Chapter 13: PAT tells: A little tipsy

The wine was truly delicious. From the moment I took my first tentative sip, I knew I would be able to enjoy drinking it. I took another sip. "Ummm. This is delicious!" Taking another, larger sip, I held it in my mouth to absorb its flavor before swallowing. "I think I could drink the whole bottle all by myself." I told Betsy.

It was almost nine PM. We were ensconced in the TV room, cuddled next to one another on the floor, our backs against the sofa, propped up by several pillows and cushions. We sipped our glasses of wine while the opening credits of the video rolled.

I had one of my trade-mark vee-neck tee shirts on and a pair of black briefs. My hair was wet from being shampooed and I had it wrapped in a towel.

Betsy snuggled up against me. "This feels nice and cozy just like the time you stayed with me when I was just a kid." She said, reminiscing. "I missed you so much when you left." She put her hand over mine, gave it a squeeze. I smiled back at her. "Yes. It was a wonderful time wasn't it."

Moments later, my wineglass was empty. Theses glasses don't hold very much, I thought. "Pass that bottle over here," I asked Bets, "I'm ready for another glass." My cheeks felt a little hot but otherwise I felt just fine.

"I thought you didn't like wine." Betsy commented, finishing her own glass.

"I didn't think I did, but this simply doesn't taste like any other wine I've ever had. This is so much better. I just love it."

Betsy poured for both of us, filling each glass equally, tipping the bottle until the last drops trickled out. "There's one dead indian." She reported, dropping the bottle back into the cooler, giggling. She looked relaxed and a bit flushed now, like she might have just the slightest beginnings of a high as well.

The pizza arrived. We paused the VCR while Betsy put it in the microwave on 'hold warm'. By then, most of the rest of my second glass had disappeared and I was feeling warm and happy. I slurred a few words, but was able to force myself to pronounce them correctly, giggling as Betsy smiled at me. Yes. I'm getting a little tipsy, I thought.

By the time the movie was in full swing, we were both feeling great. The second bottle of wine was half empty and our glasses were only a quarter full. Betsy in particular was full of giggles as we laughed and joked about poor Jack Nicholson's troubles with his five beautiful witches. In the scenes where they made his effigy and started torturing it she howled with laughter and squeezed my knee repeatedly when the feathers poured out of his mouth. Her hand was sending pleasure up my leg to you know where, but it felt so nice I didn't make her stop.

The movie ended. By now we were semi-reclining side by side against the pillows, Betsy to my left, our knees raised in front of us, upper legs leaning together, touching. I was tipsy enough that I had no feeling of modesty when I noticed my filmy tee shirt had ridden up exposing my black panties. I noticed that Betsy's one piece night gown had also slipped up her legs. Her panties were lace covered and even more brief than mine were. I couldn't stop myself from flashing on how prominent her mons was, remembering the way it had looked at thirteen. Maybe I let myself look at her there a second too long because I felt a quiver of excitement in my belly when our eyes met again and I knew she'd seen me looking at her.