DISCLAIMER: I don't own it, and I'm not making any money.
DISCLAIMER Pt2: It came to me in the middle of the night and demanded to be written. Feel free to tell me you think I should delete it from my hard drive, and then burn my computer. I'm thinking about calling in the services of an old priest and a young priest just to get these disturbing images out of my head
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

By Mich

I was sitting in the living room, trying to read. It was the middle of the night, and my eyes kept skipping over the words, and when I realised I had just re-read the same paragraph ten times, I put the book down. I thought about ringing the hospital, but they had said they would call me as soon as there was any change.

Mum had fallen down the stairs at one of her galas, and was now lying in hospital with a cracked skull, unconscious. I was sure that the amount of alcohol she had drunk was responsible for the fact that she had not broken any other bones, a drunk body giving a soft landing. It wasn't helping her head injuries.

They had told me at the hospital to go home, get some sleep, and I was certainly tired, but I was buzzing, my mind turning over with worries, and I couldn't sleep. So I was trying to read, but that wasn't working either.

My restlessness was interrupted by a loud clattering in the entry hall. I got up to check. It was Patsy. She pushed past me, a bottle of scotch in one hand. She looked like she already had very little blood left in her alcohol stream, and was well on the way to becoming the first living embalming subject.

She plonked herself on the sofa and tossed my book aside, and I cursed Mum for giving her the key to our house.

I stepped back into the living room and picked up my book from the floor. I sat on the other sofa and opened the book up, determined not to let Patsy stop me reading, wilfully ignoring the fact that I had not really been reading much at all.

She seemed equally determined to ignore me, pouring a large gulp of scotch down her throat. In about two mouthfuls, she had finished that bottle and, scarily, pulled another one out of an invisible pocket in her coat.

She had cracked the bottle open and was about to take a swig, when she noticed me watching her over the top of my book, my attempt at reading being no more successful than before. She paused with the bottle halfway to her mouth, then brought it back down and held it out to me.

I have no idea why she did that, and less idea why I accepted. Perhaps I was worried about Mum. That's the only excuse I can think of for taking that bottle. I have no excuse at all for everything else.

I put the bottle to my lips, and took as big a swig as I thought I could manage without choking. I did manage to swallow it, but only just, and I put the bottle down, conscious of Patsy's eyes on me. Watching her watching me.

I gave the bottle back, and she took a quick sip, and then offered it again. Again I accepted. Again I took as large a swig as I could. I seemed to be, if not trying to impress her, because I knew my ability to consume alcohol would fall far short of that, but certainly trying not to seem like a wimp. I took a second mouthful before handing it back.

"She'll be fine, you know." she said, her first words since entering the house. "She once fell off a third story roof and walked away. Which was funny, because she was so drunk she couldn't walk before she fell off." Patsy snorted.

"Why does she have to fall down at all? Why do you both have to drink so much you can't stand?" I demanded angrily, reaching for the bottle.

"Listen you little troll, she's the mother, you're the daughter, so why don't you butt out and go multiply a polynomial or whatever?" It was said with surprisingly little rancour, and she downed another slug, and then passed the bottle back to me.

"Well, why don't you go get your own life and stop sponging off Mum's?" Another gulp.

"Why don't you go out and get a job and stop sponging off her, then?"

"Why don't you go and get another facelift? Surely you have enough frequent flyer points?"

She snatched the bottle back angrily, and downed the half-bottle that was left, seemingly in one swallow. Remarkably, she seemed to have run out of alcohol, so she got up and started going through our cupboards.

She came back with her arms laden with bottles, and sat down again. On the sofa next to me.

"Do you want the schnapps and the vodka, or the tequila and the baileys?" I took the schnapps from her, and opened the bottle.
I took a big sip, the sweet liqueur an easier drink than the burning scotch, and then put the bottle down on the end table. Next to me, Patsy had managed to pour the almost-full bottle of tequila down her throat, and was starting on the baileys. It seemed a feat, even for her.

I reached out to intercept her hand on its way to her mouth. She looked at me, and, surprisingly, put the bottle back down. I slowly took the bottle off her, remembering not to make any sudden movements around dangerous animals, and put it on the end table next to mine.

Patsy was looking at me strangely, and I licked my lips as my mouth went suddenly dry. Her eyes seemed to follow my tongue, and she seemed as disconcerted as I was.

She opened her mouth, about to say something, and I knew, I just knew, that she was going to say something awful, and for some reason, I didn't want her to.

Without even thinking about it I put my hand up to her lips to stop her words. Surprised, she shut her mouth, and then opened it again, and her tongue came out to lick her own lips, and brushed softly against my fingers.

I started to draw my fingers away, but she reached out and caught my hand in her own. She held it between us, and rubbed my palm with her thumb, still looking at me with that same odd expression.

