The Party

Moans escaped her lips as she could feel him working inside of her, moving in deeper and deeper with each thrust he made up into her. She could feel the tingling sensation starting in her pelvis, and she leaned her head forward, resting it onto his forehead. Her breath came out hot, and she realized that she was hot. She could feel the cool wind on her face, and she tried to soak it up, but it was not enough; too much of her was in the hot water; she was getting overheated. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she leaned forward more, resting her face on his shoulder. She stopped moving, and concentrated on breathing. He tried to look at her, but she didn't sit up right away. She closed her eyes, and willed the dizziness to go away, but it wouldn't comply.

Finally, she looked up at him, and said, "I think I need to get out of the hot tub, I'm about to over heat. I just realized how hot I was getting. Did you want to go upstairs with me?" She wasn't ready to call it a night, but she had to get out of the hot tub.

"Yeah, absolutely," he said, almost sounding drugged in his passion. She stood up slowly, sliding him out of her, and just stood there for a minute, regaining her balance, and trying to soak in the cool air. She hardly seemed to notice it, like she was molten lava at her core, and the wind couldn't touch her. With his help, she got out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around herself to dry off. She handed one to him as he got out, erection still in place, and she smiled a bit.

"You go ahead, I want to do something really quickly before coming up," he said, and she complied, walking into the house and up the stairs. She walked up half a landing before the stairs turned, and she walked up the rest of the way to be greeted by an entire wall of windows facing into the backyard. Her bed was pushed up against the wall opposite the windows, so she could always see outside. Around the bed and behind the wall was the bathroom, with the giant closet.

She debated about putting on something sexy and slinky, but he had already seen her naked, and would seem silly to have to undress again. She checked the drawer by the bed for condoms, and then pulled her towel off. Her whole body was hot; her head was sluggish and swimming, and her limbs felt weak and shaky. She slipped into the cool, crisp sheets, stretching out, trying to cool off, while she waited for him. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing, and before she realized it, she had fallen asleep.

***

He was trembling. Things like this don't happen, not to me. He was wildly aroused and felt like even the air might set him off. He didn't want to go up and have it all be over in ten seconds, so when she went in he stood on the edge of the deck around the hot tub, grabbed his penis and gave it a few quick tugs. He didn't let the pleasure overwhelm him, he just let the physical reaction happen, and a gout of semen shot over his hand into the grass. He squeezed out the last few drops and shivered in the freezing air. Until that moment he hadn't realized how cold he was.

He gathered up his clothes. No point in putting them on just to take them off upstairs, and anyway he was wet. He wrapped himself in the towel she'd brought and went inside and found the stairs, somehow thrilled with the cold air on his parts, so unused to such freedom. He went up and found the bedroom easily. It only took a moment to see that she was asleep.

Gravity got strange. His head began to float upward while his guts sank to the floor. He had waited too long and blown it. What am I supposed to do? There was no clear answer.

He walked to the bed slowly. Every step seemed to take forever, and for reasons unknown to him he walked quietly, carefully, rolling his bare feet from heel to toe, mindful of creaks from the floor. He walked to the side of the bed where she slept half-covered by the sheets. Her breasts rolled with her breathing, nipples still puckered and hard, and her head was turned to the side with her hair in a cascade across the pillow. She was so beautiful and sexy he ached to look at her.

He walked around and got on the bed slowly, cautiously, completely uncertain of what he was doing. She didn't stir. He slid his legs under the sheets and slid next to her, feeling how cold his skin was, wanting to press right up against her and feel her warmth. He settled in just a few inches away from her, lying on his side with one arm propped under his head, the other hovering toward her. The release and the cold had shriveled his erection but it came back suddenly, hot with blood, the only part of him that was warm, and it ached with the feel of her, a desire so sharp and fierce he felt different parts of his body flexing and relaxing again. As though disconnected from him entirely, his hand continued to reach for her until it alighted on her left breast, gently, one finger beginning a slow spiral inward toward the nipple. Still asleep, she moaned under her breath and squirmed, almost imperceptibly. His penis roared and throbbed.

