Copyright 2004 by the author, all rights reserved.
I met her at the Midtown Health Club. She was one hot looking woman and dressed to get any guy excited. You know: short skirt almost up to her ass, a top with deep cleavage that showed most of her tits, that sort of thing.
"Hi, I'm Polly. What's your name?"
Hey, a friendly chick. "Roger."
"That's a nice Southern accent. Where are you from?"
"A little town in Georgia. I'm a 'cracker', not from the higher classes."
"Well, Mister Cracker, after this workout I'm invited to a party. Want to come?"
"Great. Count me in."
Sounded like it might be fun, and I couldn't see any downside to going along with this pretty gal. Rushed the workouts so that we could get to the party early. I'm always ready for action, and I figured Polly must know lots of good looking chickies.
It was in a loft in Tribeca. When we got upstairs there was music in the background and a bar set up in the corner. There was lots of bare skin showing, more than usual. I'm all for that.
An older woman was standing near the door, greeting people. Her dress was fancy enough, but it was weird in one way: the off-the-shoulder dress was so far off one of her shoulders that one boob was uncovered.
Polly didn't seem to notice anything strange and introduced her as "Cynthia, our hostess". I felt like grabbing her tit. She thought my accent was "charming." I thought her tit was charming. This whole thing was shaping up as strange deal. Best to find out what the real story was, before trying anything. That turned out to be a smart move 'cause a big bruiser of a guy came over, who introduced himself as Horace, Cynthia's hubby.
"Uh,.. pleased to meet you," I said, never at a loss for words. That bare tit was making it hard to sound real smart.
"Come on," said Polly, "let's circulate. I want you to meet some people."
There was a couple nearby, good looking people. Of course I noticed the babe more than the guy - a stacked blond with long legs that seemed to go from her shoes all the way up beyond her short skirt, to the Promised Land, if you get my drift.
Polly did the intro thing: "Roger, meet my husband Don. And this is Sharon, who lives with us. We're a triad."
What the hell was she saying? Did she mean what I thought she meant? I'd heard of such stuff but never thought I'd run into it at a party in Tribeca, for "nice people." I guess some nice people do stuff I'd thought was for perverts. Maybe I don't hang out in the right parts of town, or with the right people. Whatever.
"Why don't you look around some more? I'll catch you later," said Polly.
I noticed people going in and out of some bedrooms at one end of the loft. It wasn't cold enough for people to be stashing coats. So, drink in hand, I walked into a bedroom to see what was happening. Our hostess Cynthia was on a large bed with her husband Horace, and another guy. At first it was hard to figure out what was happening.
I figured it out. Cynthia was on her back, with her legs spread wide and a smile on her face. Her eyes were open; she winked at me when she saw me looking. That shocked the hell out of me, because Horace was on his knees with his tongue in her bush, licking away very slowly and carefully, all around her slit and into it. The other guy was about to stick his dick into Cynthia's mouth, which was wide open to take it. And she just winked at me!
Strange thing about this whole party - I was embarrassed, but nobody else was, so far as I could tell. Not jealous, not pissed off about sharing sex partners. Just good natured as hell. It came to me that maybe I've been movin' in the wrong circles my whole life. Sure seems like a fine way to live.
"Come with us," I heard from lips close to my ear. It was Polly. She grabbed my hand, pulling me along with her and the other two members of her "Triad."
"Oh, an empty bedroom," she cooed. "Let's take it."