of the Drunken Housewives

Helen didn't know why Sylvia had asked her to come over, but she had sound so distraught on the phone, the 38 year old housewife had abandoned the cookies she was rolling out for her son's party that night and crossed the suburban street that separated her home from Sylvia's. Sylvia terribly upset by something, her brown eyes wide, her full lips quivering.

"My God, Sylvia!" she exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"I...I..." Sylvia stammered. "You better sit down, Helen."

Her best friend indicated the couch. Helen obliged her.

"Here. I made you a drink," said Sylvia, indicating two tumblers of rum and coke on the coffee table.

"I'd better not, Sylvia," Helen told her. "Kyle is home from college and he's got a bunch of friends coming over. I don't want him smelling booze on my breath."

"Well," said Sylvia. "I'm going to need one if I'm going to get through this. And you might need one too."

She picked up her glass and gulped it.

"I've just got to come out and say it, don't I?" she said. "Helen, Robert isn't on a business trip. The company doesn't have a supplier in Bangkok at all. He flew off with that skanky little secretary of his."

Helen froze. She stared at Sylvia as if she was speaking a foreign language.

"I hate to be the one to tell you," Sylvia continued. "But I just couldn't stand to have Jim and the rest of Robert's buddies laughing at you behind your back. I overheard Jim talking to somebody about it on the phone. After I got all the details out of him that I could, I kicked him out. Told him he could go live with his mother if that was all the respect he had for marriage."

Helen stared at her best friend, her green eyes getting wider and wider as her world crumbled around her.

"Helen, are you all right?" Sylvia asked. "Can you say something?"

"I think I could use that drink now," Helen said from a far away place.

She downed it in one go.

"More please," she said.

An hour later, Helen and Sylvia were both three sheets to the wind. They had abandoned the couch and were sprawled on the floor. The last of the rum was in their glasses. Helen's long auburn hair had worked it's way out of it's bun and tumbled down her shoulders. She was chewing on a strand of it absentmindedly.

"You know what the worss part abou it is?" Helen asked.

"Wassat?" Sylvia asked.

"No sex!" she declared.

Sylvia stared.

"Gawd, Helen! Of course their havin' sex! Wassa point of an affair if yer not gonna have sex?"

"No,no,no" Helen said, wagging a drunken finger. "I mean me! I haven't gotten laid in like ferever! Robert always says he's to tired. To tired from fucking that bimbo, I guess."

"Sonofabitch!" Sylvia proclaimed for the dozenth time.

"You got that right!" Helen said, raising her glass. They clinked and swallowed.

"I mean if I had know we could jus go fucking aroun' outside the marriage, I could a been gettin' me some, ya know?" Helen proclaimed. "I mean, you seen my boobs, right? I got great boobs!"

She cupped her own breasts through her sweater and presented them to Sylvia.

"Kyle's friens are always starin' at um," she said. "They don' think I know, but I know all righty!"

Helen giggled drunkenly.

"I got half a mind t'go and get me some young stud and show him jus' what a great fucking lay I am!" she declared.

"Thas a great idea!" Sylvia declared. "You should do it! Hell, I should to!"

The two friends looked at eachother and giggled.

"You wouldn't dare!" said Helen.

"I will if you will!" said Sylvia.

"You're on!" Helen exclaimed. "Firs one t'get laid is the winner!"

Helen extended her hand to shake on it. Sylvia missed and groped her friend's boob. They giggled.

"You know," said Sylvia. "Misty is away at cheerleader camp. We could dress up in her cloths!"

"Cool," said Helen.

Soon they were both wearing Sylvia's teenage daughter's slutiest clothes. Sylvia wore a canary yellow pair of biker shorts, a tight red blouse, some plastic yellow hoop earings and some chunky-soled red sandals. Helen wore a white halter top with no bra, a lycra miniskirt with no panties, some silvery stockings and black high-heeled pumps. They did each other's hair and make-up. When they were done, they looked more like hookers than housewives.

"God we're hot!" Helen exclaimed. "Guys are gonna cream their pants when they see us!"

"So, where should we go?" Sylvia asked.