My friend Laura was throwing a going away party for herself at her mom’s house. I’d known her since the eighth grade, so our friendship was significant enough that I’d agreed to go and saved up the money for cab fare. It sounds as if I’m either exaggerating the price of a ride or the extent of my friendship with Laura, but as a university student, I had little time to work and even less money to show for it.
The party was supposed to start at 8. Most rational people leave an hour of cushion time just to ensure they aren’t the first ones there; now it was 7:30 and I was in a cab on my way to the house. I was always the first to arrive. I can even recount a time that I showed up before the host.
I’m not exactly sociable material. I’ve made very few friends in my life time, and I’m in no rush to make more. I’m a pretty humble person, I’d say. I usually prefer staying at home and watching a movie than going out to a bar and dancing with some acquaintances. Not that I could afford going to the bar in the first place, but the gist of it is that I’m not a people person, and I am totally okay with that.
Not to say people haven’t tried bringing me out a little. As naive and innocent as I am, I’ve been able to tell when someone tries to pick me up. I’ve been told I’m fairly attractive, even though I don’t try to make myself stand out too much. I have long, wavy auburn hair, which I usually take to wearing in a ponytail. I’ve got a fair complexion and somewhat sharp features, besides my apple cheeks. Other than that, I’m average everything. Average height, average weight, average bust and bum—Average Audrey. Some call me Audi.
This party was probably the first one I attended since the beginning of the school year. It was December now—everybody was finishing up their semester and planning trips home to be with families. Laura was transferring to a school in London, and there she planned to stay until her degree was complete and minted. Which meant I, nor anyone else, would likely see her for another year and a half.
I was mulling over that fact when the cabbie turned down her road. “Just the fifth one down on the right here,” I said, pointing over the passenger seat from my place in the back. The man pulled over silently and flicked on the light. The register blinked back at me in red numbers, making me wince. I handed him forty and asked for just a five back. He thanked me and I bid him a good night before getting out of the cab. I was hoping Laura would let me crash—I was fairly certain I couldn’t afford the trip back.
Laura’s mom’s place was a blue and white two-storey house, straight out of a white picket fence fantasy (except that it had no fence). All the lights were on inside. I checked my watch. 7:48. Yup. First one there, without fail.
I walked up the cobblestone path, which had been immaculately shovelled of snow, and climbed the steps to the porch. Before I even got close to the doorbell, Laura whipped open the door and beamed down at me.
Laura was a bit taller and slimmer than I was. She looked like she could have been an actress or a model if she wanted to. She had blonde hair which she had pulled back into a sleek french twist, and a sultry tan, even though it was the dead of winter. She was wearing a plain yet gorgeous beige dress which made her look curvier. She had these sparkling blue eyes and a wide, brightening smile—the kind that would force you to smile, too, even if you were down in the dumps.
“Hi, Audi!” she exclaimed.
“Hi, Laura. I’m the first one, I bet.”
“Yup. Just in time to help me get set up!” she said, waving me in. “I’ll take your coat.”
“Thanks” I surrendered my jacket to her. “So where’s your mom this weekend?”
“Annual meeting in Pittsburgh,” Laura replied automatically. My inner alarm went off; I shouldn’t have brought up her mom. I decided to let the topic drop.
“What sort of things do you need to do to set up?” I asked.
“Just set out some snack bowls, prep the bathrooms for sick guests, that sort of thing.”
She led me into the kitchen and we got to work. There really wasn’t much to do—I set out the finger foods while she placed extra buckets in the bathrooms (just in case the toilets were ocupado) and made them more presentable and homey. We hooked her iPod up to some wireless speakers and picked some appropriate ambient music that could appeal to anyone and set a good mood. She then lined up some bottles of alcohol that was meant to be community booze, or “pity booze” as she called it, and tried to label them as such with masking tape and a felt pen. When I pointed out that the word “pity” had only one T instead of two, she renamed them all “titty booze” with a snort and a snicker.
“Well… I think that’s it. What time is it?” she asked me.
“I’m just eager, I guess. Let’s go see if anything’s on TV.”
Her living room was right next to the front hallway; that way we could keep a close watch on the street and anyone arriving. We sat in front of the television and watched re-runs of sitcoms; she glanced Şerifali Escort over at the front door every few minutes. At about 8:48, she huffed and crossed her arms haughtily.
