At Heartbrea

Chapter 1: At Heartbreak

Notes to Readers:

More than three people might be an orgy, so at the end of chapter 1 is a list of the main characters to keep this orgy friendly.

Also, this story included background for a series. The section titled "Introducing Cindy the Nympho" may hold the most appeal to some readers.

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Waiting At Heartbreak

September 2015, a Monday afternoon.

I was at Heartbreak when I saw him.

"Heartbreak" is what I call the ongoing tragedy of Atlanta's Hartsfield Airport which is, by the grace of Delta Airlines, the world's busiest airport.

Like everyone who values their sanity I try to avoid this plague, this calamity, but I can't; everybody who travels significantly serves hard time there. It seduces inexperienced travelers who come with their hopes and dreams of effortless flying at the lowest fare. "All you need to do is make a connection in Atlanta." It sounds so innocent, so easy, so doable. They leave heartbroken, betrayed by missed connections, delayed flights, and the abject inability to make a needed connection in the huge maze of gates with criminally inadequate signage.

I had become inured to Georgia's sadistic rituals of abuse. The balance of my life was pretty good, so I have come to rely on strong drink to preserve body, mind and soul through my short exiles in the Terminals of the Damned Souls.

There was probably something faulty with the logic in that last sentence, but in Atlanta it always seems so right.

I was in one of the many airport bars, contemplating my sins while renewing by acquaintance with Mr. Johnnie Walker's finer mild sedative (Black label) when I noticed that the poor devil next to me seemed strangely familiar. In my mind I immediately began dealing with the questions of where and why, in the hopes that they might yield a who, which would in turn lead to an introduction where either he offered me a overpriced drink, or I offered him one. These are critical questions in an airport bar.

The thing about airports, and this one especially, is that you can meet absolutely anyone from your past life: friends, relatives, enemies, somebody you met at a wedding, etc. To confound you, the meeting will be completely devoid of context, as the airport imposes it's own unique mind-numbing drabness on the meeting. Perhaps Mr. Walker also makes a contribution.

As it happens, in my business I meet very many people, both powerful and powerless. Some people, especially the powerful and irrational (many are both) are greatly offending if one does not recognize the context of a prior introduction. Thus I had much to consider.

The answer took a bit of time, the nature of my business is such that I know far too many faces for only the briefest of periods. But suddenly it all pulled into sharp focus, a virtual folder in my mind spilled open releasing a deluge of memories that struck like a physical force as it all fell into place. His name was Jace. Talk about raw naked memories; a lifetime ago I had actually been balls-to-balls with this man as we enjoyed ourselves inside the welcoming orifices of his bat-shit-crazy nympho girlfriend. She was insatiable and demanded service. Individually and together we drove her to ecstasy more times that I could count while satisfying our own urges during long weekends of carnal debauchery.

No question about it, I owed him. So I called to the bartender to order my dear friend an overpriced drink; an upgrade to Mr. Walker's fine Double Black was in order. "Make that two!" I was sure I could do with one myself.

Jace was fully absorbed, staring vacantly, uncomprehendingly, at flight schedules. He did not hear my order; thus he was sincerely surprised when the drink was set before him. He looked up questioningly at the bartender, who nodded towards me. He turned, his eyes focused. Suddenly Jace just about jumped out of his skin. Clearly he was faster than me in facial recognition. Either that or my balls left a greater impression on him than his on me.

"Elliot! My word, what in the name of the Confederacy are you doing here?" were the first words out of his mouth. Even surprised, did you notice that there were no contractions? That was Jace, direct, but refined for a Yankee.

"I come to this airport to amuse myself in contemplation of the lost souls tormented here... and of course, to serve time for my own petty sins." I favor the overdramatic oblique myself. In my life it comes with the territory.

"You are not serious," he said, dead serious. Jace never did get my humor, but in time he recognized the attempts. Now, of course, after more than a decade he was out of practice.

