It was a fairly standard buffet dinner party among Calgary's affluent oil crowd. The food was excellent, the caterer probably even better than last time. There was lots of good wine to drink, and the people milled around happily, telling tales in dribs and drabs to anyone who happened to be next to them, asking about business and holidays, sharing the latest gossip on hedge funds, friends and associates who were dying, divorcing, or buying apartments, or cows or buffalo, or having trouble with their kids. They all look so satisfied, so confident, so sure of themselves, thought John, and they're all really nice people, friendly, interesting, upbeat. It's just that I don't feel any desire to get to know any of them any better. They only exist for me at these parties, and in the stories people tell about them here.
The kids were a lot more fun, he thought, as he came up from the basement with the two fresh bottles of Chardonnay. from the downstairs fridge. Kids were so much more interesting than their parents. It's amazing how attractive youth is. How he'd love to be invited to be there in the basement with them, sit around on the big sofas, share their chips and their pizza, their pop and their milk, instead of talking to their jaded moms and stern old dads upstairs. They had been coming to these parties with their parents for years, some of them longer than he had. They all knew each other, and just like their parents, he thought, they all seemed to get along well. And yet no, it wasn't the same. It was true that they too were talking about their friends who weren't there, their relationships, their new gadgets, their problems with their parents. He'd caught an intriguing snippet as he'd retrieved the wine from the fridge in the corner. And yet these conversations seemed somehow fresher, fascinating.
They were all girls for some reason. Maybe that was part of it. Either the guests had only produced female offspring or the boys had other things to do tonight, or didn't want to be with the girls. That happened when you were in your early teens. John had probably seen most of them before, but he really only knew the hosts' daughter, Wendy, and the nice lanky one lounging on one of the sofas. Very thin face, surrounded by long black hair, wonderful smile, short skirt, excruciatingly beautiful supple thighs. They'd been introduced at the last party, though he'd seen her before that, a happy, bouncy, outgoing girl. No idea what her name was. She seemed to have recognized him, that was maybe a knowing smile. They had all smiled at him when he'd come down, there had been something like a collective wave of interest in the old guy. He was younger than most of their parents, and handsome, he knew, but for the teens and pre-teens, he was an old guy, definitely not one of them. He thought he heard giggling as he went back up. God knows what they were saying about him. How he'd love to be a fly on the wall down there and listen in.
He took it upon himself to bring drink up from the basement fridge whenever it was needed. The kids were watching a movie now on the big screen. They hardly noticed him coming and going. He was able to observe them more carefully, his eyes darting around furtively. Most of the girls were in jeans, but the one he thought he knew, Aline, maybe? and her pudgy little neighbour, were showing a lot of leg, as they slouched further and further down on the sofa, their skirts riding up almost to their crotch. On his third or fourth descent, there was some sort of a commotion, the girls all talking at once now, and Aline, or whatever her name was, had her skirt around her ankles, pulling at it. They all looked around and there were little screams and giggles as they saw him appear, but Aline seemed oblivious to his presence. She calmly pulled the skirt off and threw it ostentatiously to Wendy, the hosts' daughter. Wendy looked quickly at John, then at her friend, sitting there in her little panties, her midriff bare, her top hanging down invitingly, just covering her breasts, then she turned to John and said Lena spilt coke all over her skirt. (Lena, that was it, Lena, not Aline!) I did not, said Lena, looking fixedly at the big screen, it was Emily. I was just sitting here, said the girl who was apparently Emily. Whatever. I'll wash it out, said Wendy, and then we can put it in the dryer. Wendy was such a nice, helpful girl. John was trying to find Chardonnay and appear unconcerned, but he got another good look at Lena as he went back upstairs. What beautiful legs she had, my god, and a flat little tummy to die for. John, control yourself, she's a little girl. No harm looking and fantasizing though. No. As long as they don't notice. Not too much, anyway.
He was soon distracted when he got back up by the flirtatious young woman who'd asked him for the Chardonnay, and who wasn't about to let him go once he'd brought it back up for her. She didn't seem to have a husband, and she was anxious to tell him more than he could ever have wished to know about her apartments in Barbados, her problems with cleaning services and her dog Tsunami. John was lulled into silent contemplation as the words rolled quickly out of her mouth, wondering about her very natural looking hairdo - was it real? - and studying her diamond earrings and necklace, almost certainly real, as well as the gaps in her blouse which opened up attractively as she leaned over to pick up tiny morsels of food. She was feeding him some sort of sushi when Wendy appeared at her elbow and told her she should maybe take Lena home. So she was Lena's mother! Of course! She'd even mentioned her earlier, when he'd been thinking about Aline.
