HANGOVER
by Yasmin
Early morning sunlight dappled the ceiling with pretty patterns as Connie opened her eyes. At first, while gazing upward from the pillow, she wondered whose ceiling it was, for the décor looked unfamiliar. She quickly realized that she was not in the bedroom she shared with her husband. Nor, indeed, did the face resting beside her on a white pillow resemble the bearded visage of her beloved spouse. The face was female, and rather young, and very beautiful.
Connie stared at the face, which looked serene and peaceful in the midst of sleep. Long, dark eyelashes flickered gently on smooth, flawless skin that was as pale as porcelain. Above the eyes a black fringe hid the forehead, while a thick ponytail of raven hair curled over one shoulder. Both shoulders were bare and exposed, as was the perfect bosom below them. Connie's eyes were drawn to that lovely bosom to watch its curvy orbs heaving slowly up and down. Each succulent breast was crowned by a nipple of rose-pink flesh that seemed to twitch with every heartbeat.
A white sheet covered the rest of the sleeping girl's body below her breasts, and the same sheet covered Connie from neck to toe. She felt the softness of the sheet against her bare skin as she stretched her aching limbs. To her surprise she found that she was completely nude, except for a sock on her left foot. For a brief moment she lay there, flat on her back, pondering several questions. Why was she naked in bed, when usually she slept in a nightgown? Why did her throat feel dry, and why did her breath taste of stale alcohol? Why was she waking in an unfamiliar bed, next to a gorgeous teenage girl?
As if responding to some hidden signal, the ponytailed brunette opened her eyes to stare at Connie, whose cheeks immediately blushed. This seemed to amuse the girl, who gave a mischievous smile that made her big blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.
"Hello, Mrs Jones," she whispered softly.
"Who are you?" Connie inquired.
The teenager yawned drowsily, snuggling into her pillow like a baby rabbit. "I'm Jackie," she answered. "Don't you remember? We met at your son's birthday party last night."
"Kevin's party," Connie mused, as fragments of memory began to form a coherent picture in her mind. "His eighteenth birthday celebration, at the Hilltop Tavern. Did I drink too much wine?"
"You got very drunk," Jackie explained. "Kevin asked me to take you home. We walked for a while, but the distance was too much for you."
"Where am I?" Connie asked, frowning at the dull throbbing pain of a hangover.
"This is my parents' house," Jackie replied. "Don't worry! My folks are away on vacation. This is their bed, in case you were wondering."
"Who are you?" Connie repeated. "I mean: who are your parents? Do I know them?"
"I'm Jackie Wexler. Your son and I are in the same class at high school. Kevin is one of my best buddies."
"You're eighteen too?"
"Yes."
Connie inhaled deeply, before asking the question that troubled her most: "What happened last night? I mean, what happened after I left the party?"
"We made love."
"Who? You and my son?"
"No, Mrs Jones. You and me."
Connie took another deep breath before sitting upright, clasping the bedsheet tightly and drawing her knees under her chin. A hand tenderly caressed her bare back, but she pretended to ignore it.
"Okay. Let's get this straight," she said, shaking her head in the hope of clearing her hazy brain. Her wavy blonde hair, gleaming with hints of silver, flicked around her shoulders. "Last night, in this bed, we slept together. You, a schoolgirl. And me, a married woman of forty-eight. Are you saying we had lesbian sex?"
"That's right, Mrs Jones. Do you not remember the wonderful things we did to each other?"
Connie shook her head again, before burying her face in her hands. Then, as she sat hunched and tense, nibbling her lower lip anxiously, she started to recall vague memories of the party. Like a cameo of little pictures, a series of fleeting images paraded through her consciousness to remind her of what she had done. She remembered the noise and the bright lights of the Hilltop Tavern. She remembered dancing with her son, and slumping against him, and spilling red wine down his shirt. Then other images flashed up, images of shadow and sweat and naked flesh, but these she swiftly hid away in a corner of her mind.
"Wexler?" she muttered. "Are you related to Daniel Wexler, the architect?"
"He's my dad. I think he was at high school with your husband."
"They were in the same class," Connie added wearily, yawning as she spoke. "Twenty-five years ago. My God, that makes me feel like an old woman!"
"You're not old," Jackie murmured, trailing her fingers leisurely up and down Connie's spine.
The caress made Connie sit sharply upright, with her back sleek and straight. The sensible, respectable parts of her personality wanted to shuffle away from the teenager's touch. To her complete astonishment, and with a groan of frustration, she found herself unwilling to move.
"Thanks for the compliment," she said facetiously. "Okay, so I'm not very old. Not too elderly, not yet anyway. But too old to be fumbling under the sheets with a girl of eighteen."
"I don't agree."
"Why not?"
"Because you're amazing in bed," Jackie purred, as her fingers lingered above the cleft of Connie's bottom. "Absolutely insatiable. Your tongue was wild, like a frenzied snake. It nearly wore out my poor little pussy!"
Connie gave no verbal response, but her face blushed deeply as her eyes rolled up to glare at the ceiling. Her spine tensed again when a fingertip tickled the sensitive skin between her slender waist and the tops of her buttocks.
"Stay here today," Jackie ventured seductively. "Stay here, with me, and make sweet love to me again."
"I can't. I need to get home. My husband...."
"....is away on a fishing trip, so there's nothing to go home for."
"But Kevin, my son, he's probably wondering where I am."
"He went to a hotel last night. With his girlfriend. So stop worrying!"
Connie yawned again, before laying back down on he bed. Breathing slowly, she half-closed her eyes, offering no protest when the sheet was drawn back to expose her naked body. A finger stroked her breasts, tracing little circles around her nipples that made the teats stiffen.
"If anyone finds out about this....," she began, but her voice dwindled into frantic gasps and breathless whimpers.
"This is our special secret," Jackie replied, leaning up on an elbow to gaze at the older woman's heaving bosom. "Please stay with me today, Mrs Jones."
"Call me Connie. Forget the formalities, especially if we've just had a night of kinky sex."
Jackie laughed quietly, before lowering her head to shower her lover's voluptuous boobs with exquisite kisses. Connie soon lay writhing and twitching, clawing the mattress with her fingernails as she moaned in pleasure.
"Please stay!" Jackie pleaded. "I don't want you to go. You're so sexy and beautiful. Will you not stay, at least for a little while?"
Connie grinned, opening her eyes wide and licking her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Coffee first," she answered. "And maybe some aspirin. Then, sweet baby girl, I might accept your invitation."
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Hangover. Copyright © 2006 Lucy Yasmin Ogur.