Chapter 7

The brandy was good. It was very sweet, so sweet that a small glass lasted me half an hour. Lynne took bigger sips, and took them more often and by the time I poured my second glass the bottle was a third empty.

I think she regressed, at least partly. She was thinking about her own Prom night, and what happened in the back seat of that car, but it was being overlaid with later memories of the same activity. She got horny and the brandy got her loose.

"My daughter is probably in the back seat of some car right now," she slurred blearily, staring at her wrist, where she usually wore a watch. She wasn't wearing it that night. "She's probably having sex with Langston right this MINUTE!" She got agitated and then relaxed. "Who names a boy Langston anyway? That's a silly name!" She looked at me. "She showed you her panties, Bob! On PURPOSE!"

I knew she was tipsy, and that it was the alcohol talking, rather than Lynne. I mean it was Lynne talking, but the alcohol had something to do with it. You know what I mean.

"I was honored," I said carefully.

She looked around, somewhat blearily. "I just hope she hash ash good a time ash I did." She looked at me and smiled brightly. "You wanna half a good time too, Bob?" She leaned dangerously, but recovered.

"You look tired," I said. "You want to lie down?"

"With you?" Her voice went up in concert with her eyebrows. "Are you trying to get in my pants, Bob?"

"No," I laughed. "Not while you're drunk, anyway."

"I'm not drunk!" she said, her voice very dignified. "I'm in-n-n-nebriated!"

"Well not while you're in-n-n-nebriated, then," I said smiling.

"Of coursh not," she said, swaying a little. She looked at her glass. It was half full. She tossed off everything left in it and smacked her lips. "You're too much of a genn-a-menn to do that!"

She looked at me owlishly. "Dammit!" she said, and then giggled. "Oops!" she said, wide eyed, apparently as she thought about the rather gentle curse word she'd just used. She stuck her fingers in her ears, then pulled her hands to her eyes and covered them, and finally covered her mouth, giggling all the while.

"Come on," I said, standing up and reaching for her hand. "Let's get you to bed."

"Finally!" she said loudly, standing up and then falling back down. She made an obvious effort to stand up again, and then promptly bent over and peered at my zipper.

"It dussn't look hard to me, Bobby. What's wrong with it?" Instead of standing up and looking at me, she just craned her neck and looked upwards.

This was a side of her I'd never seen. Her innuendo, if you wanted to call it that, was obvious and WAY overboard. The brandy had affected me too, though not anywhere as much as Lynne. Had I been sober I might have thought more about what she was saying, but in the same way one drunk thinks another drunk is funny, I just chalked what she was saying up to the booze.

What that means is I didn't try to take advantage of her. I concentrated on just trying to take care of her.

I got her to her bedroom by half carrying her. Her arms were around me and she was humming, not quite singing. I didn't undress her or anything like that. I just got her on the bed and draped the bedspread over her. I stood up and her head rolled to let bleary eyes peer at me.

"You're not naked."

"Nope," I said happily.

She lifted the bedspread and looked under it.

"I'm not naked either!"

"Nope," I agreed.

"How can I show you my panties if I'm not naked?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"You can show them to me later," I said. "Go to sleep. You're drunk."

Her head rolled back. "Not drunk," she said softly.

"I know."

"Don't go," she said.

"You need to sleep," I told her.

"Not alone," she mumbled. "Tired of alone."

Had I not drunk any brandy, I'd have left. I'm not saying I was drunk, by any stretch of the imagination, and I'm not blaming it on the booze. It's just that, in my current mental condition, the idea of staying was pretty attractive. It would have been attractive anyway, but that brandy tipped the scales toward the decision to stay.

I kicked off my shoes and laid down on the bed beside her, getting under the bedspread. It was uncomfortable with my arm under me, so I wiggled it under her, which kind of put my shoulder where she could use it for a pillow. I didn't hold her or anything like that. It was really quite innocent. I didn't even have a boner, which was surprising. It just felt good to be there, because I knew she wanted me to be there.

And, to be honest, I was tired of alone too.

I woke up, probably because I had to pee. My left arm was under Lynne, so I couldn't look at my watch, but was still dark outside.

I didn't want to get up. I was sober now ... fully sober ... and though I knew I had ended up where I was honorably, I also knew that if I woke Lynne up she might not see it that way. So I didn't want to get up and disturb her.

There was the somewhat stale aftertaste of peach brandy in my mouth, which was dry, which meant I had to pee AND wanted to get a drink. Lynne gave out a sigh in her sleep and I got a whiff of basically how my mouth tasted, which turned out to be better than what I'd have thought it might be. I knew I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep until I eased the pressure in my bladder and got a drink, so I gave up and wiggled loose from her. She lay there like she was dead, except that as I got off the bed she raised her head and looked around.