Charlotte fumbled to get her key in the lock. That final glass of wine had gone to her head. She switched on the lights and danced drunkenly into her hallway. She was listening to Sometime Around Midnight by The Airborne Toxic Event. She had turned forty a few days ago, and her son had bought her an iPod. She loved it. She sang as she spun in circles.
"So you can smell her perfume, you can see her lying naked in your arms."
Her long black hair swung round as she danced. She caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror. She still looked pretty good, especially in her short black dress and high heels. She had been out tonight celebrating her recent birthday with friends from work. She dropped her handbag and danced through to the living room. She felt much younger than forty, so she sang.
"And you're too drunk to notice everyone is staring at you. You don't care what you look like. The world is falling around you."
Charlotte stumbled upstairs. She shrugged out of her dress and staggered into her bedroom. There was nobody else home. Her son was staying at his girlfriend's. She wondered whether there was any ulterior motive in him clearing out for the night. Daniel's father had cheated on her years ago, and was now apparently in South America. She had been single for a long time. Daniel knew she was interested in a guy from the IT department. Perhaps her son was allowing her the privacy to bring a man home, if she wanted to.
She sat on her bed and pulled her stockings off. Her white silk pyjamas were folded neatly over the headboard. It took a while for her to guide the right limbs into the right holes, but she dressed for bed. Her pyjama top felt smooth against her body as she fumbled with the buttons. The irritating thing was that the guy from the IT department didn't even show up. What the hell! He was married anyway, and Charlotte felt guilty even contemplating sleeping with him.
The girls she worked with had bought her a present too. Something naughty and inappropriate. She took it out of the box and slipped it into her pyjama pocket. She might need it later.
The shuffle function on her iPod threw up a sad song. Aimee Mann sang One Is The Loneliest Number. It threatened to ruin her mood. She stabbed the button and got Ooh La La by Goldfrapp. That was better. She wasn't ready for bed, anyway. She wanted another drink. She danced her way back down the stairs. She shook her ass as she moved.
"Switch me on! Turn me up! I need la, la, la, la, la, la! I need ooh, la, la, la, la!"
Charlotte poured herself a drink. She took the bottle.
She collapsed onto the sofa. A splash of vodka leapt out of the glass and onto her pyjamas. She giggled.
"Pretty baby! You look so heavenly!" She sang to Blondie.
Her son was having his own relationship problems. He was nineteen, and was going with a girl called Emma. She was a gorgeous girl with long legs and flowing red hair, and she was whip smart. If Charlotte was interested in women, she might have fought off her son to get to Emma first. Unfortunately, Emma was also the sort of girl who felt she had to wait until she was married before having sex. Daniel was desperately trying to change her outlook. Tonight he had taken flowers and a bottle of wine round. Perhaps he had persuaded her. Perhaps right now he was enjoying a blow-job.
Charlotte felt a little excited by that thought. She tried to quench it with a slug of the vodka. It had the opposite effect, as her inhibitions drained away.
She imagined her son getting a blow-job whilst Emma's parents slept. She heard him grunting as he came. Or, if he was really lucky, perhaps he was fucking the agile redhead on the kitchen worktops. She imagined them coupling in the pool of light from an open fridge. She closed her eyes.
She listened to Sweet Dreams by Tori Amos and slid her mind into that dark fantasy where she was the slinky redhead.
She imagined Daniel was slathering her breasts with banana ice-cream. It melted as it met her hot body and dribbled down her, onto his tongue. Oh... his lips were soft and urgent.
She called her son's name over and over. "Oh Daniel! Oh Daniel! Oh Daniel!"
Daniel stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He had heard someone moaning his name. It sounded like his dreams of Emma, but he knew it could only be his mother. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Charlotte's hands crept down her body.
Daniel crept further into the living room.
Charlotte was thrilled by her drunken fantasy. She knew it was wrong, but she didn't care. Picturing Daniel and Emma fucking had unscrewed something in her brain. It was simple. She was a woman, he was a man. Her son was strong and masculine, and she wanted him.
She writhed on the leather two-seater, hips thrusting. She was gift-wrapped, wearing damp white silken pyjamas. They clung to her feverish body, so drenched with sweat that her carnal figure was perceptible. Daniel stared at her long legs, now thrown open. He stared at her smooth stomach, slinky and squirming against the silk. He stared at her juicy wild breasts, rollicking under her wet top. He stared at her dark nipples striking beneath a pyjama top so soaked in perspiration it was as transparent and lingering as cling-film.
She unbuttoned her top and struggled out of it. She looked like one of the women on the Playboy channel. Daniel was nineteen and could appreciate a stunning woman - even if she had given birth to him. Clammy strands of dark hair fell across her face, her pouting lips. Her eyes were half-closed, and her long lashes flickered. The iPod he had given her was clipped to the tight waist of her pyjama bottoms and Daniel realised she was listening to music. There was no way she could hear him in the room. She ran her long fingers over her naked breasts and squeezed them, gasping urgently.
Daniel swallowed hard. He shouldn't be here. He was home tonight because he had argued with Emma and she had told him to go. He had been fast asleep in his room, until he heard his mother's voice. But he shouldn't be here, standing in the living room watching her. He should steal away back upstairs to bed.
