The Birthday Party, Part II

It’s so important to see things from multiple points of view, don’t you think? I wrote the original story around my birthday last year; enjoy the reading and the, ahem, expansion.

Honestly, when I met her I thought she was kind of uptight. Hot, but uptight. She always replaced the milk, never left the door unlocked, moved around the flat with tidy precision. She was always awake before me and I sometimes felt eyes on me, my worn t-shirt and underwear as I drowsily poured coffee in the kitchen. 

Pretty quickly though I realised that, like me, she was just bored. Like me, she’d moved to the city to work and to start her life. Like me, she had an appetite. And, like me, a flagrant disregard for the rules about what should be wanted and the ways in which one should go about sating oneself. Like me, she prowled around the inside of her own head, ran intellectual laps around herself (though not as effortlessly as she ran them around other people; watching her talk to strangers in bars was a particularly niche form of voyeurism) and was always hungry for more experience. 

Like me in many ways. And I did want her to like me. So the party was a no-brainer, really. I knew she wouldn’t throw one herself and I wanted to do something nice for her. Call me soft. What I didn’t expect was how fucking hot she was going to look. I borrowed her clothes all the time, but I’d never seen the slip of silk she was wearing tonight. “I know, I just never really get to wear it! I’ve always liked the idea of dressing up for a house party. Feels silly and decadent, and you don’t have to worry so much about wardrobe malfunctions in your own flat,” she winks, “seriously though, thanks for making this happen. I mean it.”  

The pale crescent of the side of her breast caught my eye as she reached out to accept the glass of champagne I handed her. I drank mine a little too quickly after that. We’d just finished setting up and were waiting for people to start showing up. As they trickled in, I busied myself meeting, greeting, handing out drinks, stowing bottles in the fridge and trying not to look at the thigh winking from the slit in her skirt as she held court over on the sofa. I recognised a couple of her colleagues including a guy she’d referred to as her ‘work husband’. He leans in to say something in her ear over the music, placing his hand lightly on her knee. She laughs, tossing her chin up and he looks a little too pleased with himself for my liking. God, get it together.

Hooking up with your housemate is totally inappropriate, right? I could picture my uni roommate shaking her head wearily, telling me these things never end well. I needed a distraction, and I needed it fast. 

I spot him, an oasis, our downstairs neighbour opening a beer by the fridge. He and I traded glances a few times on the stairs over the last few months, and then numbers and the rest, as they say, is history. He’s good fun; I like his smile, his hands, and the softness of his body. Great cock, too. I sidle up next to him, “come here often?” I quip. “Not as often as you, I’d wager” is the smirking response.

We’re in the bathroom now and his fingertips are tracing the neckline of my blouse. Not enough, not close enough. I grab his belt and pull him to me, grind my palm against the bulge in his jeans, enough that makes him even harder, enough that he groans against my neck. “You know I’m not a patient woman.” I smile sweetly, caressing him. “Fine by me, as long as I get to take my time.” He is torturously slow, moving his mouth down my chest, following the line of buttons to trace the contours of my sternum lightly with his tongue. By the time he has begun to graze my nipples with his teeth, I am a wreck and he knows it. 

Suddenly I’m weightless, he’s lifted me up onto the sink, eyes now level with mine. The cool of the ceramic shocks the back of my thighs and I gasp, jolting up and pressing my chest against him. He grins and moves his hands down, palming the flesh just below my ass, heat replacing cold. “Oh suck it,” I say sarcastically. He tilts his head, eyes glittering with mischief, and ducks his head to nuzzle the line of my underwear. Inch by inch, closer to that spot that’s always made me-

I swear I feel her wide eyes on us before the huff of breath from the doorway registers, making his head snap up. I feel her like a premonition. Fuck it. It’s a party, isn’t it?