But Shawna, as she was apparently called, had no desire to take Lena home. She was having a good time, it was minus 20 degrees outside, and in any case, Lena was going to her Dad's place, just down the road, she could easily walk. But she's feeling sick, she can't walk all that way, and it's minus 20. Listen, said John chivalrously, I'll drop her off. As I was saying, I have to leave now anyway. I have that flight to Houston to catch early tomorrow morning. Shawna looked at him, blankly, he thought, probably trying to remember if he'd really told her about the early flight, or that he had to go. That's great, said Wendy, thanks a lot John, I'll go and get her. And she rushed off. And returned. Are you still driving the Pilot? Sure. How could she remember these things? She rushed off again. He found his key fob and started the car. These remote starters were wonderful when it was cold.
By the time he'd said his goodbyes and gone down to the basement to get Lena, she'd disappeared, already helped into his car by her friends. She was sitting half asleep in the front seat, wrapped in a short ski jacket which only just covered her tummy, but the skirt was back on. He looked over at her face with concern. Are you ok? he asked. I ... she cleared her throat, I'll be ok, sure. She smiled. I had a bit too much to drink. You guys were drinking down there? Well duh! What was it, rum and coke? He remembered the spilt coke. Yeah, that and some other things. She smiled again and looked at him. He smiled back, happily. Then she said: Look John, I really appreciate this, you know. I really do. My mum's a bitch, she'll never do anything for me, and you're out here in the cold and you hardly know me. She leaned over, put her hand over his far thigh to support herself, and gave him a big wet kiss right on the lips. Then she leaned back and fumbled to put on her seat belt. John was stunned. It wasn't just the kiss, so unexpected, so delicious, but also her hand, my god! She'd put her hand two inches from his crotch. For her it was no big deal, apparently, she'd done it a quite natural, uncalculating way. Well, he said, trying not to sound too stupid, if I'm going to get a kiss every time, I can become your personal driver if you like. Lena smiled absently, but made no comment.
By the time they got to the house, a modern infill which Wendy had described to him, Lena was fast asleep. He shook her, and she opened her eyes blearily and smiled a little, but she wouldn't wake up. God knows how much she'd had to drink. Her father wasn't home, he knew, so he'd have to find her keys. He rummaged through her purse, but the keys didn't seem to be there. He turned on the light and held the purse up to see better. There was a nail file, a stick of lip chap, a box of tic tacs, kleenex, a little bottle of nail varnish, a couple of condoms. Condoms? What was she doing with condoms? Wow! This was a surprise. Surely she couldn't be sexually active? And there was the key, no key ring, just the one key, that's why he hadn't found it, hopefully it was the right one. He went to the house and tried it, thinking all the time about the condoms and what they might mean. Maybe it was pure chance. They'd given them out at school. Yeah. They did that sort of thing. He left the door ajar and went back for Lena. He undid her seat belt and held her to prevent her from falling out. It didn't look as if she was going to be able to walk. The easiest thing was to carry her, she couldn't weigh much. He got his hands under her knees and around her shoulders and pulled her out. She was amazingly light. He managed to close the car door with his foot and carry her up into the house, enjoying the feel of her body close to his.
Now what? She was still fast asleep. He couldn't just leave her in the hall. He kicked off his shoes and started upstairs. The bedroom doors were all slightly open. He found hers at the second try and lay her down on the bed, unzipping her ski jacket and pulling it off. She curled up into a ball. Now the boots. He looked unashamedly up her skirt as he pulled them off. Hesitated. What should he do? Was it best to just leave her here alone, hoping she'd be ok until her father came home? They'd said he'd be very late, and it was only ten now. Should he stay in the house until he arrived? He could try to sleep on the living room sofa. His plane left at 9 in the morning, he'd have to be up by five or five-thirty at the latest. While he was thinking, he went downstairs and put the ski jacket and the boots in the closet. What about the rest of her clothes? Should he take them off so she could get under the covers? It was very tempting. What if she woke up? And what would she think in the morning?
He went back upstairs, trying not to think. He unzipped her skirt and pulled it off, folding it and putting it on a chair. He'd already seen her in her panties. But the rest? He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, very excited now, and pulled it aside. Lena moved slightly and moaned a little, but she still seemed fast asleep. He worked it off her arms, folded it neatly on the chair and contemplated the young girl in her bra and panties. She was almost too thin, but what a beautiful body, my god. She was lying on her back now, not curled up like before, and he spent some time admiring her. Of course, she probably didn't sleep in her bra, most women don't. But if he took it off, she'd know, and he wasn't sure how she'd react, or her father if he found out. Of course, he could peek ... He pulled the fabric away from the breasts and admired them, so soft and smooth, well-developed for such a thin girl, and her nipples, beautiful little soft pink nipples. He let go and, hey what the hell, did the same with the panties. The pubic hair was fine, jet black, straight, so soft. He looked up at her face to make sure she was still asleep, then pulled the panties down just a little to get a better look. He could see the cleft of her pussy, the lips tightly closed, so tight! He bent closer, his face inches away, the tiniest breath of muskiness wafting up to his nostrils. He breathed in deeply.