I turned my wrist slightly and looked at our joined hands where her thumb was still stroking gently. Ever so slowly, she brought my hand back to her mouth, and kissed my knuckles. I let her.

She opened my palm up and kissed that, and then her mouth journeyed slowly up my arm until her face was nestled in the crook of my elbow, where I could feel her lips and her breath. I curved my arm gently around her neck, which brought her head almost to my breasts, so when I curved my body round, her face brushed lightly against my chest.

I raised my other arm to brush gently at her hip, and slid it slowly up her body. At that she raised her head, looking up at me, then she curved her head up and licked the line of my jaw.

I lowered my lips to hers. Her mouth tasted creamily of baileys, that and the other alcohol almost cleansing away the ashiness of her cigarettes.

I pulled her blouse out of her skirt, and slid my hand underneath, and she was pushing me back against the sofa. I brought my other hand to the back of her head and pulled her against me, gasping through our kiss, and she pushed her breasts into my body, climbing into my lap.

Her hands came to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up, and I arched away to help her, lifting my arms just for a moment before I slid them back inside her clothes.

My shirt discarded, she licked hungrily at the exposed curves of my breasts rising above my bra, and brought her hands around to the clasp. It was undone in seconds, and she pulled a nipple into her mouth.

I pulled my hands around and pushed her blouse back off her shoulders, kissing the crook of her neck as I undid her buttons, and then pushed the cloth down her arms. I reached around to her bra-
fastener, fumbling with it, unable to get it undone. She just leaned back, straddling my lap, slid her blouse fully off, and reached slowly behind her back to unclasp it for me. Watching me watching her.

When I heard the sound of the zipper on her skirt coming down, I reached for her with urgent clumsy arms to drag her back down on top of me, trying to lie us both down so I could take the skirt off. She slipped down my body, kissing my stomach as she went, and she then unzipped my jeans, exposing my knickers, and brushed the tips of her fingers against me as she opened the fly wide.

She slipped her fingers under the elastic at my hips, and in one smooth movement pulled my clothes from my legs.

She held still for a second or two, almost quizzically, as if surveying my naked body as I lay under her, then she grasped my hips and pulled me down the sofa toward her, climbing on top of me. I slid my hands down the back of her skirt reaching under her pantyhose, and as my fingers brushed the crease of her buttocks she arched against me.

I rolled us over so I lay on top of her, and used the vantage point to pull her skirt all the way down. I heard the clicks of her shoes on the floor as she slipped them off to help me, and I stripped her skirt and pantyhose and knickers from her body.

In much the same position as she had been a moment ago, I didn't pause to examine her body - my hand slid straight up her legs, sliding between them unerringly as she opened her legs wider to welcome me in.

She surged against my hand, leaving me in no doubt of what she wanted. I gave it to her, pushing into her, as hard as I could, and the harder I pushed, the more she pushed back.

With a cry, she came against my hand, clenching around my fingers so hard it hurt. She pushed up then, raising her body to mine, wrapping her arms around my body, barely giving me a chance to remove my hand as she rolled us over, and we slid off the sofa to the soft carpet on the floor.

She slipped quickly down my body, pushing my legs apart almost roughly, and buried her face in me. I cried out as soon as she touched me.

My legs were trembling, and she gently slid her arms underneath my thighs to support them.

I arched my back as her tongue licked at my opening, hips bucking against her face. One arm slid up around my thigh, firmly holding my hips down. I was gasping, straining towards her.

Then she moved one arm from under my legs, and slid a single finger into me.

I exploded with a quiet sob, orgasm washing over me in a wave of dizziness. Almost immediately, she climbed up my body, a sweat-
slicked path, and we rolled kissing and groping across the floor, bumping into tables.

When I woke several hours later, it was barely starting to get light. The carpet, though plush, was certainly not the ideal bed, and I was as stiff as I'd ever been in my life. Patsy was lying curled up against my side.

For a moment I just lay there, until Patsy woke up with a small start. She stretched, her body rubbing hard against mine as she did so, and then she got up and started dressing without a word.

I heard her calling a taxi to the hospital, so I quickly threw some clothes on, not bothering about a shower, and was ready just as the taxi got there. I climbed in, and Patsy shot me an undecipherable look from the other side of the back seat.

When we reached the hospital, we found that Mum had just woken up about half an hour ago. She was groggy, but for Mum that's pretty normal. She said that it was the best gala she'd ever thrown.
Nobody mentioned the fact that Patsy and I had come in together.

Since then, Patsy and I have carried on as before, resuming hostilities. But a keen observer might note that while my barbs flow as readily, they lack the old venom, and that Patsy, while stilling taking every opportunity to taunt, no longer uses my virginity as a subject for her insults.

And every now and then, when she's absolutely sure nobody's around, Patsy will pass me the scotch, and kiss me.

The End

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