drop me off at home. He was too quiet again. He was often quiet, but there were two kinds. He was either enjoying the silence or overthinking. I could tell he was overthinking because he had both hands on the steering wheel and his jaw was tense. He kept opening his mouth and moving his jaw to relax it, but it wasn't helping.

"What did your dad say?"

"Nothing. I just can't use the car anymore. But it's whatever. I'll use the gas money to buy us slushies, pizza rolls, or something."

I wanted to ask about his lip, but I knew that was one thing he wouldn’t spill. All these years and he’d only shared a few words on it. “He just wants me to behave.” I grabbed one of his hands from the steering wheel and held it in my lap. Elie had recently gotten his license. There wasn't going to be any more night cruising around town while blasting his hip-hop or my punk rock, make out sessions, or driving out of town to be bored somewhere out in the country where the sunset felt like ours.

"You should've just headed straight home to keep your dad from getting more pissed. I would've gotten home fine."

Elie shook his head. "I wanted to say sorry."

Sorry for having to hide me. Sorry for the times he didn’t stand up to his dad. Sorry that his dad forced him to leave me out in the country the other night we got caught. I had to walk three or four miles by myself until my dad found me. Elie had gone to my house to tell him where we had been and to apologize, as many times my dad would listen. We didn't talk for weeks while Lonnie kept him sheltered off, and I didn't make an effort to be around him. I'd catch him looking at me during class, and he'd sneak baked goods into my locker with notes. He'd explain how much he was sorry and how wrong his dad was for thinking Elie could do better than me.

 "You would've never left me behind."

We didn't say anything else until we got to my house. I kissed him hard and heavy. He reached for the shifter to pull away.

He joked, "Let's just run away. I have plenty of gas and food money to last us weeks."

I pulled his hand back to me to stop him. We'd already tried to run away once before in elementary, and we got lost in the cornfields and shared a Snickers bar.

"Maybe some other time. I want to go appreciate my toilet."

He grinned and nodded. I kissed him one more time and got out, holding my heavy wet blanket. He waited for me to reach the front steps before driving away. He turned right at the stop sign and headed north of town. That's when Lonnie pulled up in front of my house and rolled down his window.

He called out, “How stupid are you?”

I should've gone inside, but I couldn't help myself against a confrontation. Lonnie was always on my ass about the same old thing: don’t fuck my son. But I was looking forward to doing lots of fucking, and he knew he couldn't stop me. Lonnie still spent too much time trying to find ways to mess with me, like telling my boss I purposely spilled coffee on him, or ruin my rep by telling other parents I sold pot to their kids. Thankfully no one ever believed him, mostly because everyone knew he was an asshole. I never bothered discussing any of it with my dad. He knew, and he always tried fixing it by confronting Lonnie. I just didn't think it was worth his time. I didn't want him to worry, especially since sometimes I was the one feeding the fire. It was too funny to me how much a grown ass man could get upset at a sixteen-year-old.

I left my blanket on the porch floor, went down the steps, and got a little closer to Lonnie's truck. I didn't say anything, looking down and focusing on the squishy sound of my wet shoes. His voice was a lot deeper than you'd expect from a short dude with a lanky body.

"What do you do to him? It can't be your looks.”

I shrugged. "I guess he just wants my pussy."

He laughed. “But you’re disgusting."

I mocked his laugh, mimicking his small face, and raising my voice to a higher pitch instead of lowering it, "HA HA HA."

"Why are you so annoying?"

"Why does your goatee look like pubes?"

For a second, the only noise was the rain hitting the concrete like pebbles. I appreciated the hoodie. I would've been cold.

"Don't make me mad."

I looked at him then, and sharpened my voice. "Or what?"

Threats are weak. I challenged Lonnie's gaze; the dashboard light reflecting off his crinkled eyebrows and dark face didn't scare me one bit. I waited for a response until he turned away.

He merely said, "Fuck off."

"Fuck off?" I went up to his truck and reached for the door handle. He stiffened up and locked the doors before I could get it open. "Or what? Huh? You bony dipshit. What the fuck you going to do?"

I knew I was too loud, but I couldn't help it. If I were taller, I would've climbed through the window.

“Classy, you fat whore."

He started driving away. I grabbed a piece of cement from our cracked street curb.

I swung my arm back, and my dad came out the front door yelling, "Dolores! Don't!"

I caught my breath and let my hand drop to my side. I kept squeezing the piece of cement. Lonnie's truck took a harsh turn at the stop sign as he sped off. His tires screeched. My dad walked down the steps and toward me with his shoulders broad, neck tense, and eyes glancing in the direction Lonnie had gone. He was still wearing the jeans, white t-shirt, and boots he took to work.

"Hijo de su puta madre. What did he say now?"

I dropped the cement on to the ground, sighed, and shook my head. "Nothing. He's just ugly. Ugly voice. Ugly heart. Plain UGLY."

"Tell me what he said.”

"Nothing," I repeated. "It's whatever. Don't waste your time."

He loosened his shoulders and ran his hand through his hair to cool down. "Then you were with Elie? Do you know it’s three in the morning?”

I tried holding back from grinning, but broke. My dad shook his head and pointed at the house. I knew he was going to ground me and give me the sex talk again. I didn't mind. They were nice talks. I swiftly headed towards the house and up the steps. I started planning for the next time I'd see Elie. Pooping before leaving the house was at the top of the list.

Arely Anaya graduated with a fiction major and a minor in writing for television. She's been published in Hair Trigger 40.  She is a staff writer for the St. James, Minnesota Plaindealer. When she isn't writing, she's raising piglets.