"What is the point of my being up here?" I asked, the whistles I'd got as I climbed the stairs still ringing in my ears. Should I have changed into slacks?
"It's better," said Sam, host of the party, showing me into his parents bedroom.
Wow, this was something else. Twice the size of ours. A bed three times as large. And it was round! I started to rethink the Jones's private life, beyond their just being neighbours!
"How exactly do I keep you guys in order if I am up here and the party's downstairs?" I asked, playing the adult -- playing the neighbour-in-charge.
"Look Emily," said Sam. My neighbour's son. A jock at college, so they said. He was certainly muscular enough. "Mom and Dad said there had to be someone responsible in the house for us to have the party. We agreed to you because you're cool, much younger than Mom, and a lot more hip." (Compliments would get him everywhere!) "Last time Mom stayed and it was a disaster. Everyone went home early because she sat downstairs, knitting. Which kinda put a damper on the dancing."
"Lot more beside," I said, as much to myself as to Sam and Penny, his twin sister who was up here with him, settling in the 'party-sitter'. Looking at Penny now maybe the whistles as we climbed the stairs were meant for her. Her dress was very short, and Penny had great legs. "Besides, I don't knit," I added, looking round the bedroom, big chair by the window, shelf of books, TV set. It could be worse.
"We'll bring you a drink. Wander down whenever you want," said Penny, all legs and party dress and boobs in a neckline so plunging I'm not even sure that I would have dared. (I'm 'hip', I do these things.)
"But remember to whistle a tune as you come," added Sam with a smile on his face, sensing I was going to agree.
"Every half hour," I warned them, giving in, in a way almost happy to stay out the way.
Penny give me a hug and a peck on the cheek and said thanks. Sam did the same though his peck missed my cheek, got my lips. No big deal. They're nice kids.
I grabbed a book, curled up in the chair by the window and true to their word they brought me a drink and some nibbles. True to my word, thirty minutes later -- having decided I would whistle Dixie -- I sauntered down the stairs whistling Dixie. In through the darkened sitting room, all the way through to the kitchen, and back.
I have to say when I got back to the bedroom I was feeling kinda uncomfortable. Not as in yucky uncomfortable. More in a sense of a lot going on around me that could very well turn me on, uncomfortable, if you know what I mean. Like wandering through one of the hot-houses for exotic plants and coming out feeling exotic, and hot.
The party was twenty strong, or so. I guess. Most I didn't know. College friends of Penny and Sam. But when kids danced these days they danced pretty close. And if the girl was up for it, and the guy was too then they'd find a chair or a corner of a room and get close, make out. I guess that's what all kids do. Me too, a few years back. But now I was the adult -- the neighbour-in-charge.
As I went back up stairs, feeling exotic and just a tad hot, I got some more wolf whistles. As I was the only one on the stairs at the time -- some shadows crouched on the bottom step -- I had to figure it was aimed at my legs, or maybe my ass. Both are good enough to have landed me one of the prime catches of my year in college -- is how my mother puts it. I stopped at the full length mirror just inside the door of the bedroom and gave myself a quick once-over. Flat pumps. Thin summer dress. Buttons down the front. Bikini underwear. You'll do, I decided, turning away. My hair is cut short, like a boy.
Vince was his name. Penny brought him up.
The only light on in the bedroom was a soft glow reading lamp next to the chair I was in. I was reading Anais Nin, don't ask me why. Because it was there, I suppose. I'd started on something different but after the hot-house effect of wandering through a room of petting couples and the sounds, and perfumes, of arousal I did an exchange. Penny knocked and opened the door.
"Hi Penny," I said when I saw who it was.
"Emily, this is Vince. Vince, this is Mrs Lewis, our luscious next door neighbour." I ignored the adjective but was kinda surprised she used it. Penny was pretty luscious looking herself -- in a bikini she looked stunning -- but we had never exchanged views on how we thought each other looked even though we often dropped in on each other's pools. Barbecues, long summer lunches, stuff like that. But maybe tonight it was drink talking. Not that I wasn't drinking. I was. A Chenin Blanc. They'd delivered a bottle and glass for me to have while reading. I guess I was half way through it.
"We're having an argument. Need your help," said Penny. But not in a bad-assed, upset sort of way; more a playful fun way.
"Okay." I put down the book.
"Vince says you grope while you kiss. I say no, it's insulting to the girl. What do you think?"
What did I think?
First off I was surprised at the question. Sure there was only five years difference in our ages, Penny and me, but I was her Mom and Dad's friend. I was their neighbour, my husband a house owner. She was just the neighbour's kid.
"I don't ... I mean ... well ..." I sort of stumbled my reaction to the question as my eyes went to her -- two buttons loosed on the bodice of her top, the waistband of her miniskirt askew -- then him -- the shoulders, the height, the size of his chest. Another jock.
Wherever he came from, they sure bred 'em big!
"I suppose if you focus on the kiss more there'll be less of an urge to fondle too," I found myself saying, like some sort of expert on the subject. My husband's a first officer on a container ship. He hasn't been home in a while. I'm suddenly wondering how I would react to a kiss and two wandering hands from someone the size of Vince at the door.
He's almost too big to fit on a ship!
Maybe Penny sees the way I'm all at sea with this and decides I need to be rescued. "Let me show you," she says and next thing I know big Vince is backed up against the door and cute little Penny from next door to where I live is pressed against him, arms around his neck, mouth over his. Their groins start to work on each other and pretty soon one of Vince's large hams of hands is on her butt, cupping it softly and starting to move. Penny's hand reaches behind her, gives his a tiny slap, stills it on her ass but leaves it where it is. Lesson learned, I guess. It cups her ass but nothing more.
I am standing by my chair over at the window, soft focus on the couple at the door, noticing how their cheeks move from the action of the tongues inside their mouths as they get into a bout of pretty hot French kissing. Vince's other hand is on one of Penny's breasts pressed pancake flat between them, but pancake flat in the palm of his hand. I suppose if it's on her breast and it's the breast that's moving not the hand then that's okay -- doesn't count as detracting from the kiss. (I've never really thought about it much.)
Somebody knocked on the door and the clinch broke apart and the door eased open and a mumbled conversation takes place between Penny and whoever's on the other side of the door and the next thing I know she is through it with a mumbled apology -- though whether to me or to Vince I can't tell -- and the door's banged closed, Vince against it, staring at me like a bear that's just lost its fish.
"What was that all about?" I ask, concerned, wondering if the house is on fire.
"Betsie and Marv," he says, and shrugs.
"They do something wrong?"
