MICRO MONDAY

After Party

Eat me?

I thought everyone had left. But I had two dozen guests, and I didn’t count them all out of the door. When I go into the kitchen to begin my least favourite part of any dinner party — the washing up — I find her lying on the worktop.

She’s Xander’s latest girlfriend; Rose, I think her name is. He definitely told me when they arrived but he picks up a new toy every few weeks so it’s generally not worth remembering their names. This one is beautiful, and half Xander’s age, which makes her indistinguishable from all the others. And she’s drunk, which tends to be the quality Xander looks for when he acquires a plaything.

I’m a little embarrassed: her dress is far too short, and it’s ridden up. From this vantage I could see her underwear, if she were wearing any.

“Rose?”

She waves the dregs of a £500 bottle of Chateau d’Yquem at me. “This is very wice nine. Is there any more?”

“The party’s over, Rose. Xander left.”

She drains her glass, spilling a little on her chin. “Good. Xander is a dick.”

That’s somewhat reductive, but I knew Xander could be a dick a quarter of a century ago, when I first met him at King’s. He has charm though, and useful contacts, so we’ve remained friends ever since.

She licks the last of the sticky sauterne from her lips, leaving them glistening in the half light. “You’re not a dick. You’re sweet. Kiss me?”

She’s drunk, and she’s my oldest friend’s newest friend. But she’s sober enough to coherently request a kiss, and my oldest friend has obviously been a dick to her tonight, so I oblige.

Her lips are soft and warm, and when my tongue darts into her mouth she tastes of peaches and honey.

Guilt pulls me back.

She smiles up at me. “Mmm, thank you. I’ve never kissed a woman before.”

I have; I went to boarding school. True, I sometimes snuck behind the chapel to, um, ‘kiss’ Xander, but mostly I was kissed in the dorm, by Emma F, and Emma P, and Emma L, and Emma Mac. So many fucking Emmas. It’s nice to finally get a kiss from a Rose.

“You’re a beautiful girl. You shouldn’t be lying on my worktop like a tray of hors d’oeuvres.”

She giggles, and runs one hand down the inside of her thigh, her legs parting in its wake. “I should. Pretend I’m one of your crème fraîche tartlets. Eat me?”

Fuck Xander. He is a dick.

Her lips are warm, and soft, and when my tongue darts into her cunt she tastes of honeyed peaches.

Another from Marsha

And one by Kinky Katie