MOTHER KNOWS BEST by Meg Pickarski



When I was in the sixth grade I overheard my mother telling the bag boy at the grocery store she’d give him a blowjob for fifty bucks. The boy smiled and handed her fifty bucks right there and then. Later I asked my mom what a blowjob was and she told me it was a way to get what you wanted. I wrote this down in my diary.

I was excited about this new discovery, it was a secret I had all to myself and I planned on taking full advantage of it the next day at school. I wasn’t sure when to make my move until I saw it from across the lunch room: Albert Finklestine pulling out a lollipop from his lunch box—and not just one of those small ones that you get at the doctor’s office for not screaming your head off—but the kind that your parents will never let you have; as big as your face with swirls and swirls of every color imaginable. My mouth watered at the possibility. I decided that I needed that lollipop, so I went up to Albert and told him I’d give him a blowjob if he gave it to me. I waited for an answer. Instead, he grabbed my boob. My face instantly grew hot. I swatted his chubby hand away. “Slut,” he said. I didn’t know what that meant, but felt things had gotten way too out of hand. I walked away, decidedly angry at my mother.


Meg lives in Brooklyn where she spends her time making lists of things to write about. You can follow her on Twitter @mpick21.

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