Brushes

My eyes are shielded from the sun's harsh rays by my Mother's large sunglasses, usually employed to disguise dark circles after a particularly wild night with her younger lover. I have been laying in the same spot on a blanket in the middle of my garden for several hours, a pitcher of Jack Daniel's and a splash of coke by my side, the day growing ever hotter. I removed my t-shirt about an hour ago, skin far too clammy for clothes, and lay waiting for her in my bra and trusty denim shorts. She text me early this morning warning that she'd be round later. My heart begins to beat slightly faster at the thought of being confronted with her. I wonder if she'll mention him and decide she won't, whilst Paolo Nutini's lazy drawl caresses my ears through Dad's big headphones which I've yet to return to him. Not that he's noticed me using them - I've noticed of late how often my house is vacant of adults. Thoughts of my parents threaten to infiltrate my intentionally ignorant mind once more; I reach for the jug and pour myself another glass. My eyes stumble upon her bare feet in the doorway of the conservatory.
"Pour me one while you're at it," she instructs before padding over to my tartan island in the sea of lush green grass that is my back garden.
"I've missed you," she muses after a few silent moments, "I haven't heard from you in days. I know it sounds silly..."
"Thanks," I respond in a husky monotone, not removing my headphones.
My eyes remain shut, but I feel her body as she repositions herself to lay beside me. I feel her warm breath on my cheek; my own quickens as I turn to face her. I lift up my glasses to examine her figure more closely. Clad in a light cotton halter-neck dress, her perfectly formed breasts have formed a small cleavage as she remains on her side. Her tan legs glisten in the glow of the sunlight, hair falls over her shoulders, hand reaches over to my face. She pulls herself closer and brushes her soft lips against my own.
"You shouldn't be drinking this much whilst it's still so light out," she whispers.
"We shouldn't do a lot of things -"
"Yet we do them regardless - I know."
She hasn't moved back to her original space on the blanket; her face remains static, mere centimetres from mine. I lean into her, hesitantly, but she meets me half way. Her mouth opens and I follow her lead as the sun begins to set, the warm air takes on a slight chill, and we remain as we are and have always wanted to be.