“Maybe everyone misread the time on the event,” I suggested.
“Maybe,” she replied stiffly.
When the episode ended and the next program began, she turned her turned head away and fell eerily quiet.
I glanced at my watch for good measure. 8:58. I looked over at Laura with concern. It was dark in the room, but I could still see her shoulders quivering.
She turned her head as far away from me as possible when I said her name. Then she suddenly sniffed and brought her wrist to her face. I shifted towards her. “Laura, what’s the matter?”
“Oh!” she cried, slapping her hand on the couch and turning forwards. Tears streaked down her face. “I haven’t had a great week,” she muttered, trying to keep her chin from trembling.
“Why? What happened?” I asked, reaching out to stroke her shoulder.
“Before my mom left, she… she told me in so many words that she wasn’t proud of me. That she didn’t think too highly of what I do.” She sniffed again and tried to wipe away her tears, leaving smudged mascara across her cheeks. “Then it’s all these stupid people who call me their friend. I can’t even get anyone to come out when I offer free booze!”
“Maybe… they all got the wrong date?” I offered, trying to cheer her up and failing miserably. “Maybe they all thought it was tomorrow, not today. And in any case, I don’t think your mom doesn’t think that lowly of you.”
“But she does!” Laura cried. “Ever since I dropped out of Business, she lost respect of me. Not doing something sensible with my life—I can tell that’s how she thinks. She wants me to get a degree that will get me a high paying job, not a degree I’ll actually enjoy doing.”
“Laura…” I shook my head. “Even if that’s true… you can’t let that get you down like this. Come on.”
“She’s the person I’ve looked up to my whole life,” Laura said miserably. “What am I supposed to do if my only role model doesn’t see me in good light?”
“Get a new role model,” I said, shrugging. “Or replace the light bulb.”
She furrowed her brow and her sadness was instantaneously replaced with bemusement. Then she burst into laughter and covered her mouth with her hand. I smiled a little, relieved that she wasn’t actually angry about my comment.
Laura’s laughter tapered off and she sighed contently. I caressed her shoulder again. “Even if they don’t show up, we can have all the booze to ourselves.”
“Titty booze sounds pretty good about now,” she said, jumping up from the couch. Laughing and wiping away the rest of her tears, she hurried down the hall to the kitchen.
As much of a shut-in as I am, I don’t mind drinking from time to time. It’s not that I ever get drunk alone—I mean, I thought about it once, but I got bored and read a book instead. But I’ve never been opposed to drinking. I realize that even though it’s legal, it is a drug, and it has ruined people’s lives. But I’ve always been a proponent of libertarian principles. As long as I’m not ruining anyone else’s life, I see no harm in getting a little intoxicated now and again. And even though it was just me and Laura getting sauced, I was totally down for it.
One of our favourite shows was on when we sat down with shot glasses and various sorts of alcohol, and Laura immediately invented a drinking game. “Every time the laugh track goes off, we take a shot,” she declared. Unoriginal, but effective.
We settled on just a sip every time it happened; I had pointed out that that many shots in such a short frame of time could actually kill a person. We each took about eight shots once the episode was done, and that had been with small slurps, too. Before 9:30 hit, both of us were pleasantly drunk. I wasn’t sure about Laura, but I felt like I was just poisoned enough to feel lightheaded and completely joyous without any trace of nausea. I was also on a fit of giggles that I couldn’t quash. This inevitably drew giggles out of Laura too.
“What’s so funny?” she asked through her laughter.
“I dunno,” I said, tears in my eyes.
She keeled over in silent fits, landing in my lap. I leaned back into the sofa, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling the cramp in my side tighten. For some reason, this only made me laugh harder.
“What—what are you thinking right now?” she asked between gasps.
“I was just thinking about—” I began laughing hard again.
Laura guffawed and put her glass down, as if she’d sensed she’d spill her drink all over herself if she didn’t. We held on to each other, busting our guts. “Why’d you call it that?” I asked.
“I like titties,” she whined. We howled together.
“What?” I managed.