He leaned down and breathed on her nipple in slow, hot exhalations. She continued to squirm. He felt himself on the verge of some unbearable passion. He was so close to her nipple, it was maddening, and he opened his mouth and took it in, sucking as he flicked his tongue across it. Her moan was a little louder.

An idea grew. Again with care not to shake her awake, he slipped out from under the covers and went to the foot of the bed. The sheets were not tucked in. He climbed over the footboard, lifting the sheets as he came, and crawled up between her legs and let the covers settle over him.

She was neatly trimmed, not bald but well-groomed. There was no light but what the bedside lamp was able to send through the covers. He eased in, feeling like a tiger stalking his prey in the tall grass. Her thighs were soft and lovely. He eased in, moving her gently as he needed, until his face was right up in her crotch. She had an amazing smell that cut through the chlorine of the hot tub. He lifted her legs up onto his shoulders, wiggled in a little bit further, and began to lick gently at her lips, seeking her clit.

***

She was dreaming. She was dreaming about sex. This wasn't unusual for her; she often dreamt of sex; having sex, getting aroused, having orgasms, especially when it had been a long time without any sex in the real world. She was getting that warm, pressure like sensation in her groin, and she rotated her hips in response. She was so tired, so out of it; she knew she was dreaming, and she knew her real self was grinding hips and pelvis forward, but she couldn't seem to break the dream to come out of it, to do something about it.

The heat and the pressure built, seemingly on its own. There was something there, but she couldn't focus on it; didn't know what it was. It felt good; it made her tingle, and wet, and at the same time it stole her wetness. She could feel the stimulation, and this time wasn't sure if it was all a dream or if it was real, too. She arched her hips up to meet it, oh, it felt so good. She was getting lighter; her body was getting lighter, and she knew she was peaking. She pushed up, as if to meet the orgasm, but it was still just there, barely out of reach. The stimulation changed, altered a bit, and there it was; she curled her toes under, pushed her hips up, and seemed to explode into a thousand tiny dots of light that scattered all over the bedroom, before crashing back down into her body. She cried out; oh, it was so good, she stretched out her legs, arched her back, and nearly purred. That was the best orgasm in sleep she had ever had.

And she still did not wake.

***

He knew she came, and he knew she never woke up. He came out of the covers, back over the footboard, and looked at her. Maybe he could wake her, but anything else he could do at this point would only make him feel like a pervert. He was still thinking about what he should do, but realized he was naked and cold standing there. He put his clothes on, making less effort at silence since she was so obviously out cold, kissed her forehead, and went downstairs.

As he walked to the car, pulling his jacket close around him, he looked at the road. He had no recollection of which way was out. He remembered being lost on country roads before, wandering and hoping for them to run north-south, east-west, connect to a larger road, something, but finding nothing, making endless U-turns and trying to remember which CR or FM he had turned from. The hot tub and Leah and the cold had completely sapped his energy and he was doubtful of his ability to make the hour drive home even if he knew exactly where he was going. He looked at his car, scowled, and went back inside. Better to just sleep here than in the car on the shoulder of some moonlight backroad.

Back inside he stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together. Now the question was where to sleep. He glanced up the stairs and thought about her sleeping up there and thought about whether it would be a shock for her to wake up beside him. It was slowly dawning on him that she was probably drunker than she had seemed. The living room sofa was large and comfortable-looking. He scouted closets around the house until he found the linen closet, well stocked, and selected a comforter and pillow with no case. He pulled off his shoes and jacket, emptied his pockets, and lay down in his clothes with the comforter pulled up over him.

Despite all the strangeness and early discomfort it had turned out to be an intriguing evening, pleasant if odd, and with the cold country wind rattling windows and trees and the sounds of the house settling he drifted off into a deep winter sleep.

