A Second Chance Ch. 02: Shannon

Back in college, alcohol was a dilemma: You needed it to get things flowing (parties, parties of two, etc.) but it tasted like crap. Beer was awful, wine was nothing more than cough syrup gone bad and hard liquor was at best toxic. So, what changed between then and now? Cash flow. Once I had a real job I could afford better than free cases of Old Millwater, Whitehouse vodka and well, whatever skunked wine we could steal without my parents noticing. In fact, since my undergraduate days, I've become quite the connoisseur of finer beers and liquors.

A couple days after Valentine's Day I came home from work to find a registered mail notification. My experience told me that registered mail brings bad portents. However, it was something that had to be handled, so the next day I left work a little early to stop at the post office. I opened the letter in the car, read it, re-read it, and read it one more time just to be sure. My divorce was final. In fact, it was signed by the judge three days ago, February 14th, Valentine's Day. Irony was alive and well. Of course, this convergence of happenstance had to be shared. For the next two hours, I was on the phone with a dozen or so friends laughing. I spoke with college roommates, drinking buddies and even a few clients. It was the last client call that was the most memorable.

Shannon was a brash red-head a few years older than me who believe that anything you really wanted was worth purchasing. She worked hard to attain her successful career, planned well for a stunning house, and put great effort into making herself a better person. For her, this was most often accompanied by assertiveness.

When I was going through my divorce, she set me straight on quite a few matters. From not shouldering the full blame for the divorce to paring back my willingness to help my ex, she really did guide me towards a healthier lifestyle. And, this night was no different.

"Congratufuckinglations. So, what are you going to do about it?" She asked.

"I don't know. I'm probably going to the gym, then I'll stop in on my parents for a bit." I said lamely. In an attempt to save face, I added, "Tomorrow night, I am heading out with some friends?"

"OK, you" she deliberately stressed the second word, "need to let loose and celebrate. I'm taking you out to dinner. Do you know that brewpub near work? I'll meet you there in an hour and a half."

"Oh great." I thought. There goes my nice quite night. But you can't turn down a client.

I cleaned up, finished the load of laundry I had started, skipped the gym and arrived at the pub to find her waiting with a table. She held out a beer menu and said, "The list's not bad tonight. They brew their own. No preservatives, so you have to get it fresh." It is also a bit on the heavy side. Heavy beer has more alcohol. I knew I had to watch what I drank.

The meal was very good and the conversation fantastic. She really was an impressive individual. Smart, funny, confident and, of course, opinionated. She was pontificating on the virtues of rum and Diet Coke. I had to remind her that this place was her choice and she knew ahead of time that they only had beer.

"I know that, I am just saying that if you really want to be social, you have to drink hard liquor."

Now, I liked my brand of vodka. Other vodkas were just not acceptable. At the time there were only a half dozen brands that I would drink and most of those would only be used for mixing. I guess you can say that I was (and still am) a bit snobbish when it comes to this topic. "OK, that is great, but there isn't much we can do about it here."

"We are going somewhere else after dinner, right?"

"You don't mean dancing, do you?" Silently praying she didn't.

"No, for drinks."

"OK, how about this great little martini bar down the road?"

"Check please!" she called to the waitress. "Get your coat on. As soon as I pay for this, we're moving."

"No, I can't let you pay for this," I protested.

"I insist." She paused for a brief moment. She turned back to me and said, "And don't argue with me. You don't want to see me mad." I had seen her mad before. She was right.

We drove 10 blocks, parked the car in a garage, and walked to the bar to find out that it had gone out of business. "Well, that shows how often I get out."

I offered, "A block back, there was a liquor store with its lights on. There're a few brans of vodka I've been dying to try. Why don't we pick up a few bottles and go back to my place? I have rum...several kinds. And if you are willing to put up with Diet Pepsi instead of Diet Coke, I am sure I can make up for my being so out of touch with the world's progress." I gestured to the darkened bar behind in front of us.

30 minutes later, we were at my kitchen table with a half dozen open bottles of vodka and a stack of shot glasses. I began pouring. "So, how about a game of cards while we sit and drink?"

I don't remember what game we played, and I am not really sure it mattered. It was just a backdrop for a lot of chatting, laughing and drinking. I know I mixed her 3 Rum and Diet Cokes and that I have a heavy pour. She was feeling good.

We played a number of games, each one a little sloppier than the last. Instead of crisply handing the cards back and forth, we leaned against each other. Increasingly, we touched and even unconsciously fell closer. Gravity was on our side.

