I heard them and liked them, well before I ever met them. It was hard not to. My new neighbours liked to party outside, they laughed loudly and often.
I was intrigued.
God knows I'd been eavesdropping on their conversations for months -- endless months of leaving Joel asleep and completely sated in my bed, while I roamed my house in frustration like a silent ghost. They unwittingly provided me much comfort, many a laugh AND raised eyebrows through our adjoining fence.
I didn't know what they looked like but I knew Jodie had slept her way through ten football teams and then some. I also knew she had a penchant for wearing next to nothing which led to quite a few heated arguments when Kate bought her boyfriend Michael home.
One day I worked up the courage to pop my head over the fence and introduce myself. Before you knew it, we were three peas in a pod, the best of friends, sinking many late night drinks in their back yard around the outdoor table.
Not as many as I would've like though. Joel demanded a lot of time and was jealous of my friendships -- he was a possessive thing, my boyfriend.
And -- surprise, surprise -- he also turned out to be an ass. I never was any good at partner selection.
So when our two year relationship inevitably went to the shithouse, the girls were quick to invite me next door for some consolation.
"Hey," Kate said, by way of greeting, tilting her blonde head and looking at me askew, "I like your dress, it looks good on you."
My little white number didn't leave much to the imagination, but hey, it boosted my ego. It was definitely a head turner. Low cut and split up both sides, it showed off my tan to perfection and did wonders for my cleavage.
"Thanks darl," I gave her a twirl, showing off my other acquisition -- a killer pair of fuck-me heels. I'd been staving off depression with retail therapy.
"Niiice," she nodded in appreciation.
I closed the door behind me just as Jodie wafted past in her underwear.
"Put some bloody clothes on woman," Kate yelled. "Michael will be here any minute."
I was a little disappointed. Actually, hugely disappointed. I'd been hoping to drown my sorrows with just the girls. I didn't want excess testosterone in the room, not when I was hating on the male species for the next five hundred years.
"Chill out," Jodie instructed Kate, holding up a scoob. "Shotgun anyone?"
I watched her reverse the joint in her mouth then leaned in for a blast of concentrated smoke.
"Mm," I hummed, holding my breath.
Jodie spat out the joint and ashed in her hand. "That dress is Mm," she looked me up and down, reaching out to flick my nipple with her finger. "Headlights and all."
"I knew I should've worn a bra," I laughed, flinching away from her outrageousness.
"Not at all," Jodie protested, "You look hot."
That was just Jodie. She was a harmless, touchy-feely type and I knew not to be offended by her hands-on policy, even when I was a distinctly hands-off kind of girl.
I shrugged and took the joint from her fingers. It was too short for further shotguns so I toked it down to the cardboard filter and put it out, raising my eyebrows at Jodie as I demonstrated how to be civilised by using the ashtray.
"Would you please put some clothes on?" Kate asked her again, only to be ignored as Jodie sauntered in to the kitchen to fill our wine glasses.
I had to admit Jodie had a great ass and the best legs I've ever seen. It was hard not to stare. No wonder she walked around in underwear all the time. Flaunting herself was hardly a sin when she looked that good. Surely beautiful works of art should be on display?
And I didn't know what Kate was worrying about, we could all stand 'round naked and Michael wouldn't even look at us twice, not even one stray eyeball. He was so faithful to Kate it was sickening, in a sweet, yuk, are you a real man or not, kind of way.
"So why'd you give him the flick?" Kate asked, oblivious to the direction of my eyes, glued involuntarily to Jodie's perfect bottom. She was also oblivious to the reality of my affairs, probably because I'd given her my dignity saving version.
"Apart from his over-inflated ego, lack of any real brain, and mother issues," I said, shaking myself out of my weird ass fixation and looking up, "he never gave me a single orgasm."
"God," she shuddered violently, "Good riddance."
I shuddered myself. Despite the copious amounts of sex we'd had, the drought had been long and hard. Imagine having a boyfriend who was jealous of all things battery operated, and took sadistic pleasure in hiding your toys?
Jodie laughed hysterically. "Was the poor man unable to find your clitoris?"
"He wasn't that stupid, maybe a little heavy-handed." I didn't know why I was defending him. "Perhaps I'm incapable."
