This story was originally printed in VARIATIONS, published by Brass Bed Publications in 1990. Special thanks to Daphne for preparing this story for the archive. Comments about this story can be sent to: VenicePlaceAngel@aol.com

PRIVATE PARTY
by
Constance Collins

I heard "You awake?" and I nearly answered till I realized she wasn't talking to me; then I heard Hutch's sleepy, slurry voice responding.

Thoughts flitted through my mind: When had the party broken up? How long had I been asleep? And did Hutch and Abby know I was still there? If so, they probably figured me for dead to the world.

My neck hurt from the awkward position I'd passed out in, and my mouth tasted like somebody'd thrown up in it. I sat up unsteadily, wondering if I should try to go home, and glanced over the back of the sofa. The only light on in the apartment was a tiny one in Hutch's bedroom; Hutch was on his back, sorta strewn across the bed, like somebody'd tossed him there. If his eyes had been focused, we'da made eye contact, but whatever he was seeing was a zillion miles away. All he had on was that silly guitar-shirt, unbuttoned and thrown open. And Abby was on her hands and knees, straddling his chest, her head between his thighs.

One large hand rested against her ass tenderly; the other gripped her thigh in a possessive sort of way. I couldn't see what she was doing, but then, I didn't need to.

The expression on Hutch's face was one I'd never seen before - one I'd never had occasion to see. His eyes were glazed, his mouth slightly open, everything about him looking vacant, like he'd gone, moved, left no forwarding address; as though she'd taken possession of his soul once she got his cock into her mouth.

It was bizarre watching my partner and his girl do something I'd only seen before in X-rated flicks, but I couldn't look away. It was more intimate than any touch we'd ever shared; it was as if I was making love to him, long-distance sorta - I could feel the heat of his fingers caressing my ass the way they caressed Abby; could feel his left hand clasp my left thigh firmly; could feel the passion of him in my mouth as I took that ultimate possession of him -

I'd put my hand down my jeans without even being aware of it. As Hutch's hips jolted upward, Abby's loose blond hair brushing his thighs, I matched my rhythm to his - so much so that our orgasms were near-simultaneous; at the same time his harsh, fierce keening poured into my ears, I was chewing the back of the sofa, trying to stifle my own moaning.

Hutch's eyes were closed. Tendrils of gold stuck to his damp face; his breathing was rapid, his arms lay slack - the man couldn't make a fist to save his life.

It was all I could do to zip my pants.

Abby gracefully shifted to lay next to Hutch, head pillowed on his upper arm. Her back was to me, so I didn't have to worry about her seeing me when I snuck out of the house.