"Correct, after three drinks I'm not serious. Actually I find myself relegated to this dreary legion of lost souls more frequently than I care to be. I am between flights. How are you doing buddy? What ever happened to that crazy nympho girlfriend of yours... what was her name... Cindy?" When we shared a suite in college we also shared Cindy's body many times in many ways. I don't mean conventional sex, that was just the start, Friday afternoon stuff. She was a real dedicated nympho. I drew a firm line at... well, I don't recall just what; I seem to be missing a few brain cells. But it was something disgusting, I know that. Hence the balls-to-balls memory.

"I am doing terrible. Life is hell, and perdition's name is Cindy. I made the dreadful, damning mistake of bending her to my will then marrying her."

"You said you would never marry a... well, excuse me but... a girl who put out for other guys while dating you, like she did."

"She promised to change... and she did, damn me to chastity. She was a one-man woman for a couple years so I bought the promise. We married. But it seemed fidelity was not the biggest change. Damn her, she DID change exactly as promised, and then some. She does not do sinful things any more... quite the opposite. Hence I am sorely tormented. You know, this is very good scotch! Next round is on me."

"Do you know what this stuff costs? No! Then leave the buying to me. As for the other, that sounds like quite a story, we really should catch up. However, my guess is the first thing we should do is address your immediate problems." I pointed to the large but inadequate stack of flight schedules he was holding.

It turned out that he was bound for LAX, which was the same place I was going. His problem came from a delayed flight which caused him to miss his first scheduled connection at Heartbreak, which in turn killed his entire appointment schedule for the day.

It was the most bitter first lesson. I dread what would have happened if I had not come along. People have lost their very souls overnighting in these corridors, until the rising sun drove them away as shadows of what they were.

His company required a 'good faith' effort to secure a 'lowest total cost' option for the flight and the (now added) room for the night. He had no idea what to do next, and no access to a computer to do the work, or even to gather the information that he needed to satisfy some sour minion who, reduced by self-abuse, was sentenced to the lifetime drudgery of expense tracking in a tiny, windowless cubicle deep in a dungeon back at corporate. Or so I imagined. Imagining was actually what I was paid for doing.

Rather then seek what could not be found I suggested he book on the same flight I was on, and stay the night at my place in LA, which at $0 was sure to give the bean-counter minions at the home office a happy face. Booking the flights was easy, as I had the priority number programmed in my cell. The seat next to mine was available. Then I called my partner to tell her we were having Jace as a guest overnight. The message brought very interesting thoughts to the fore. A flurry of code words and mischievous happiness flew from my phone. All unrepeatable.

Meanwhile Jace called his office, confessed his sin, and told them to shuffle the missed appointments into the rest of the week. Together, we overcame the immediate problem in 15 minutes.

Of course, our prompt success merited a call for another fine, even more overpriced, drink. As a celebration an upgrade to Green label only made sense. Jace had no concept of the cost, so I spared him of that knowledge.

Still elated with his change in fortune, Jace ordered the following round. I made a hasty arrangement with the barkeep - Jace would pay Black label prices and I would cover the difference. We certainly were not going to back down from Green label after advancing this far - that would be uncivilized. We waited for our flight, catching up on a decade of "life in general." The long sad story of his calamity would wait until we were in the air.

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Some Relevant Memories From the Turn of the Century

August, 1999 to June 2001

Jace and I started as freshmen St. Andrew College, a small, moderately-priced liberal arts college in the midwest. It was not a christian college in the any sense, the small village was named St. Andrew, so the college borrowed that name as it suggested a degree of wholesome stature while providing no hint of denomination. The school had a reputation for its student-friendly balance between academics and social activities. The primary clientele (40%+) were the younger children of wealthy families who did not aspire to a better school as Daddy had their life paid for. Added to those worthies were folks like Jace and myself, children from families of lesser means who had heard rumors of the school's advantages and managed to keep parents in the dark about why we really wanted to attend. In those pre-internet days the school had a two-tiered tuition schedule that favored those of lesser means who were also overqualified, up to an enrollment cap. Poor smart students propped up the admission and graduation stats which in turn reassured the wealthy nobs who paid the bills.

