I received the first text early yesterday afternoon: “So I just wanted to say if things go down badly, you guys should come get drunk with me here.”
Just those simple words spiked my libido, especially after last weekend’s Brazilian waxing episode. But I doubted anything would come to fruition, after all, the hockey game wouldn’t be over until after 10, and I figured chances are by the time we got back to town, you’d be asleep.
I’d say I’m sorry for all the girl-girl sex here on the blog lately, but really, I’m not. It seems it’s what’s always on my mind these days.
This is one of my latest WIP, so please excuse the rough edges.
It was supposed to be an all-night euchre tournament.
Instead, it was a pool tournament, a few hands of euchre, Cards Against Humanity, and a half a gallon of Captain Morgan.
By 2 a.m., we decided it was time to look for a bedroom, before the rest of the party took all the decent places to sleep.
“Do you feel it? The chemistry between us?” she whispered in my ear, the heat from her mouth tickling my skin.
I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.
Her fingers played at the bottom of my back, barely touching, almost as though afraid to venture into unknown territory, fearful they would be told no.
Not my best piece, but it is what it is.
He must have thought I was asleep. The room had been quiet for nearly an hour, both of us underneath the covers on opposite sides of the bed.
Jen heard the bartender call last call at the same moment she realized she’d drank just a little too much and the room was starting to tilt. “Fuck,” she murmured, hoping the spinning wouldn’t start before she got home safe.
It had been a long day. Too long of a day. Between the baby’s cries and the bitchy women at work, she was exhausted.
Once the house was quiet for the night, she poured herself a glass of wine and headed into the bathroom, the water for her bath already filling the room with steamy fog.
A few weeks ago, M and I were moving my mother into a new house. While cleaning out her basement, I came across a giant white box wrapped in plastic. My wedding dress.
“Think it still fits?” I ask him, holding it up.
“Come on, hon.” She walks towards the edge of the water, “I thought you wanted to go for a swim.”
Will follows and drops their towels at the water’s edge, watching Tess’s body move into the water, moon light reflecting off her curves. I’m one lucky bastard.