I am drunk. Thomas is drunk. Dannie is slobbering drunk, which never takes much. The other 12 or so people in my living room are drunk as well. I lucked out this year and got a single with a huge living room, full kitchen, wall-to-wall windows, full views of the Brooklyn Bridge, and the ideal place to throw a party. The price of admission is always vodka/rum/beer or weed to share. But we are never very good hosts. As it invariably happens, by eleven Thomas, Dannie and I have left the others and settled into the kitchen. As cool as it is to throw parties, other people mostly just bore us. I am sitting on the counter next to the window and Thomas is sitting across the stove from me. Dannie is flitting around the kitchen and falling all over. She's wearing a black tank top with a mesh back. I can see her hot pink bra over the top and through the net. Her chest is just this side of being too big and it heaves as she lurches and jumps as she plops herself on the counter.
She lays across the stove, her back arched and twisting, her legs over mine, and her head in Thomas's lap. I don't have much of an opinion on feet, but according to Thomas, Dannie's have a spectacular arch. She has great calves and amazing thighs, thick and muscled from years of playing soccer. Her waist is tiny despite the fact that her three major food groups are bagels, candy, and alcohol. Her hipbones curve away, widely, from the waist and her ass is beautiful, knead-able, exactly balancing her chest. I know there are other things I like about her β emotional things, mental things β but I'm too drunk right now to remember them. And anyway no matter how well I describe her, it's never enough.
Dannie had started out the night with a sweatshirt over her top. I oscillate between wanting to protect her by telling her to put it back on and wanting to get her drunker so she'll take more off. I'm half her sister, half her stalker and there really isn't a middle ground. It fucks with my head. She fucks with my head. With friends like her, who needs drugs?
Dannie fingers a cigarette out from Thomas's cigarette case, lights it, and inhales some smoke. She turns towards me and breathes the smoke into my mouth. It takes all my concentration to β I don't know β to something. Maybe it's the alcohol and the drugs, and maybe it's the sleep deprivation of sophomore year but Dannie is magical. My own naughty little pixie. She takes another drag off the cigarette. This time I'm ready. I make sure the brief wrenching moment that our lips touch lasts as long as possible without being too apparent. She takes a third drag, repeats and then turns towards Thomas for the next round. Her legs are once again sprawled over me.