Jodie tossed her head. "That's defeatist bullshit, if ever I heard it."
The doorbell rang and Kate threw one last withering look at Jodie's state of undress, before running for the door.
"Whatever," Jodie rolled her eyes at Kate's retreating back, handing me a glass of wine. "To freedom," she toasted.
"Freedom indeed," I answered, lifting my glass to clink hers before draining it in one smooth draught.
Her eyebrows raised. "So it's like that is it?"
"Uh-huh," I nodded. "I'm in to writing myself off tonight. Goodbye cruel world."
"Can do," she said with a wicked smile, promptly refilling my glass.
I was downing my third when Michael and Kate came back in to the kitchen.
They were a good looking couple, her ice blonde hair and sweet elfin face stood out against his tall, dark and handsome. Still, Michael didn't do much for me; he was too slick, too put-together, and a little possessive for my liking.
I was still smarting over 'possessive'.
'Possessive' AND 'Dumped'.
I was still pissed over all the time I'd given up and wasted on an asshole like Joel. The two men were scarily similar. I drained my third wine in record time and held out my glass for a fourth.
"How are you Sarah?" he asked me politely, ignoring Jodie and her underwear, his eyes fixed strictly at eye level.
"Getting freakin pissed," I answered, not quite so nicely, giving him my what's it to you? look.
"Oh," he said, his face tightening with disapproval.
God, what did Kate see in him when he was always such an uptight drag?
We all migrated out to the lounge, sitting around the coffee table on sofas. I was starting to wobble a bit by wine number five.
Damn it that Michael was present. The conversation was decidedly straight laced with him around. We could hardly discuss the quality of our orgasms in his delicate hearing. Not without being lynched by Kate anyway.
"Bottoms up," Jodie encouraged, clinking glasses with me as I went for number six.
I threw my head back, tipped up my glass, and unfortunately forgot the important part -- actually putting the drink to my lips. A full glass of white wine cascaded down my front, soaking my dress.
"Dufus," Jodie cried, rolling over side ways on the couch and laughing hysterically.
"Shit," Kate said, giving me a cold stare from across the coffee table.
I looked down and realised why she was pissed off. I was suddenly the star in a one woman see-through, wet t-shirt competition. My nipples were standing out hard and visible under my white dress.
Michael had the decency to look away, which pissed me off totally, unnatural bastard. The least he could've done was appreciated the view. God knows I'd had enough rejection to last a lifetime, and not being vain or anything, but I do have spectacular tits.
"C'mon," Jodie said, still laughing but being strangely mindful of Kate's feelings. She grabbed my hand and pulled me up. "I'll help you clean up."
She dragged me in to the bathroom and I went sheepishly, not too inebriated to realise that I'd just made a prize dick of myself. Not that that would've mattered if it was just the girls.
Damn Kate, I cursed her silently. Damn her for bringing her wet blanket to a girl's night.
I sighed loudly. "I need a drink."
Jodie giggled at me; she was almost as drunk as I was.
"Hang ten, I'll be back," she told me, disappearing for a moment and returning with a bottle and two fresh glasses.
"You pour while I clean you up," she instructed, picking up a towel.
I did as I was told, refilling our glasses while I swayed slightly, but man, it was very distracting having her rub my front with a towel, stroking my nipples over and over and over again, like she was in some kind of trancelike, vegetative state.
Distracting -- because I poured more wine out of the glasses than in -- not to mention ineffective, at this rate it'd take fifty years to dry my dress.
"This isn't working," she mumbled. "We're wasting too much wine."
I nodded drunkenly, thinking she was referring to my pitiful bartending skills, but that wasn't what she meant at all.
Before I could stop her, she bent her head and latched on to one hard peak with her mouth, sucking my nipple through my dress.
"Hey," I protested in shock, my eyes wide in mute fascination.
"What?" she looked up, lapping at me with her pink tongue. It was mesmerising.
"Nothing," I muttered, wondering what the hell we were doing.
"Good." She smiled beatifically up at me and went back to work, suckling me through my dress, first one side then the other. Her mouth was hot against the cold, wet material. And God forbid, the tug on my nipples felt divine.