I watch Michael pour another shot; we are celebrating. What, you ask? Nothing. You’re supposed to have a reason to drink though, right? He walks around passing the shots out, and everybody–that is, the ten of us gathered in the kitchen guzzle them down. My body is beginning to tingle, this is about our fifth or sixth shot at this point. We’ve also been drinking beers; I lost count at seven.
We toasted to some corny thing or the other–to friendship or great friendships–I don’t really care. I don’t even know what kind of liquor it was at this point. I was busy thinking of where Jennifer might be. Her and her boyfriend Mark came together.
I have crushed on Jennifer for a few months now, and I can tell she likes me too by her eye contact. We haven’t spoken since we met at Mike’s last party, but we do an excessive amount of staring. It’s not that I’m nervous to speak to her, but she’s been playing Siamese Twins with a new dude every party. She and Mark are probably off somewhere fondling one another. I sip on my beer and look around.
Same old party scene. I sip on my lukewarm keg beer. I begin to wonder how many people are actually enjoying this shit, and how many, like me, are faking–hoping for a chance to glimpse some ever-elusive unrequited crush. I wonder, also, if anyone is thinking about me the same way that I’m thinking about Jennifer. She’s not even that beautiful; we just have sparks. I am shy, but I feel like our conversations would be easy just from the way our eyes communicate.
I was brought out of that lovesick ass pouring of my soul by a good friend of mine named Helen, “C’mon, Gio, let’s show these kids how to party!” she says.
I am never one to turn down a dance, so wordlessly I grab her hand and we begin a basic two-step to some pop tune playing on the radio.
Within seconds, the area surrounding us is a dance floor. I am hoping that Helen can’t feel my boner. She’s a soft, thick chick and a great dancer; she follows my leads perfectly. Not my type, but I’d fuck the hell out of her.
After the third song, I go to grab a beer, and Helen grabs another friend, Johnny, to dance with her. I feel better after dancing, all thoughts of my long-lusted love lost in my concentration on the dancing. I’ve always felt most at home on a dance floor, drunk or not. I am a natural, you know, “one of those putting on shows for my family since I was two” types.
The kitchen is clear, and the music muted. I am happy for the reprieve.
“Some dancing you were doing,” I hear from behind. I turn around, mostly because I don’t recognize the voice–but I don’t recognize the face, either. Almond shaped and colored eyes, pouty lips, and button nose that lead to some perfect breasts and nice legs in a mini skirt and heels. She was gorgeous, and for a second I couldn’t remember how to speak or close my mouth.
“A fly’s gonna land in there if you don’t close it.” She winks.
I shut my now dry mouth and clear my throat. “Um. Thanks. I’m Gio. You’re a newbie to Mike’s parties, eh? Haven’t seen you before,” I said after a what felt like another hour awkward of staring from me.
Must not have been that long, because she responded with, “Mikah. Yeah, I know Chloe. She said that the parties here are always fun as hell, so I decided to give it a try.” She slowly blinked those gorgeous eyes.
“Neat,” I responded then mentally kicked myself. Neat?! What are we, at a 1950s prom?! “Um. Want some beer?”
“No, I don’t touch the stuff. I’ll take a vodka w/ cranberry though, Mr. Bartender.”
“I don’t really mix drinks. You’ll probably end up with some shitty concoction you hate. Anyway, I don’t know where the mixers are. I think there’s some koolaid in the fridge. But that doesn’t really taste good when it’s–” I stop abruptly. I realized that I was rambling. Fuck. Can I blame the alcohol?
“Just make me a drink,” she grins like she’s looking at an idiot. I feel like the dumb kid in class who got caught nibbling on crayons and dirt.
I pour some shit from around the kitchen in a cup and hand it to her. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, a bunch of people stumble drunkenly into the kitchen laughing and yelling to one another. She gulps the entire cup in a few seconds. The music gets louder, and more people start coming into the kitchen. I see her moving her mouth, but I can’t hear a word she is saying. I shake my head and point to my ears. She points to the back door, and I see her getting a cigarette from Chloe who came in with the second group of people.
I pull my pack out of my pocket and step outside. It felt amazing in that way that only drunkenness can make a cold ass night feel. I light her cigarette, and before I could say anything she walked over to the trampoline in the middle of the yard and hopped on. I jogged over and watched her–especially those tits–bounce around. With the smoke blowing wildly around her and her hair blowing in the chilly December wind, she looked like some sort of angel/devil combo, and I felt my butterflies churning in my stomach–two parts excitement with a shot of apprehension for some inexplicable reason. The party in full force as background noise made it feel almost surreal, like some shit out of a story.
“Are you just gonna stand there and watch or are you gonna join me, bartender,” She said and then pulled a full bottle of some nice ass vodka out of her jacket. “Liquor cabinets are so easy to find. I found this in a locked closet downstairs,” she takes a huge swig, “I’m waiting.”
I snap out of my gawking and hop on the trampoline. She hands me the bottle, and I take a gulp–I barely feel it. Whatever the shit was, it was smooth and probably more expensive than my car payments. Mike’s parents are rich; they travel often and leave the house to him every few weeks. Nobody’s ever had the balls to touch their liquor cabinet.
Just as I begin to take another swig, Mikah starts jumping, and some of it spills down my shirt. She giggles and licks some of it off my neck playfully then snatches the bottle out of my hand before I can respond.
I start chasing her on the trampoline. Jumping really hard every once in a while to send her flying in the air. Running on a trampoline is hard as hell, even harder when you’re drunk. Finally I catch up to her and tackle her on the tarp of the trampoline. I land on top of her and start trying to get the bottle from her; she’s wriggling, laughing, and trying to keep me from getting the vodka.
I’m 6’3″, she was barely 5’5″, so it was an easy fight, but I was enjoying the feel of her body beneath me much more so than I was trying to get the vodka. When I get the bottle from her, I yank the top off, and she opened her sexy mouth indicating for me to pour it in. I do, and before she gets a chance to swallow, I wrap my mouth around hers and we both drink the alcohol in her mouth, when we are done, we continue kissing. Her lips were so soft, and I could feel my dick getting harder and harder as we continued to kiss. I was still partly on top of her, and this time, I didn’t care about my boner being felt. She was an amazing kisser.
After a few minutes–or maybe a lifetime–I rolled off of her and just laid next to her; the both of us staring at the sky in silence. We could still hear the party raging, so I had no idea how long we had been out there.
“You are an awesome kisser,” I said after a while.
“You’re not too bad yourself. My heart is still racing,” She responded, kissed me again, then hopped up. “C’mon, and bring the bottle.”
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“Does it matter?”
I didn’t even think about it. I just got up and off of the trampoline, and followed her.
(This is all I have so far…)