This story is a work of fiction and contains drug use, smoking, and incest.
1.
Jenny didn't have to rifle through the medicine cabinet to find what she was looking for: She knew precisely where it was. After looking back to make sure she had closed the bathroom door, she popped open the bottle, took out two pills, and swallowed them dry. On the other side of the door, Jenny could hear the revelers getting louder. It had just turned ten, which meant everyone was there and everyone was tipsy.
This wasn't the first time Jenny had lifted her dad's Percocet. She didn't do it as much as she wanted because she was scared he was keeping count. So she saved her pilfering for special occasions, like this one, her parents' anniversary party.
Jenny put the bottle back then reached over and flushed the toilet. She turned on the sink and counted to three. After turning it off, she exited her parents' bathroom and made her way to the den to rejoin the party.
"Jenny!" A woman stopped her; probably an aunt or a cousin, she thought. "You are so grown up now! Just look at you!" Jenny desperately waited for the Percs to kick in. "I'm so sorry I missed your graduation," the woman continued.
"Who are you?" Jenny thought.
"I was going to mail this to you, but I thought I'd just wait until I saw you at the party," the woman dug through her purse. She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put it in Jenny's hand. "Congratulations!" she said as she pulled Jenny into an awkward hug.
"Thanks," Jenny said. "I need to find my mom."
She turned and headed for the kitchen leaving she-didn't-know-who-exactly behind.
"You look beautiful," the lady called, and she was right.
Jenny was a knockout in a very tee-shirt-and-jeans kind of way. She was petite, with pale skin and fiery red hair. She wasn't a model, but she was a perfect girl-next-door. She had no problems getting the boys' attention back in high school.
Jenny found her mom in the kitchen talking to their neighbor, Ms. Stevens, and sneaking a cigarette. Sarah wasn't a closeted smoker per se; she just didn't want her mother-in-law to see her, even after twenty years married to her son.
"There she is," Ms. Stevens said, noticing Jenny.
"Hi," Jenny said, never breaking stride. When she got to her mother, Jenny pulled the cigarette from her mom's hand and took a deep drag. This had been the pair's little game ever since Sarah caught Jenny stealing them out of her pack a few months ago. Jenny wasn't technically allowed to smoke, but if her dad wasn't looking, Sarah would let the girl take some puffs off of one she already had lit.
"Jenny!" Sarah exclaimed, shocked that her daughter would try this with company watching. Jenny handed the smoke back to her mom then looked at Ms. Stevens. "Don't tell dad," she said. Sarah laughed unexpectedly, almost as if she was proud of her daughter's little stunt.
"Yeah," Sarah said. "Don't tell Rob. He would kill us both."
Jenny giggled. The Percocet was starting to kick in. She knew the feeling from her previous adventures: swimming head, numb body, and the feeling of being lifted off the ground and twirled around by a big, strong man.
There was a noise from the den; someone was clinking a spoon against a champagne flute.
"Where's Sarah?" a voice boomed. Jenny recognized it as her grandfather's.
"Shit!" Sarah handed her cigarette to Ms. Stevens and hustled away. Jenny followed.
It was time for the big toast, but Jenny wasn't paying attention to the words her grandfather was saying. She was concentrating on the flames that were rising and falling in the fireplace across the den. Jenny watched as they darted and danced over the smoldering logs. She saw the smoke rising up in tendrils before curling up the chimney. Jenny was stoned.
"Champagne?" It was Ms. Stevens. She was offering Jenny a flute. She accepted, and slammed it down without waiting for the cue from the toastmaster.
"Jenny!" Ms. Stevens whispered, in shock at what she'd seen her eighteen-year old neighbor girl do that night.
Jenny didn't really like the taste of alcohol, but in her current state she didn't care. She walked over to the bar, found an open bottle, and refilled her glass while her grandfather droned on. This time, she waited.
"Cheers!" came the call.
"Cheers," Jenny repeated and drained her second flute.
The party continued. Jenny made small talk with the gathered friends and family, and then she noticed she was slurring her words. She was also becoming a little drowsy. "I need to lay down," she thought. She retreated to her bedroom, closed and locked the door, then plopped down on the bed. Within minutes, she was out.
There was a pounding on the door--undoubtedly the work of one of her parents.
"Sleep," Jenny slurred. Silence.
She rolled over and became tangled up in something. She realized she still had on her dress. Jenny sat up and groggily slid down the zipper in the back. Then she lifted hips off the bed and pushed the dress down and off, letting it tumble to the floor. She was left in just a brief pair of red panties. Jenny plopped back down and fell asleep again. She didn't make it through the night, however.
2.
The next time Jenny awoke, she felt a mild burning in her throat. Between the pills, the cigarette, and the champagne, she had developed a Death Valley-style case of dry mouth. She slung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and headed for the kitchen, not bothering to find her robe or slip on a shirt.
Jenny found a dirty champagne flute by the sink and filled it from the faucet. She gulped the water down, and then she filled it again. Jenny sat down at the kitchen table and sipped from her glass. She noticed her mother's purse sitting on one of the other chairs. Jenny pulled it over and dove in. She came out with her mother's cigarettes and lighter. She took one from the pack, put it between her lips, and lit it up. She inhaled deeply, then she blew the smoke out through pursed lips.
Jenny sat there in the dark--drinking water, smoking--until the cigarette was gone. She got up and ran the butt under the faucet then dropped it in the trash. She took a last sip of water, put the glass down, and then headed back to her room.
As she was walking back through the den, a light came on. It was the lamp on the end table by the sofa.
"Sarah?"
Jenny turned toward the voice and found a familiar face staring back at her. It was Mr. Lemons, a friend of the family who had been at the party. Jenny, realizing her state of undress, brought her hands up to cover her tits. Mr. Lemons said nothing; he just stared, mouth agape. Jenny spun round and darted back towards her bedroom. She could feel the man's eyes on her barely covered ass as she dashed down the hall.
Jenny ran into her room and closed the door before collapsing on the bed. She couldn't believe what had happened. She figured that Mr. Lemons had too much to drink at the party and decided to stay the night and crash on their couch. Jenny probably woke him when she went to the kitchen.
Jenny turned beet red. She was no prude, but this wasn't some high school bathroom hand job. Mr. Lemons was an old friend, with the emphasis on old. He had to be in his early fifties. What would she say to him in the morning? This was beyond awkward.
She got under the covers, pulling the sheet all the way up over her head, and tried to fall back asleep. Her heart was pounding though, and she was awake for the long haul. Jenny poked her head out and looked at the clock: two-thirty.
"I wonder if Mr. Lemons is just as embarrassed as I am," she thought. "Or is he a dirty old man that's laying in there thinking about me and beating off?" Jenny smiled at that possibility. She liked being the bad girl. The smoking, the pills, the sex--those things gave her a rush.