More than 95% of the students were from out-of-state; the locals knew better. Well, you know what the say about a wise man in his home town - he gets no respect.

The college lacked sports teams, greek organizations, dinning clubs, graduate classes and expensive faculty in business and engineering. This kept costs down. They hid their business courses. For example, three tax-accounting courses were in the catalog, based in the Economics department and taught by low-priced local CPAs who were forced to share one office during those months that were not tax season. Marketing courses were found in Sociology and given worse treatment. Other accounting courses were taught as Math; modern accounting was "invented" as a chapter in a math text written by a monk in 1494. Finance courses were taught in Political Science, but since the Finance guy made real money in the market he had a nice office in the new Physics building. Spreading the business courses out avoided bothersome and very expensive accreditation standards.

One of the ways the school ingratiated itself with the local community was student housing. Children of the monied gentry lived off campus, individually or in pairs, in a spacious 'rent homes' provided by townies. These furnished abodes provided their monied occupants breakfast and weekend meals, most of which were prepared at central kitchens and delivered to the home on a schedule, although some owners cooked their tenants meals and pocketed the funds. The locals competed based on amenities, menus and 'house rules' (wink-wink) such as the curfew and the degree of scrutiny provided to the parents. To many members of the community these rentals provided significant income and therefore generated very strong local support for the school. The wealthy students moved through their education at a casual pace, sometimes enjoying the campus for an extra year or three.

For the smarter, less affluent students, low tuition required living in the dorms. Freshman dorms were essentially ancient military barracks, possible abandoned by the military after the Spanish-American war. Dorms for sophomores, juniors and seniors were rather nicer, and the best digs were the few roomy corner suites intended for 4, with a toilet and sink en suite. The school hoped you would stay in the same suite with your select chums for your last 3 years at St. Andrews. Part of the idea was that peer pressure would result in all 4 chums graduating in 4 years, boosting the valuable schools graduation rates. Dorm students who did not graduate in 4 years moved back to the freshman dorms, which were now an abject terror for those sentenced to be 5th year seniors.

The college administration was well aware that 'average time to graduation' is something parents scrutinize. For US colleges 4.5 years was considered 'on-time', St. Andrews considered 5 years as an 'on-time' average of the two groups of students, so the 'on-time' numbers looked very impressive.

Each fall, new freshman arrived on Wednesday before classes started, for testing and orientation. Jace and I had become instant friends when we both began playing the Jackson Browne CD, "Lawyers in Love" the first night. The TA put us in adjacent spots when the permanent assignments were made.

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Deni's Parties

At Friday during orientation, another incoming freshman, named Deni Winters, distributed party invitations to roughly 2 dozen of her fellow freshmen, folks she had selected based on first impressions. It was a signal event. The party was for Saturday night, well before the start of classes.

Jace and I met Deni in orientation. We got on rather well with her and thus were part of that initial group, which soon evolved into a social group including roughly twenty guys and maybe a dozen girls. By intent, Deni's social group mimicked a greek organization at a big university in that we ate meals together, held a regular table in the union, and enjoyed house parties on a regular basis. On occasion some of the group would pair off, but mostly we did things as a group. That included make-out sessions in the dark.

Deni Winters was one of the very few locals on campus, but her status was as campus royalty; she was well-known in the community and the University. The administration saw to it that she enjoyed every advantage and consideration. Her parents were both dead, her mother when she was 8 and the Professor, her father, succumbed to a long illness when she was 16. Arrangements were made so she was emancipated before her father's death (her mother's cousin was a judge), and she inherited three rental houses. Her father had been a well-regarded and honored professor at the College; on his deathbed she promised him that she would graduate from 'his' college instead of one of the larger schools that were recruiting her. Faced with the social challenges of college life, Deni decided to gather some friends who "fit together" without being too rowdy, so she could capture the social experience of a larger school without breaking her vow to her father. In the process she wanted to build-in a sexual aspect from the start , but one that attacked the problems that were part of the "weekend experience" at bigger schools, particularly the way the deck was stacked in favor of the males.

