The party was at Jackie's house.
It was a nice little single-story three-bedroom located at the termination point of a cul-de-sac, nestled amid the city's suburbs. To either side and extending forever were more houses, identical in all but color, their stepford lawns and neatly pruned trees providing fair warning to the sedate, conforming atmosphere of the neighborhood. If it were a flavor of ice cream, it would be vanilla. If it were an animal, it would be stuffed. But tonight, at least at Jackie's house, things were going to be anything but ordinary.
A dozen vehicles were parked against the curb. Most of them belonged to friends and were easily recognized, but a handful were unfamiliar to me. That was often the case with Jackie's parties; she'd invite the common core of our friends, then toss out feelers to those new folks she had won over with her smile, her charm, and that little giggle. God, how I love that giggle.
Turns out that that many cars fills up a cul-de-sac terribly, and I had to park down the street under the cover of an enormous oak. I didn't mind the walk. My job has me on my feet all day. And I knew better than to leave any valuables in my car, even in a quaint neighborhood like this. If I had come with somebody else I might have tried parking nearer out of consideration, but tonight I was alone. For Jackie's parties that was best.
I had decided earlier to wear a dark button-up, a little more dressy than I usually wear, and a pair of jeans. Simple, but I've been told it works for my body. Better still, the heavy fabric was a comfort against the stiff September breeze.
As I got nearer, I could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter, the good natured yaps of Jackie's terrier, and saw the gentle glow from the windows spill onto the darkened lawn. From the bustle it seemed like everybody was already here.
"John!" a voice called over from the doorway. It was Jackie, grinning, trying to keep her tiny, excitable dog from charging out the open front door to greet me.
I think most people know a Jackie. The sort of woman who is full-figured and curvy, but who carries it wonderfully in all of the correct places. A woman who is bubbly, with an enthusiasm that makes her the easiest person in the world to talk to. The kind of person capable of caring about anything and providing her undivided attention. The girl everybody wants as a friend.
But there was another side to that coin too, probably caused by (and the cause of) so many of those qualities. Jackie was self-conscious of her fuller body and felt that most men looked down upon her because of it. It created a vacuum to be filled, a compulsion to make friends with not just anybody, but everybody. She had a need to be liked. To be validated. Then, being such an open person, as men came and went from her life and as that validation failed, she took those wounds personally.
In short, Jackie was a woman who wanted love, who craved love more than anything, but had found it missing so often in the hurtful judgments of others that she had almost given up. As I've gotten to know her over time, as I discovered this to be more and more true, I find I love her more because of these hurts, not despite them.
Now I'd be lying if I said I didn't know her better even than that. Jackie and I weren't romantically involved, but we had been physically intimate on a great number of occasions. Why not? We were both single. Opportunities had presented themselves, but truthfully there had been more to it than that. I wanted to be a person in her life that she could depend upon. I wanted to be a foundation she could return to. But I also wanted to be her lover.
There had been a healthy way to go about it. It started when we were good friends, so she knew I cared for her and wouldn't toss her aside afterwards. I made gestures and provided flirtatious hints as to my interest, but I made sure she pushed fully for it first. That made it her idea, her achievement, her burst of confidence upon hearing another person say 'yes' to an intimate request. And then, once we began our enhanced friendship, I treated her as I would any lover, with a mix of tenderness and lust, the sort which can help repair a troubled self-image. At least, all of that was my hope. You never really know the exact effect you have upon another person.
"I was worried you weren't going to make it."
"I know," I replied. "Work kept me late or I would've been here sooner. But I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"Ha! I bet," said Jackie. This was followed by her giggle, that giggle, which meant she had much more sinful thoughts tickling the edge of her mind. "After how my birthday party went, I expected you to be the first one here. Hell, I expected you to show before the party."
"Would have if I could, believe me."
Which was true. Her birthday party two weeks earlier had been something special. It was largely the same crowd at the same house. Jackie had worn a red dress. Early that evening I had asked her what she wanted for her birthday, and she just gave me a look and a smile. By midnight she was a little tipsy and kept stealing glances my way, past the assorted friends and stragglers, so I decided to walk behind her chair on the backyard patio, lean over to where my lips were just grazing her ears, and whisper, "I want to tell you happy birthday. Privately."
Not the best line, I admit, but within thirty seconds she had followed me to her bedroom where we groped and strained and tugged at each other's clothes until they were spread all over the floor. We couldn't wait. Her hands explored my body, searching, finding my dick hard and ready for her after only the slightest attention.