“Yeah!” she said, straightening up. Then her eyes grew wide and she pulled her mouth into a tight O. “Oh, let’s play a new game! Okay”—she straightened up and crossed her legs on Göztepe Escort the couch, facing me, and I mirrored her posture—”I tell you a secret of mine, and then you tell me a secret, and whoever has the more embarrassing story gets to tell the other how much to drink!”
“Who’s the judge of which story is more embarrassing?” I asked.
“We’ll deal with that later,” she declared, waving a hand dismissively. “Okay, so, this happened maybe… three years ago? Just a few months before graduation. Anyway, this guy from the other class… Lars—yeah, Lars!—walked in on me and Portia once.”
I blinked. “What?” My laughs were flickering out like a dying fire.
“Yeah, remember Portia?”
Portia was this small Latino girl that was renowned around our old school for being a little promiscuous. She couldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred pounds at any given time, and was mostly just small all over. She packed a lot of sex appeal, though, and usually liked to flaunt it to her max. So I said yes, I remembered her well, then swallowed.
“Portia and I made this deal to meet each other every other day in third block in the library staff bathroom—because no one ever used it anyway—and we’d… you know… fool around.” Laura took the time to giggle and reach for her shot glass, but she stopped, hissed at herself, and muttered something about drinking afterwards. “Anyway, we got started doing that at a party at the beginning of the year, then we just… started doing it at school. At first we’d just make out and stuff, but things got a little heavier the more safe we felt in the bathroom. That day she leaned against the bathroom wall and I pulled her top up over her chest. I started experimenting with her tits—pinching her nipples mostly—and just as she was starting to look real hot and bothered… Lars walked in!”
I was suddenly aware of a knot that had grown in my stomach, and when I tried to say, “Oh, really?” I realized my mouth was too dry to speak. So I made a weird noise at the back of my throat which I was able to pass off as a confirmation.
“Portia shrieked and ran out of the bathroom—with her shirt back on, of course—and Lars all but booked it out of the library. The next time Portia and I met, she didn’t feel so safe anymore. And for good reason, too—we found out Lars was peeking in on us again.
“We caught him about the third time after hanging outside the bathroom door. He’d figured out our schedule and came by every second day during the third block to listen. At first I acted disgusted and annoyed that my private time with Portia was being ruined by this pervert, but just when I thought it was all over, Portia said I should invite him in.
“So, at this point, I’d felt a little nervous. I mean, I’d never really done anything with a guy before. Even around a guy. But I opened the door a crack, and before he could run away again, I whispered for him to come in.
“We let him sit on the can while we made out, and… well, that’s when I like to consider the time I lost my virginity.”
I gulped and tried to make it unnoticeable, and let her continue.
“Portia suddenly became more—vivid. I suppose she felt in her element—she’d slept with guys before. She payed a lot of attention to me with him watching. She was forceful too. That was the first time I was fingered, now that I think about it….”
Normally at this point I would have felt uncomfortable and asked her to stop. But luckily for her I was liquored up on booze. And lucky for me, I was really enjoying this story, and successfully hiding it. At least I was really trying to.
“That was the first time I saw a penis too. Lars jerked off on the seat while she fondled me, and as I started to come, he made a mess all over himself. Then after that she showed me how to do it to her. She asked him to come fondle her while I did it, and… I guess it sort of became a threesome. I didn’t have sex with him at all, but we were kind of up close and personal.
“Portia asked me if I liked Lars being there, and I said I kind of did. But she started asking him to come every time to join us, and I started to back out. Then it just became the two of them screwing in the bathroom every other afternoon.”
“Did you keep fooling around with just her?” I asked, not really knowing why I’d have the gal to ask such a thing. I was probably just caught up in the moment.
“Yeah, we did. Just not on a regular basis. Actually, at an end of the year party we had, her and I got sloshed, and she went down on me. God, that was actually one of the best lays I’ve ever had!”
I could actually feel my cheeks and chest flush. I had no idea Laura was so extroverted and experienced. I mean, I always knew throughout high school that she went to parties and sometimes got into things kids our age weren’t supposed to, but I thought for the most part that she and I were relatively similar when it came to sexual stuff. I knew she was really attractive and a lot of boys swooned over her, but considering how she acted around them, and the fact Ümraniye Escort that she never talked about this kind of stuff before, I just assumed she was conservative.
Before I could censor the words coming out of my mouth, I asked: “What was it like?”