To this end she threw parties which included make-out sessions.

Deni's parties had rules. For instance, they were by invitation only. All beverages were provided by the hostess, guests were not allowed to bring any alcohol and the hostess only provided a single intoxicating drink to toast on special occasions. The party ended at midnight, but a few people would be asked to stay after, "to help clean up" after the party. (Clean up was females only for the first two years, and in fact these were after-party sleepovers with benefits available.) All 'plus ones' had to be approved by Deni at least a day in advance, and were mildly discouraged. Party games were played, and full participation was expected. Some games were mildly sexual, like the high school favorite "seven minutes." This was by design, Deni wanted a friendly group, not a group of couples.

Around 11 the party changed. Lights in the main room were dimmed and people were strongly encouraged to pair up or form trios for casual make-out/petting sessions. Dating couples were to leave at this point. Those partygoers who preferred not to make-out could remain in the fully-lit areas, but they risked not getting an invitation to the next party unless they had a good reason. Meanwhile, in the darkened main room, everybody "got to know others in the group better" in a casual, less dangerous setting then a booze-fueled typical frat party. As a common courtesy one was expected to vary one's make-out partner(s) from party to party, so people got to know everyone. Every girl who wanted to play got a partner or two. Those who did not stay within the lines of these informal rules was asked to leave and did not get an invitation to the next party.

For the party games and the make-out periods there was a firm 'no tallywackers' rule; this required male genitals to stay fully in their pants. Women were expected to keep their clothing on, but female clothing need not stay closed, or completely on, based on ongoing negotiations with their partner de jure in the darkened room. Exclamations of joy were expected. To get things going and set the mood, Deni often encouraged particular pairings and activities for these sessions.

At the second party in late September, the Deni pulled Jace and I aside during the party games and asked if we would be "especially nice" during the make-out period to VeeGee, a shy girl who was from India. VeeGee was cute, but she came across as a little overweight and her manner suggested a conservatism in sexual matters. As a result of a misunderstanding, VeeGee had left the first party early.

Of course we agreed. VeeGee was delighted to find herself double-teamed by two handsome guys.

Jace and I worked well together; VeeGee sat between us on a sofa and we took turns kissing her. While one of us was kissing her, the other was quite happy playing with her generous braless breasts. She soon chose to expose her nipples for our tongues, it was a first for her and she really liked that part best. Eventually we got our fingers into her panties and VeeGee had a very good time indeed - in fact it was her first "very good time" with male assistance. She cautiously sought to return the favor, although her actions were more exploration than concerted stimulation. Still, with a few suggestions she did the job for Jace, who was on a hair-trigger that night. When Midnight came she was very glad for the time she had with us, and she shared her happiness with Deni who thanked us both.

Deni was so pleased that all three of us were invited over on Sunday to become the first 'actives' in Deni's little social club, forming a sort of inner circle who provided Deni with advice about the group.

I learned later that, after our warmup session left her a nicely warmed up, VeeGee stayed for the after-party, helping with the clean up and then staying over. Deni seduced her and they spent the night together. It seemed they both had pleasant experiences with the softer sex, Deni was aggressive and VeeGee let her, then returned the favor. But they both liked guys for the warmup.

Kitty and Rose were two other girls who made out with guys, "helped clean up," then got friendly overnight. Deni and these other girls were not lesbians. Deni had dated guys in high school and expected to date them in college. But she felt safer overnighting with the 'warmed-up' females, so that is where she started. Plus, she wanted a gathering where, unlike a typical frat party, the females enjoyed the upper hand and were confident a "no" would be respected. If they wanted that hand in their panties, so be it. If a guy wanted such benefits, he had to earn them with good behavior.

It was far better for the ladies than the drunk or date-rape experience of the the typical big college frat party.