After my "almost" sex with Laura, the forty-year-old housewife, I was ready to actually do the deed. Unfortunately, I didn't have many options. My girlfriend was out of the question, mainly because we had argued about having sex and we weren't going together anymore. I really didn't know many more women-- I hadn't yet been alone with Laura again, and I had no idea, even if I had had the money, how to get a hooker.
Things were pretty grim for me sexually, but otherwise they were pretty good. I was just 10 days away from the end of school-- I mean THE END, of high school anyway. I had a summer job lined up working as a groundskeeper at the local park, and I had been accepted to two differnt universities. I was sitting in one of my last English classes when the teacher, Miss O'Brien, handed me an envelope. She gave envelopes to few other students, and then the bell rang, so we all trooped out of the room, opening the envelopes as we went.
A word about Miss O'Brien. She was the most hated teacher in the school, and rightly so. She was an alcoholic. We knew that because she often came to school on Monday mornings very hung over and she often came back from lunch smelling like some kind of liquor. She was -- well, erratic is the kind word for it. Some days she was treacly sweet and sometimes she would shake with anger over a small error. I once had to take a paper to the principal and show him that she had given me a 79 on a it with just two small comma errors. She had a slim rather nice looking body, but you couldn't tell how old she was because she wore so much make-up, often smudged or put on without much care. She had blonde hair, but we were pretty sure it came out of a bottle. She could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty.
Anyway, she had given about twenty of us in her classes an invitation to an end-of-school-year party. We were shocked. That was the last thing that we had expected considering what a bitch she had been all year. We had a sort of informal discussion, and opinion was divided between going (to see what the hag's house looked like inside) and not going (nobody wanted to be caught dead having anything to do with her).
Now one thing that my parents had taught me, whether to my advantage or not I can't say, was to be polite. So on Friday night, at about 8:20, I walked up to her door. I didn't hear any noise and I hoped I wasn't the first to arrive. I hoped I wasn't the only one to arrive. I took a big breath and I rang the bell.
About thirty seconds later the door opened and there she stood. She was dressed in a light blue dress with white hose and white platform soles that had gone out of style about 20 years before. Her make-up was incredibly overdone-- big dark circle around her eyes, heavy mascara abd bright, bright red lipstick. She looked like a 1960's magazine model that had been in a hurricane.
"Come in, come in," she said, opening the door wider. "You're the first one to arrive, so come on into the living room. She rather tottered down the hallway, but I didn't need to see that to know that she'd been drinking-- I could smell it trying to overpower her floral perfume which I could smell from about 6 feet away. I knew that I had made a mistake, but as I say, my parents had trained me to be polite, so I knew I had to stay a little while at least.
"Would you like a drink?", she asked.
"Just a coke, please," I replied.
"Oh come on, I don't like to drink alone," and as she said this she giggled, possibly because she knew as well as I did that it was a big fat lie.
"Coke and rum, then. Oh God,", I thought as she brought a drink to me, "what had I let myself in for?" I prayed for someone else to arrive, but I had a sinking feeling that nobody else was coming.
"Let me put some music on," she said, and she teetered over to the stereo. I noticed that her legs were pretty good looking. Her skirt was too short for a woman off her age-- whatever that was. It came a good six inches above her knees, and with the high heels and white hose she was wearing she looked pretty tasty-- from the waist down. But I coudn't forget that smeary, slightly out of focus face . She bent over to dig out a record, and I had a nice view of a lot of smooth leg. I expected the music to be some kind of 60's bubblegum pop, or some early disco, but I was pleasantly surprised. It was some kind of jazz, very quiet and soothing. I didn't recognize it, but I liked it.
There was a lot more rum than coke in the glass, so I sipped it sparingly.
"I wanted to have a party at the end of the year for my best students to make up for being such a bitch the rest of the year." That ingrained politeness came through again, and I started to protest, but she contniued "no, no, I know it's true and I know what people say about me. I really am a first class cunt, aren't I?"
I was shocked to hear her say "cunt", but my diplomat's nature took over. "I wouldn't say you're a -- I hesitated-- a bitch, but sometimes you're very hard on your students."
The phone rang just then, and she walked over-carefully to it and picked it up. "Hello, No, no he's not here. All right, I will. Goodbye."
She tottered back to the couch. "Someone wanted to talk to John and they askzd him to call Morgan when he arrives." She looked at me as best she could. "He's not coming , is he? Nobody's coming, are they?"
I started to assure her that other would be arriving any minute, but my parents ahd also taught me not to lie, so I simply said, "I don't think so."
I coud see that she was trying to blink back the tears and I desperately wanted to be gone. "Well then," she said brightly, "we'll just have to have a party on our own."
I had no choice-- I had to get out of there. I stood up from the chair where I had been sitting and started to thank her and say that I had to leave early and meet some friends, when she stopped me.
"Please," she said, "just stay and play one little game with me."
Damn! that parental training made it difficult for me to refuse, but I least managed a feeble delay. "What sort of game?" I asked. I couldn't see myself playing Trivial Pursuit with a half-drunk bitch of a teary-eyed English teacher.
"Here sit down on the couch", (which I duly did), and it goes like this. One person closes their eyes and the other person put a kind of liquor on their finger and rubs it across the other person's lips. The person with their eyes closed has to guess what kind of liquor it is."
I should have guessed that it would be a drinking game. I decided to stay about 5 minutes and get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. The couch was fairly low and she wasn't sitting too close to me, but even so, I could see that her skirt had slid up another inch or so and I'd have been happy to stare at those sexy legs all night if it had been any woman except Miss O'Brien!
She pulled a rolling table with a lot of bottles on it over close to us. "OK, here we go-- close your eyes."
Dutifully I closed my eyes and a second later I felt her finger glide gently across my lips. I licked my lips and hazarded a guess. "Rum," I said.
"Nope. Your turn."
I tried to do the same thing that she had done-- that is , brush her lips with my finger hard enough for her to taste the liquor but not so hard as to seem agressive or sexual.
"Gin," she guesed.