I immediately seized up in embarrassment, but Laura carried on as if I’d asked her about the weather. “Oh… you know when a guy goes down on you and he starts with the small licks in all the outer reaches before he gets to the sweet spot? How it aches in your thighs and your stomach?”
I could actually feel something like that between my legs. I shook my head slightly. “No.”
“Well, it was twice as—wait, what?”
I forgot to breathe for a second.
“You said you don’t know what it feels like?” Laura said, flabbergasted. “Well, what about sex?”
“I… um. Don’t know.”
Laura tilted her head forward and looked up at me disbelievingly. “What, you mean… never? Not even, like, petting, or anything?”
I pretended to be interested in my fingernails.
“Oh my God,” Laura cried, her voice growing louder with each word until she shouted. “You’re a virgin? And—oh! Shit, Audrey, you let me keep talking about that! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, I forgot I never talk about that stuff with you!”
“I didn’t mind,” I said in a small voice, now feeling like a child must when she was caught doing something she shouldn’t have. I was still looking at my fingernails.
“You didn’t… mind,” she repeated.
I shrugged. When I glanced up at her, a different look was on her face, and I felt my stomach lurch and warm up as butterflies flapped around inside me.
“Audi… do you mind if I kiss you right now?” she whispered.
I felt my cheeks burn like they were neon signs saying TAKE ME. “No,” I whispered back.
She planted both her hands on my thighs and leaned forward. Her lips didn’t touch mine at first; she let them hover, lightly breathing against my face. I could smell the rum on her breath. I wanted to lean in and meet her, but at the same time I wanted to stay out and let her do the leading. It felt so exciting standing on the edge, not plunging in yet.
Her tongue slipped into my mouth before her lips touched me. Her kiss was so soft, barely there, and it ignited me. But I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t know how to react to her touch. So at first I stayed relatively still, opening my mouth a little further so she could massage my tongue, then I dared massaging hers back.
She moaned and I felt an instant rush to my crotch. Her hands squeezed my thighs a little tighter, and she suddenly leaned heavily into me, pushing me back. I unfolded my legs as she climbed on top of me. A leg slid expertly in between mine, and she applied just the right amount of pressure on my crotch.
The tingling that had been there before bloomed; I moaned softly into her mouth as I ground against her leg. I’d done things by myself before, but it had never felt like this. It was a raw desire that I wanted more of, needed more of, and it was an ache that made me feel like I had no inhibitions holding me back. I was willing to go anywhere for that ache.
So as she let me hump her thigh, our kiss grew deeper, more passionate, and I let my hands roam up her sides. God, what was I doing? Sober Audrey wouldn’t do this. But I forgot about Sober Audrey once my hands ran over her breasts.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, wrapping her other leg around mine for more leverage. I rubbed the edge of my thumb over her nipple, which was so hard I could feel it plain as day through her clothes. With a desperate sigh, she took my mouth in a deeper kiss yet, and although she seemed frenzied, she slowly slid her hand under the hem of my T-shirt and lightly traced her fingers over my chest.
I was moaning again, bucking harder into her as she traced circles around my nipple. While we tugged and squeezed, I realized her bra was loose-fitting, and I slipped my hand under it to grasp her.
Her breath tumbled out of her. She squeezed me gently and grabbed my hip.
I mimicked her actions, grabbing hold of her ass, squeezing it as I pressed myself harder against her. She was practically whimpering; the louder she became, the more she squirmed against me. Suddenly her cries took on a new pitch, then she was rubbing against me desperately. She buried her face in my neck and cried out. She slowed quickly.
Minutes passed before she lifted her head and looked at me. I was worried at first what she was thinking, hiding her face like that. If I weren’t as drunk as I was, I might have been convinced that she was disgusted with what we’d just done.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” she asked me, her voice thick and throaty.
With relief, I nodded, not able to find the words at first. “Yeah.”
She climbed off me and helped me up. Then she turned off the television (which we hadn’t been paying attention to for the last fifteen minutes) and she quietly led the way upstairs.
My head wasn’t just light from the alcohol anymore. That had been the single most thrilling experience of my life. I didn’t know sex was supposed to feel like that—I also didn’t know Laura could make me feel like that. I actually stared at her firm, round backside as we climbed the stairs. I don’t know where this new Audrey had come from.