***

She awoke to severely bright light and sharp, stabbing pains. She scrunched her eyes against the sunlight, and stretched her body, only to cause a rush of more pain and dizziness to her head. She groaned, and rolled over in the bed. The sheet slipped off of her, and she realized she was naked. I'm naked? Why am I naked? She thought, trying to recover a memory from her jumbled and pained brain. She remembered the party last night, and groaned again at her head. If she hadn't gotten all her own drinks, and they were all in bottles, she would have thought someone had slipped her something.

She stumbled out of bed, walked around the bed to the bathroom, and put on her robe. She ran a brush through her hair, and cursorily brushed her teeth. Then she trumped downstairs to make some coffee. Maybe an Irish one, for her head.

She yawned as she made her way into the kitchen, not even bothering to turn on any lights. The whole back half of the house was windows, and she had enough sunlight streaming in for her to know her way around. She washed out the coffee pot, which still had some coffee in it; huh? She wondered at that, then made some coffee. She halfheartedly searched through cabinets and the pantry and the fridge, but food didn't sound good to her stomach right now, so she turned away from the kitchen while she waited on the coffee.

In the archway to the living room, she saw a pile of blankets on her couch. What the...? What was going on? She started towards the couch, and then noticed that the pile of blankets was moving. Slowly, rhythmically, like... breathing. It was breathing. It wasn't a pile of blankets; it was a person. Then she remembered; Colm. Colm! As she got a rush of memory, she stopped moving forward, and put her hands to her mouth in horror. Slowly, as if in a B-rated scary movie, she turned her head towards the porch. She saw the hot tub; the bubbles weren't still going, because of the timer, but the cover wasn't on it. She remembered more and more, and as silently as she could, she backed away from the couch, and turned and ran up the stairs.

She paced the floor in front of her bed, head to her forehead, mentally kicking herself for so many things. What was I thinking? Bringing home a stranger, drunk, in the hot tub, oh my god, I don't even know what happened! She remembered the hot tub, but not what happened after. She had a vague physical memory of an orgasm, but she didn't really recall any specifics.

I am so stupid. There is no telling what I did last night. And whatever it was, it has quite possibly ruined anything that might have been for real with this person; now it will just be that one night I got drunk. Surely I was stupid acting, and most likely made a fool of myself, and how in the WORLD would he even want to have anything to do with me after this!!

She tried to calm herself, but it was no easy task. She kept berating herself for things she didn't even know whether or not she had done. What she remembered was enough.

There were two things, though, that helped keep her calm. One, he was still here. That couldn't be bad, right? Two, he was on the couch. She didn't know if it was better that he was on the couch; she might really have flipped out waking up with him in the bed next to her. But why was he on the couch, after they had sex? She didn't understand. And she knew the only way to get answers was to talk to him.

She went back downstairs, quietly, not ready to wake him up. She went into the kitchen, and fixed both of them a cup of coffee. She tip-toed back into the living room, set the mugs down on the coffee table, and kneeled in front of the couch. She watched him sleep for a minute, looking at his face in the most relaxed state it would ever be in. She hoped that this wasn't about to go wrong.

She slowly caressed his face, starting at his forehead, brushing back his hair, down his cheek, and onto his chest. She shook him slightly, just a little bit, not violently, and touched his arm with her other hand.

He seemed to startle awake, and turned his head to her. He looked at her with groggy eyes, not quite sure where he was or what was going on. She smiled slightly at him, and appeasing smile, a peaceful smile, trying to calm him.

"Good morning", she said.

***

It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. Sleep had been delicious in a way that sleep rarely was for him, and the puffy comforter shielding him from the cold air had taken on a womb-like quality. For one moment he had a flash of childhood, the comforting female presence waking him as he lay wrapped in big blankets. The feeling lasted for perhaps two seconds, then it was gone. Then he saw her, heard her, and remembered.

"Hey, good morning." He pushed the covers away. The comforter seemed huge, endless, as though he'd never get out. He kicked his way out and sat up straight. His clothes were rumpled and he could feel parts of his hair standing at crazy angles. "I hope you don't mind, I just couldn't remember how to get back to the highway."

"No, I don't mind at all. Do you want coffee?"

"Oh, yes, thank you."

"How do you take it?"

