Now she's a party girl with a whole half'a martini in her

I say my "goodnight" to Mom and go to bed. I'd drank that whole thing and I didn't feel too different. Maybe it didn't work? I don't think I mind. I sneak past Mom and Dad's bedroom where he's sleeping and go into my old room. My parents keep it for me, since they have enough space, and I do spend quite a bit of time here. I usually spend at least a night a week here, which works out for my roommate, Paige. Paige is... a free spirit. She has always tried to get me to hang out with her at bars and things, but I always resisted. Sometimes I'll pick her up if she's had a few drinks. She's so obnoxious when she goes out, and once she even brought back a guy to sleep with after one date.

Now, I may not do things like that myself, but I'm not naïve. I know that you're not supposed to sleep with guys on a first date, even if you're the kind of gal that doesn't save themselves for their husbands like me. Her date sure was cute though.

Thinking about him and Paige, I start to feel my urges come back. I hadn't had these kinds of random urges since I was a teenager and my hormones were all in a tizzy. I lay on my bed and try to think about anything but them. I try counting sheep but can't fall asleep. My urges don't seem to go away. I know that friends of mine would play with themselves when this happens, but I had never done that. Well, I had once, just to feel, but I barely even remember that since it was almost a decade ago. Experimentally, I put a finger down my panties, and when I pull it back, it's covered in a thick, slippery liquid. I feel down there again, and when my finger brushes a part between my labia I gasp. That feels really good. Like _really _good. I can't help myself, I keep rubbing that spot, figuring out how it feels best. It hurts a little if I rub too hard, but good, constant motion and my vagina feels the best it has ever felt. I get it now. I bite my lip to keep from moaning, guilt making me blush. If anyone heard me, I'd be devastated.

Eventually, after what feels like an hour but turns out to have only been five minutes, the guilt gets the better of me and I stop. I want to keep going, but I'd already sinned enough. It occurs to me that this might be because of the martini, and I sigh. Good, it wasn't my fault. I just won't drink anything like that again. I go to sleep, still fighting my urges.