(Revised 1/8/14)


Chapter One - Tori's Surprise

Something's tickling me in my bed. This isn't a horror movie. I reach for my pickaxe.

My room is still dark, no doubt in the same state of disrepair that I left it in that night. The walls are mysteriously quiet, absent my mother yelling from downstairs, telling me that breakfast is ready and possibly half-eaten. So, it's not hard to believe that my eyes would shoot open like they did.

Thankfully, my mind crawls back to the night before – when my best friend Cat came over to work on our science project together. For a school called Hollywood Arts that's curriculum focuses on students with musical and artistic talent, one wonders why they even bother having biology classes.

The tickling sensation is due to Cat's fiendish habit of 'sleep-tickling'. Five toes wiggle against the back of my left foot, joining the hand that's stretched along my waist in tickling me. Her fingers drum along my stomach with effort. I normally make Cat sleep on the inflatable bed my parents bought, but Trina saw an end to that because she needed a place for her friend to sleep and apparently her bed wasn't big enough for two.

That was the same week we had a burglar break in, and she and her friend went through a whole box of Capri Suns that night.

Cat's hand shifts to my ribs, so I heft myself away from her reach, trying to get back to sleep. The last time I got tickled, I kicked a pedicurist in the ear by accident. Let's not repeat that accident. Cat can keep this activity up for hours in her sleep if she wants to.

Me and Cat, or is it Cat and I, we actually got a lot done on our report about the reproductive system. Cat prepared to go home, took one look outside and froze. I came up behind her and all it took was a glance. I offered to let her sleepover. Cat, true to her name, must have been terrified of the downpour, because I became one teenage girl heavier in the same moment as she threw herself on me in a big, glompy hug.

Cat's full of gummy bears, I swear. And those gummy bears are plotting against me. It was either let her sleep in my bed, or let her be driven home by Trina, since my parents would be getting back late. After a small game of twenty-five questions, I got Cat to tell me her parent's phone number and explained everything to Mr. and Mrs. Valentine over the phone. Cat and I stayed up and watched the new episode of Girly Cow, ate some popcorn, and made our way into bed.

With her hands creeping over me, I calmly try to move out of Cat's reach. I move, and she invades. My patience wearing thinner, I grunt and lay down on my shoulder; then I get creative, and I decide to use my butt to scoot Cat backward rather than play footsies or get into a shoving match. I scoot hard and something sturdy stands against my backside, and then like a highway sign in a cartoon, snaps back when I push away. Oh. That's normal. Her feet aren't tickling mine anymore and that's normal.

A moment passes, and I decidedly decide that that isn't normal, whirling around to face Cat, her sleeping, purring face. Both of her hands are nestled under her cheek for comfort. My eyes lance down her front, searching for some foreign object. Now, I never saw Cat bring any stuffed animals to bed, but it's certainly something she would do. My first guess would be a PeeWee Baby.

No PeeWee baby by her chest or stomach. My eyes travel downward. Nothing around her knees or feet, just a tent-like shape poking from the middle of her pajamas.

I blinked twice and roll my vision around the center of Cat's pajamas. Stuffing a PeeWee Baby inside of one's PJs isn't odd. I started to let my eyelids fall, then they swung back up. Why would Cat place a doll there? My eyelids fell again, but the question burned.

Peering down at Cat's polka-dotted pajamas, I sensed a disturbance in the force. It wasn't just a figment of my imagination. What else could I be but just a little bit curious? A small gulp escaped me as I used my dominant hand to clutch the hem of Cat's pajamas. The material peeled back slowly, and was caught.

Caught on what, I wondered.

In the middle of my search, Cat's nose hitched and her head moved. I watched, hands and arms numb,w while Cat's eyelids moved the slightest of an inch, but stayed closed. My hand tugged again, trying to pull the fabric over whatever was trapped in Cat's PJs.

The problem was that I was trying to push down on whatever was blocking me. So I pulled the fabric around and down, sliding it over a length of what I falsely presumed to be a flashlight.