"Just a splash of milk." He went to stand, but she waved him back down.

"I'll get it."

He saw her wince at standing, wince in the light. Despite the hangover she was even more beautiful in the morning. He ran his hand through his hair, searching for the factions that had rebelled against the common order. He felt like his muscles were full of glue and there was a vague pounding somewhere behind his eyes, all common occurrences when he slept in unusual places. He could smell the coffee and it smelled like life. She came back in bearing a mug in her hand held out to him with the morning sun kissing her face and hair and she looked exactly like the Benevolent Angel of Mercy. He rose to take the cup from her and brought it up to his nose.

"Oh, thank you so much. This smells fantastic." He took a cautious sip, then another. He saw her eyes flick downward and a smile tug faintly at the corners of her mouth. He almost looked down to see what was amusing but then he realized he didn't need to look, he could feel it. He had morning wood, a particularly vicious case, his penis rock hard and straining wildly against his corduroy pants. Like an excited kid when he hears his name called, at the touch of his awareness his penis jerked twice in a way he knew she had seen.

"Oh, um, sorry, that, uh, that happens sometimes in the morning."

She laughed out loud. "I think I read that somewhere."

He sat back down. She cast her glance about and he realized she was looking for a seat, so he shoved at the obstinate comforter until there was room for the both of them and scooted over, waving his arm at the space. She sat.

"I don't think I told you last night, but I love your house."

"Yeah, well, you might have and I don't remember. I'm sorry, I was a bit more drunk than I thought I was."

"It's ok, nothing to worry about. I still had fun."

She bit gently at a corner of her lip. "Uh...so, would you like some breakfast?"

"Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"No, no, you rescued me from the party, you drove me home, and you got stuck here for the night. The least I can do is make you some food. I've got all the breakfast supplies. Would you like eggs? Pancakes? Bacon?"

"Are you going to eat?"

"I probably should."

"I'll have a couple of eggs and some toast."

"That's all?"

"That's all I need. If you want pancakes or something go ahead, but I'm not going to put you to that much trouble."

"It's no trouble. Well, I'll get the eggs going."

He watched her go into the kitchen. Once she was there, he gave an exploratory tug at his pants. The erection had softened a touch but still lingered. What the hell. He got up and followed her into the kitchen.

"Can I help?"

***

As she got the stovetop warmed up, she decided instead of eggs and toast, she would make French toast. She whisked a few eggs, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon in a bowl, dipped in the bread, and threw it into the skillet. Colm sat at the bar, watching her cook. She smiled slightly but didn't say anything, waiting for him to say something. She didn't remember much about last night, bits and pieces, but she remembered that she felt comfortable around him, and that comfort still lingered.

When their breakfast was ready, she got out the maple syrup and put everything on the table. They sat together, mostly in companionable silence, eating their breakfast. They spoke every once in a while, showing that they could get along even when neither of them were drunk, which was a good thing.

She pushed aside her plate before she finished it all. She was trying to be easy on her stomach; she knew it was upset, and she didn't want to overload it. He seemed to enjoy her cooking, though, because he finished all of his. That, or he wasn't hung over like she was. They sat at the table a bit longer, finishing their coffee. When it was time for a refill, he jumped up before she could to top off their cups. She smiled privately at that, wondering why he was still being so nice to her. She knew she was going to have to show him the way out soon, but she hoped that she could make up for her lack of manners last night before he could go. She was enjoying sitting her with him; it was almost like her house was wrapped in a cocoon, separate from the rest of the world for as long as they chose to stay there. She wanted it to last.

Obviously, it had been a while since she'd had any kind of male companion, be it friend or otherwise. Actually, that was the reason she ended up buying the house; she had broken up with her boyfriend, and needed a place to stay; quickly. It was not an amicable separation.

When she finished her second cup of coffee, she stood up and stretched her arms up, standing on her tip-toes, throwing her head back, feeling the pull of all of her muscles. She slowly lowered her arms out to the side, placed her feet flat on the floor, and pulled her head back up. That's when she noticed the tie of her robe had come undone; and she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.