I tiptoe out of the guest’s bedroom and down the unfamiliar hallway to your door. I try to be quiet, but I sway on unsteady feet. We have all drunk a little too much with the festive dinner this evening, but I’m hoping that the wine will make you more open to my advances.
I knock softly, but get no response. From within, I can hear your soft drunken snoring, so I try the door handle. It opens with the barest hint of a creak, and I slip within. The room is dark, but I can still make out your form snuggled beneath the duvet.
Tiptoeing to the foot of the bed, I pull back the covers to reveal your foot; the delicate curve of your ankle.
I kiss each of your toes, one by one.
Slowly, I kiss my way up your calf, slipping my head under the quilt as I make my way up your leg. You moan softly as my fingers and lips caress your knee. My teeth gently nibble their way up your inner thigh.
I sense your body stirring as my lips reach the apex of your thighs, and my hands explore your buttock.
Your breathing has become heavier, more erratic. I peel away your panties, and explore the delicate flower of your passion with my tongue. Strong hands grip my hair, pulling me closer for that most intimate of kisses. Your hips rise with an urgency to meet me. I’ve never known you to be this aroused before. Clearly the wine is working.
I’ve yet to be allowed beyond second base in our short relationship, so tonight might be my lucky night.
I feel your passions build with my own, and soon, I feel the urgent tugging of my hair as you strive to pull me higher. You have had enough foreplay for one evening, and are primed for the main course.
I sense the urgency within your body; in the heaviness of your breathing. If you moan any louder, you’re going to wake up your mother … even the neighbours. Under your guiding hands I kiss my way up your body, and nuzzle into your neck. I enjoy the sweet scent of your body’s perfume; a heady combination of wine, roses and you.
“Ooooh, George!” you gasp huskily sounding still half-asleep. “I’ve missed you. Take me now!”
For a moment I wonder who George is, but we are both too far ensnared by the moment to wonder about such trivial matters.
Our lips clash together at the same time as connect at the hips, and we let out a sweet gasp of pleasure.
Suddenly, I am flipped onto my back, pinned to the bed as you take control. I feel your nails raking at my chest as you pummel my hips into the mattress with your urgency.
The wine is certainly working a treat. I’ll need to check the label in the morning, and remember to order another crate for New Year’s Eve. My normally reserved girlfriend has been transformed into a tigress overnight.
You bounce up and down on top of me, almost knocking the wind out of me with your wild acrobatics. Our lips meet again in a heady, breathless kiss. Your tongue probes deeply into my mouth as you moan with pleasure.
I sense that you are close to the edge, and thank the Gods. I cannot sustain such wonderful punishment for much longer myself. I sense a volcano about to erupt within me. I will myself to hold out for a few seconds longer. I want our first time together to be something special, something neither of us will ever forget.
Our lips clash again, and this time, my tongue does the probing. We play a short game of tongue-fencing for a moment. I’ve been in this situation a few times before, but there is something unusual about this kiss. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
My eyes open and I try desperately to focus, but drink and passion has made me half-blind.
All thought abandons me as we come to the point of no return. We explode together, not caring whether we wake up the whole street in the throes of our lovemaking.
As you consume me, body and soul, I glance over at the nightstand. There stands a glass of water, a lamp, and some spectacles.
Strange, I never knew that you needed glasses to read.
Then, I notice something unusual.
The glass of water has teeth in it.
I cannot believe my eyes. False teeth! What else have you been hiding from me these past few weeks?
“Oh George! You naughty boy!” you purr huskily, still panting heavily from the exertion. To be fair, you’ve done most of the work. Me, and George for that matter, have been mere spectators really.
Collapsing heavily on the bed, you snuggle close, kiss my neck softly and soon begin to snore again.
George!? I ponder.
For some reason, that name sticks in my head. Granted, this is the first time someone has made love to me and called out another man’s name, so perhaps it is a normal reaction.
Where have I heard that name before?
Then I remember.
George is your father’s name.
I remember the empty chair at the head of the dinner table this evening; the photo of a handsome man in uniform. I recall the tears in your mother’s eyes as she cut the turkey; the sadness on her face whenever she glanced across at the empty seat.
Gently, ever so gently, I lift the masking cover of hair and look at your face, really look.
Sobriety hits me like an ice bath.
It’s only then that I know that I’m in the wrong bedroom
I lie there, not daring to move until I’m sure, absolutely sure, that you are fast asleep. Only then, do I gently pull my arm away from underneath your head, and slip quietly out of the bed.
I hear you sigh and pause, frozen in terror.
I’ve just made love to my girlfriend’s mother by mistake. I can only hope that she is too drink to remember this in the morning.
When your breathing returns to normal, I slip quietly from the master bedroom. Tiptoeing back down the hall, I am just approaching the guest’s bedroom when the door opens.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Standing in the doorway, looking sleepy, but very sexy in a tight figure-hugging tee-shirt, is my girlfriend. “Where’ve you been?” Sheila demands.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” I lie. “Anyway, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!”
“I had a weird dream … a kinky dream. I woke up all hot and bothered and couldn’t get back to sleep,” Sheila explains, slipping into my arms and pressing her body against mine. “All that wine must have gone to my head.”
“What about your mother?” I ask, feeling my treacherous body stirring with desire.
Nibbling my earlobe, she purrs, “Don’t worry about Mom. She’s a heavy sleeper., Besides, she must’ve downed a whole bottle of that wine. I doubt we’ll see any sign of her before noon tomorrow.”
“I don’t know…” I say, hesitating.
“Please …” Sheila begs, pleading seductively with puppy dog eyes. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
Her hands are already caressing my body, making it hard for me to resist. I’ve been trying to get into her panties for weeks, and now that she’s warming to the idea, I’m hesitating.
“I have a very special present for you,” she whispers. “Here, let me help you to unwrap it.”
Taking my hand, she pulls me into the bedroom. With her other hand, she is already pulling the tee-shirt over her head.
The next morning, we are woken by sounds in the kitchen. I’m exhausted, and a little hung-over, but after a few seconds I can make out the numbers on my watch: almost noon.
I’m alone in the bed, but the heady scent of lovemaking permeates the air. Last night was not a dream. I shower quickly, and dress. Descending the stairs, I look longingly at the front door, and consider making a run for it.
I am cut off by the arrival of the women coming out of the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepy-head.” Sheila greets me with a warm kiss.
“Breakfast is ready,” her mother says in greeting. “I’m sure you’re starving. There’s a fresh pot of coffee on the go, too.”
“I was going to skip breakfast,” I reply. “I’ve got some things to do…”
“Nonsense! I won’t here of it.”
Like a condemned criminal, I am escorted into the kitchen where my last meal has been prepared. The smell makes my stomach growl with hunger. I have to admit, I am starving.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. H,” I say, through mouthfuls of scrambled egg.
“Oh please, call me Valarie. There’s no need to be so formal.”
They both sit there smiling at me, watching me eat. As I drain the last of the coffee and look up, I’m sure that I see Valarie wink at me: just once.
I leave soon after
For the rest of the day I’m haunted by the meaning of that wink.
Does Sheila’s mother remember our midnight rendezvous, or is it her way of saying, ‘I know you slept with my daughter last night, but that’s alright with me’?
I don’t know, but I’m certainly not going to ask.