Cat, thank god, was a sound sleeper, so she didn't hear the gasp that ripped at my throat. The sleepwear in my hand nearly snapped back, but I tightened my fist to hold it. This was the first time I had ever investigated the contents of a friend's underpants and I was doing pretty well.

As wrong as that sounded, it wasn't any worse than when Jade snuck into Cat's house and shaved all of her hair off. Meaning all of her hair. How she'd managed that was, surprisingly even more now, beyond me.

Tonight, I learned that Cat Valentine had a penis.

My best friend had a penis. My girly, girlish girl of a friend had a penis.

That was not supposed to be there, so I blinked a few more times. No avail. The penis stayed right where it stayed, and I refused to say it belonged there. At that moment, blood disappeared from my veins. The only liquid inside of me now was ice water, recently melted ice water with tiny chunks of ice still floating within. Every cell that was Tori Vega screamed.

This was the part where I ran from my bed, grabbed a desk lamp or some blunt object, and attacked the intruder. The person sleeping next to me was not Cat Valentine. That was impossible. Cat Valentine did not have a penis. Cat Valentine changed in the girl's locker room. Cat Valentine wore a 32A size bra. Cat Valentine went to the nurse's office for cramps, and asked me for spare tampons every other Tuesday.

When the ice water left my veins, my brain started doing cartwheels. Gazing at the hairless region above Cat's... genitals, another mystery was already waiting. Hair removal was a part of any teenager's life, but I refused to believe that Cat's mother would trust her with a shaving kit or a sharp object next to an area so vulnerable and at risk for infection.

It was...clean-looking, not that I had any ready means of comparison, and stretched out. Apparently, Cat was having a very pleasant dream. Not that I'd thought I'd ever have to ask her, but why wasn't she wearing any underwear and why hadn't that question dawned on me when I first noticed her skin underneath the fabric? Did Cat always go commando when she was at home?

I immediately diagnosed it: Morning wood. My danger senses tingled again, reminding me that Cat liked boys and that I'd seen her go on dates with boys before. I think we've even double-dated before. Cat liked boys, but here she was with a... boy's body part... erect and glaring back at me. Oh the irony. I had invaded its personal space.

More importantly, I can't glitter over the possibility that a hermaphrodite had somehow broken into my house, moved my real redhead best friend elsewhere, and crawled into my bed with me unaware.

Cat wore a 32A bra. Maybe if I checked upstairs, that would be confirmation. My room was still dark, and with my one hand keeping Cat's pajamas open, I didn't want to move far. I brought my hand to Cat's chest and gently snuggled deeper. I wasn't too concerned about Cat waking up at this point admittedly, and soon my palm fondled over her left breast. I groped twice just to make sure, and kept it at that number. I wasn't doing this to fondle her.

Of course, Cat never came off as someone who would be into getting breast surgery. I didn't even know if girls our age were eligible for that kind of thing. With two squeezes, there wasn't anything there that came off as artificial. Just soft, buttery skin and a loose nipple.

Now I retreated with that hand and took hold of Cat's pajamas with both hands. So this wasn't some imposter. What I can't get out of my mind is how Cat, Cat, of all people, kept this a secret from me for so long.

We've had dozens of sleepovers with Andre, Beck, Robbie, and even Jade, once. My hands squeezed the rim of her pajamas. Her parents must have known about it. But how in this crazy, sitcom-fashioned world does our adorable little Cat walk around with this thing on her body? Did she even know that most girls didn't have penises?

Cat's worn skirts and dresses for crying out loud! I've watched her fumble with her clothes while getting changed for gym. We did a Google Search for Tom Hiddleston pictures together. She tried to take a shower with me one time!

There must be a peaceful solution to this. I can just close my eyes and go back to sleep, and forget this ever happened. Cat's candy-coated dreams had gotten me this far, so the best thing to do was to play it safe.

Who was I kidding? I'm peeking at my best friend's pubic area while she's asleep, holding her pants open with my own two hands. I'm the textbook definition of a pervert.

