Britta was drunk. Meeting her old anarchist friends often meant downing an insane amount of alcohol and this time had been no exception. They had literally downed everything.
If she were honest, Britta would have had to admit getting wasted at some dive bar had not been her original plan. Trying to pluck up the courage to discuss a failing relationship turned out to be thirsty work and by the end of the night she had drank so much vodka the dyed blonde could barely even remember her own name, never mind his.
The faux Therapist had found being in a long term, monogamous relationship stressful, and a minefield of her usual mistakes clouded their time together. So that night she was especially nervous; hence the heavy consumption of spirits. Knowing their relationship was doomed the blonde intended to make sure their last night together was memorable in the only way she knew how: With sex. Of course she didn't really need a reason to implement fucking her own boyfriend but it had been a while. And so Britta actually had intended for this to go well; not that she suspected there was much chance of that, given her track record.
The blonde was now however almost totally lost in a drunken delirium, only finding herself outside of a familiar door due to the mercy of her more sober friends. Befuddled, Britta stumbled up the stairs, trying in vain to maintain a modicum of dignity, or at the very least stay upright.
Pulling herself up the banister she slumped against the front door, rifling through her tan leather jacket's pockets to find a key. After much scrambling and frustration she fell head first through the entrance. For a couple of seconds she surveyed the dark innards of the living room, wide blue eyes squinting in the darkness, searching for something familiar.
In the pitch black Britta barely recognized anything. Thankfully though, the space was at least quiet and empty. The blonde was grateful; the trainee therapist could barely talk, never mind explain her deplorable state.
Attempting to tiptoe through the apartment, Britta knocked over a box of what appeared to be buttered noodles, cursing under her breath as she tripped, the contents spilling over the wooden floor. Attempting to correct her path, the blonde then put her hand straight through what felt strangely like a diorama.
Having disentangled herself from the Papier-mâché, Britta began to realize her incredibly unstealthy entrance had been the opposite of sexy. Chances were low that she could convince her likely sober counterpart to fuck her with this little poise. Stubborn as ever, she groped for the nearest door, finally finding a handle and gently pushing through its opening.
The light in the bedroom was even dimmer and the loud female groaned, attempting to make out where she was. Finding the outline of a double bed, Britta finally saw a figure, lying with its back towards the door. The blonde recognized the shape of a human sized lump curled up under the blanket and grinned; she'd found him on her first try. If the needlessly argumentative woman had thought for even a second, she would have realized that the window was in entirely the wrong location, that the person was far too small; but her rational mind was lost in a haze of alcohol.
Hiccupping the dyed blonde began to strip out of her clothes. This task was performed typically ungracefully, Britta shrugging off her jacket and throwing it over a chair. Next and with some difficulty, the blonde unbuckled her belt, pulling it from her waist before struggling with her favourite, if a little worn jeans. Tugging the skintight garment over her ample behind, the woman bent low, pulling her boots free.
Disentangled, Britta slipped her loose cotton top over her head, almost losing her balance before throwing it aside. Stumbling over to the bed, the faux Psychologist was now dressed in nothing but her red lace bra and stripy green panties. So she hadn't remembered her best lingerie? Britta was horny and willing to do anything; he wouldn't even notice.
Finally the blonde was able to join the prone figure, climbing beneath surprisingly soft covers. Quickly wrapping her arms around him, she began gently stroking the exposed skin of his neck, attempting to get attention, even spooning against his back.
Soon Britta felt him begin to stir and then slowly respond, starting to grind his boxer covered behind into her pussy. Britta bit back a moan, surprised by this sensitive, loving treatment in the face of getting laid. In her experience boys were fairly intent at these times and this was a nice change of pace. Figuring he was only just waking up, Britta slipped one of hands under the elastic of his cotton boxers. Sliding her palm downwards she was surprised yet again, not finding a single hair. Britta should have known then that this wasn't right.
Half a second later her index fingers made contact; not with a nice hard penis, but instead cupping a warm, smooth pussy.
The body that was supposed to be Troy turned over, moaning Jeff's name before pressing against Britta's mouth. Taken by surprise, in the pitch-blackness the dyed blonde's senses and reasoning failed, leaving her completely blank.
Without any reference Britta's brain decided to switch off, the pleasure of this soft embrace inhibiting her senses, baser instinct taking over. Plunging two fingers into the anonymous pussy, the dyed blonde relished the hot moist entrance that ensnared her digits. Part of Britta longed for this, the straight part of her psyche also totally ignored.
Continuing to move her fingers in and out of the person's nethers, she leant over the stranger to deepen and prolong their make-out session, enjoying the intimacy and naughtiness of being with another woman, something she had only ever tried once. By accident...
About a minute in however, Britta gained an unfortunate reality check in the form of the other woman's thigh squeezing between her legs; Things were getting out of hands, even by her drunken standards. To avoid humping herself into a sexual frenzy, Britta pulled away from the kiss slowly, breathing deeply. Ignoring a disappointed whine, the dyed blonde leant over the figure, unintentionally pressing their bodies together. Britta couldn't help but the large swells of an impressive bust against her own. Trying to ignore her misdirected desire, she continued, reaching for the silhouette of a bedside table lamp.
Flicking it on Britta was momentarily blinded. Opening her eyes she could only stare, bewildered, into the bewildered eyes of Annie Edison.
"OHHH come on!" Britta slurred drunkenly; "how'ss this happening again?!"
"BRITTA!" Annie shrieked; "What are you doing?!"
Britta looked down at the young brunette, avoiding the girl's now accusing gaze, instead shuffling backwards, focusing on Annie's kiss swollen lips.
"I.. um.. thought you were my boyfriend."
"Well I'm not!" Annie scolded, only then looking down at where her hand was and discovering it was currently covering Britta's breast. The brunette flinched, pulling her palm away like she was being burned.
Britta, also somewhat flummoxed, sat up on her haunches, straddling the other student's legs, allowing Annie to lean on her elbows below. There they stayed; frozen in awkwardness.
Britta eventually broke the silence, choosing her words carefully whilst attempting in vain not to slur them, breath still swamped in alcohol: "Okay this... whats happening here, was clearly just a mistake. I didn't mean anything by it, I-I just wanted to have sex with my guy!"
Annie, blinked, attempting to avoid a derisive snort at this explanation, well aware that Britta's relationship was a train wreck. The brunette also concentrated on not making any sound that suggested that the fingers Britta had elected to keep inside her pussy were in anyway bothering her. In spite of this her retort came out an octave higher than usual:
"Seriously Britta!? When we both know this is the apartment I share with Troy and Abed?"