I had been trying a shot of a new vodka every 15 minutes or so. But, when I went to pour the fourth of the six, she put her hand on the bottle and said "No, you're cut off."

"But I don't have to drive and it's Friday so I don't have to go into work tomorrow."

But she held her hand resolutely and leaned in closer. "I'm saving you from a hangover. You don't want a hangover."

"Well," I started. "You already saved me from a boring evening, so you might as well save me from a rough morning. Is there anything else you want to save me from?" I laughed.

"What else do you have in mind?" She winked at me. Well, she might have winked. She might have been drunk enough to be unable to keep one eye open. "I got your evening and morning taken care of. But your night's still open. Do you need saving from the night?"

Normally I'd have cringed by her omitting the infinitive and admonished, "TO BE, do you need TO BE saved?" But we passed normal about two drinks ago.

"Define 'Saved'." I slowly broached.

She slowly shrank the distance between us and kissed me squarely on the lips. I was not ready for that. For the past half dozen years, I had not kissed anyone but my now recently exed-wife. So, with nothing stopping me, I kissed her back.

We helped each other out of our chairs. While our actions sloppily tilted us in the direction of the living room, they sorely lacked the momentum needed to get us there. We landed laughing on the kitchen floor.

She re-established the kiss and added her hands on my shoulders and neck. I reciprocated, moving my hands down her arms and back up her sides. We spent quite a while kissing and touching on the hard porcelain floor. "Can we go somewhere more comfortable? This is starting to hurt." she asked.

I kissed her on the lips and helped her up. "Where would you like to go." She led me towards the open bedroom door. I thought about telling her that the living room was a little closer but instead made the more practical decision to concentrate on walking without falling.

We landed on my bed in a tangle of arms and legs, mostly my arms and legs. I was fairly certain that hers were right where she wanted them to be. I tried to deftly reciprocate her caresses, touching her gently, teasing whatever was close to my fingers. I knew I wanted her to enjoy this and that I wanted it to last a long time. So, I paid close attention to every curve I found, I traced every line as she did the same to me. My lips left hers, travelling around her neck, biting and nibbling along the way, encouraged by her soft moans.

My hands drifted down her back, eventually playing with the band on her pants, tracing along the edge, tentatively dipping below to feel her panty covering her ass. Her eyes opened wide in mock shock and her hand left my back only to smack down hard on my ass. I jumped. She held on, giving me the permission, I needed to move my own hands beneath her panties.

Her skin was electric, transmitting excitement through my hands which returned it to her flesh. The energy grew, was reinforced, and transformed by our ministrations as our clothing was hurriedly rearranged. I found myself cradling her soft fleshy globes with her nipples between my teeth and her hands tousling my hair.

My briefs were the only clothes either of us now had as our pelvises ground the thin layer of cloth between us. I could feel her warmth and wetness seeping through my briefs as she ground her sex against me, my cock growing harder with each movement.

She slowly pushed me on my back, rolling on top of me, her pussy never losing contact with my briefs. With her tongue she slowly traced my body down till she reached the curve of my hard prick, still covered in cloth and the drippings of her own sex. I let my fingers drift around her back, playing with her hair while she nibbled on my cock, pausing only to pull down my briefs to fully expose me.

I moved so she could slide off my briefs, and took the opportunity to slide my face down her belly, far enough for me to have my face in her musky folds. And then, my tongue darting into her, slid up the sides of her labia, swirled around her lips and dipped back in, pulling out her cream. I let my tongue, covered in her, slide out of my mouth, on display for her to see. Her head came up for a kiss. But no. I drew my tongue back in, slurping her juices, and diving down for more. I flattened my tongue and swirled it from her ass up to her clit, twisting that nub, massaging it till she squirmed, and then moving back down.

By the third time, she realized that I moved on when she started squirming, so she stayed perfectly still as I focused on her most pleasureful spot. Her legs almost vibrated as she tried desperately not to squirm. I could feel her pussy pulsate signaling her impending orgasm.

And then she whimpered ever so sexily. I just lay there, watching her folds convulse with the most intimate of sensations. She was so beautiful, stunning, and vulnerable during her cum.

I know I got off twice that night. I don't remember much more than that. I might have passed out. I might have blacked out. I might have simply fallen asleep. Regardless, between the alcohol and the release of so much sexual energy we were sated and happy...until the hangover the next morning.