coma. I’ve had
sex all right. My cunt throbs like nobody’s business, and not in a good way. In
a raw way. In a whisker-burn way, which might be a good way if I remembered the
incident. I have mixed feelings about remembering.
“Have. Some. Fun,” Trisha said, patting me on the back. A
pat to emphasize each word of bad advice. “One little drink won’t hurt.”
That was when I decided Trisha was in league with the devil.
I should have walked away.
“True.” I nibbled on a frosted Santa sugar cookie until I’d
munched away his privates. “But have you ever heard that song Tequila Makes
Her Clothes Fall Off ?”
“I love that song.”
“I’m fairly certain someone wrote those lyrics about me.”
Probably someone I’d fucked in my wild youth, before my brain had fully
developed.
Trisha giggled.
To me it was no joke. The subject dredged up blurry memories
of spring break in Cancun. Sand, sun and tequila shots do not mix. And there
was an X-rated video out there somewhere to prove my theory. I’d never be able
to run for president of the US because of my reckless past. Not that I planned
on throwing my hat into the race, but it’s nice to have options.
“Have a little eggnog,” said the evil temptress. “You aren’t
driving.”
True—my condo was just an elevator ride away, like everyone
else’s. She was starting to make sense.
Pointing to a circle of residents, I said, “I think I see a
single man.”
“See ya.” As predicted, she disappeared into the crowd,
leaving me blissfully alone.
“More coffee, Jane?” asked Mrs. Pratt from unit 102B.
I could see the bottom of my cup and shrugged. “Thanks.”
She filled me up, a magical twinkle glinting in her good
eye. Before I could raise the cup to my lips she’d vanished into the throng of
partiers. For good reason. The coffee was not only laced but downright laden
with so much whiskey I nearly choked. The second gulp went down easier. I
usually found that the more I drank the easier I went down too. But the toddy
relaxed the tense muscles in my shoulders.
It was time to relax anyway. The party was officially a
success, based on volume and capacity. I probably could have gotten away with
sneaking out for the night to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a good
book. Tomorrow I would worry about cleanup, I thought. I set my empty cup on a
table and backed slowly away from the party, until I butted up against
something solid. Someone who smelled woodsy. Unless the pleasant fragrance was
the pine-scented candles flickering in the centerpiece on the food table.
Glancing back, it seemed I’d collided with Santa Claus.
“Going so soon, Jane?” he asked in a delicious Spanish
accent.
Chapter Two
That’s about all I remember.
My head is still pounding like miners are blasting for gold
in my cranium.
If I left the party and curled up with a book, how did I get
here? Now? In a strange bed, a painful throbbing in my head and pussy?
The water shuts off. I tense, squeezing my eyes shut,
relaxing only a fraction when what sounds like the sink faucet turns on,
followed closely by an electric toothbrush. Thank heavens my one-night-stand guy
has good oral hygiene. If I could get out of bed, I’d wrestle the toothbrush
from him and polish the veneer off my teeth, because I’m sure the fuzzies go
enamel-deep.
The toothbrush shuts off. Water too.
I hear footfalls on the carpet that are no match for my
pounding heart. Forcing my eyes open a fraction, I spot him. Not all of him.
Mostly I’m eyeing his backside, blurred by the demon alcohol and my unusually
long eyelashes. I smell him at about the same time I see him. The scent of soap
and mint have my pussy throbbing with a pleasant ache. I take inventory of my
latest mistake bent over an open dresser drawer. Dark hair trimmed short.
Tanned skin over rippling muscles. A tattoo covers his arm from shoulder to
elbow. A mole on his neck that I think he should have checked by a medical
sex all right. My cunt throbs like nobody’s business, and not in a good way. In
a raw way. In a whisker-burn way, which might be a good way if I remembered the
incident. I have mixed feelings about remembering.
“Have. Some. Fun,” Trisha said, patting me on the back. A
pat to emphasize each word of bad advice. “One little drink won’t hurt.”
That was when I decided Trisha was in league with the devil.
I should have walked away.
“True.” I nibbled on a frosted Santa sugar cookie until I’d
munched away his privates. “But have you ever heard that song Tequila Makes
Her Clothes Fall Off ?”
“I love that song.”
“I’m fairly certain someone wrote those lyrics about me.”
Probably someone I’d fucked in my wild youth, before my brain had fully
developed.
Trisha giggled.
To me it was no joke. The subject dredged up blurry memories
of spring break in Cancun. Sand, sun and tequila shots do not mix. And there
was an X-rated video out there somewhere to prove my theory. I’d never be able
to run for president of the US because of my reckless past. Not that I planned
on throwing my hat into the race, but it’s nice to have options.
“Have a little eggnog,” said the evil temptress. “You aren’t
driving.”
True—my condo was just an elevator ride away, like everyone
else’s. She was starting to make sense.
Pointing to a circle of residents, I said, “I think I see a
single man.”
“See ya.” As predicted, she disappeared into the crowd,
leaving me blissfully alone.
“More coffee, Jane?” asked Mrs. Pratt from unit 102B.
I could see the bottom of my cup and shrugged. “Thanks.”
She filled me up, a magical twinkle glinting in her good
eye. Before I could raise the cup to my lips she’d vanished into the throng of
partiers. For good reason. The coffee was not only laced but downright laden
with so much whiskey I nearly choked. The second gulp went down easier. I
usually found that the more I drank the easier I went down too. But the toddy
relaxed the tense muscles in my shoulders.
It was time to relax anyway. The party was officially a
success, based on volume and capacity. I probably could have gotten away with
sneaking out for the night to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a good
book. Tomorrow I would worry about cleanup, I thought. I set my empty cup on a
table and backed slowly away from the party, until I butted up against
something solid. Someone who smelled woodsy. Unless the pleasant fragrance was
the pine-scented candles flickering in the centerpiece on the food table.
Glancing back, it seemed I’d collided with Santa Claus.
“Going so soon, Jane?” he asked in a delicious Spanish
accent.
Chapter Two
That’s about all I remember.
My head is still pounding like miners are blasting for gold
in my cranium.
If I left the party and curled up with a book, how did I get
here? Now? In a strange bed, a painful throbbing in my head and pussy?
The water shuts off. I tense, squeezing my eyes shut,
relaxing only a fraction when what sounds like the sink faucet turns on,
followed closely by an electric toothbrush. Thank heavens my one-night-stand guy
has good oral hygiene. If I could get out of bed, I’d wrestle the toothbrush
from him and polish the veneer off my teeth, because I’m sure the fuzzies go
enamel-deep.
The toothbrush shuts off. Water too.
I hear footfalls on the carpet that are no match for my
pounding heart. Forcing my eyes open a fraction, I spot him. Not all of him.
Mostly I’m eyeing his backside, blurred by the demon alcohol and my unusually
long eyelashes. I smell him at about the same time I see him. The scent of soap
and mint have my pussy throbbing with a pleasant ache. I take inventory of my
latest mistake bent over an open dresser drawer. Dark hair trimmed short.
Tanned skin over rippling muscles. A tattoo covers his arm from shoulder to
elbow. A mole on his neck that I think he should have checked by a medical
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