Confrontation isn't my strong suit – Jade West is a good example, and oh I hate her so. Cat is even less confrontational than me. If I asked her about this, she would literally break into tears.

If I left it though, she'd wake up and freak out anyway. I'm not a good liar. I'm a halfway decent liar, like telling someone that a dress doesn't make them look fat. But keeping a straight face when Robbie asks if girls found him attractive was a no-go. Cat might ask me a question, and it'll only get weird from there.

There was a better answer. Cat can't be comfortable all erect like that, after all of my tampering.

I study it briefly. I don't have a ruler, but it's almost as long as the tip of my middle finger to my wrist. Not nearly as wide, or thick, I suppose. If some painted it yellow and pink, I'd have almost thought it was one of those really fat pencils from back in kindergarten. I pouted with a startling amount of envy.

Now's the time for action. Cat's stiff as a board and I'm one of the few people who knows how to help. I carefully place her pajamas back where they belong and get out of bed, and as I head to and from the bathroom, I can hear Trina's snoring on one end of the hall. The noise cuts off when I close my door back, my fist clenched around my own bath towel. Cat, you owe me big for this, and you'll never know why. If Trina ever found out... let alone about what I was doing... luckily, that was never going to happen.

I took a huge breath and steeled myself. The plan? Remove Cat's erection and get back to sleep and hide the evidence. Cat's head wobbles in dreamland. I take that as a green-light.

Nimbly, I swooped into bed and cupped my non-dominant hand around Cat's erection, holding the towel in my other hand. In the interest of speeding the procedure along, I ran my hand under some cold water for about thirty seconds, and my gambit paid off because Cat's penis hardened in my grasp.

Robbie has told me before that in some online circles, people call this "melting the ice caps". From then on, I did my best to not think of Robbie while I worked, considering. My hand moved up and down. I'm going on the record saying that it may have been possessed.

Cat wobbled, and I knew from eavesdropping on conversations between the Hollywood Arts senior classmen that wobbling was usually a good thing in this scenario. However, Cat waking up was most certainly not a good thing.

I slowed down, mentally astonished by how soft Cat's skin was down there, almost like a linoleum tile. A flicker of breath made me wince, seeing Cat and the way her cheeks flushed. Her body remained surprisingly unresponsive, even as my hand moved a little bit faster.

Pride plucked me. It was sort of like we were bonding, and every jitter Cat made sang to me. Licks of nausea rushed me, ordering that I cease and desist, but Cat's hips started pushing in response. The linoleum started sweating. I fought the urge to examine my hand. Just keep going Tori, nothing to see here. You are not jerking off your best friend in your own bed. You are not helping your best friend get off while she's asleep; no you most certainly are not.

A tiny, infantile whimper slips from Cat's lips.

Followed by a gasp, just as I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and a flood of white chased my thumb down her shaft. That was a bit quicker than I was expecting. I smothered the towel around her lap without a second thought. Had I known, I would have draped it more carefully.

Once the semen stopped spewing, I squeezed my hand around the towel for safe measure. Cat's next groan ballooned with pleasure. She'd enjoyed that. A moment ago, she sounded like I'd just stabbed her in the throat. By some miracle, she stayed asleep, with rosy cheeks that were oiled and gleaming, ready to cook a well-done steak.

Beneath my towel, I shoved against Cat's privates, trying to clean up the mess. Most of what she'd expelled went into my towel, and I think that's just fantastic. At least there's less of her to clean.

I yank the pajamas back up, confident that if nothing else woke her, that wouldn't. Appeased, Cat's friend descended into her pajamas until everything was back to the illusion of normal. Nothing about Cat, or our friendship, will ever be normal ever again.

I've just given my friend what older kids call a 'handjob'. With both of my hands shaking, I leaned over and hurled the messy towel under my bed. Disintegrate. The word was all that flashed through my head as I silently laid back down onto my pillow, eyes drifting downward.

By tomorrow, I'll convince myself that this was all a disturbing, erotic dream.

Change of plan. Tomorrow I'll convince myself that this was some sick, perverted dream that Sinjin told me about that somehow got junked up in my head.