I've had an ongoing flirtation with a dear friend for years. Although our contact may vary from a phone call once in a blue moon, to spending the night together in a flurry of sexual catharsis when the opportunity arrives, the sound of Diane's voice never fails to cause a Pavlovian excitation in my groin, and the thought of her always conjures images of our times together. Several days ago, I spoke to her on the phone, and the conversation turned to remind us of when we met, that is to say, when the lightning first flashed between us, when we were bonded by a chemistry that continues, when she became someone who would always be in the top tier of my sensual and sexual fantasies, by whom I will always be aroused, with whom I will always be smitten.
Ahem. As I was saying, during that conversation, Diane asked me what I remembered about the party we were attending when we met. Knowing that we probably remembered it differently, and that my memory is bound to be inaccurate (yet is wonderfully suited to my purposes), I promised to give it some thought, and to relay my memories to her on our next occasion to speak. On reflection, I have decided to take this written path, rather than the oral.
My wife, Linda, and I were new to the office when we were invited to a "Dirty T-Shirt Party" by an office-mate, Ted. Some, but by no means all, of the coworkers and their husbands/wives would be there, and it was specifically not an official office function. The theme of the party led Linda and me to considerable discussion and planning for the event. We both got oversized T-shirts and proceeded to decorate them with Magic Markers. I wore one with a simple text, "Dick's Hot Dog Stand" on the front, along with a drawing of a hot dog in a bun, with mustard, yet. On the back were the words, "If you Like Hot Dogs, You'll Love Dicks!" Absolutely clean but for the omission of a second apostrophe, and thus suitably dirty - I liked it. Linda wore a shirt with one large eye drawn on it, under which was a split-tailed bird, under which were two sailor figures dancing a horn-pipe. "Eye-swallow-seamen" was the encoded message. I was a bit hesitant about it, being new to the group, but she loved the idea. Her shirt caused confusion and great reactions when folks saw it, puzzled over it, and finally (some with help) "got it" – it was a hit, and any worries about our fitting in with the risque group were assuaged.
Soon after arriving, Linda and I were introduced to Diane, whose husband (the very definition of the term, "prig," I later learned, and one who mistreated her I was to learn much later, which finally assuaged some of the guilt I had come to bear) was out of town on a cross-country trip with the hypocritically philandering office leader who expected his wife to be straight-laced, which she was.
DeeDee, as Diane was then known by those she'd met through her husband, was in a T-shirt depicting a large, yellow smiley face, drawn in marker, except with the eyes placed directly over her breasts and with the pupils cut out in about 1" diameter circles and filled by baby bottle nipples sticking through in their place. The effect was at first comical, since the face looked "off" and wall-eyed, then salacious since it looked like her nipples were poking through the eyeballs, then funny since the nipples were clearly fake and oversized. I don't remember when I actually noticed the shirt, since I was struck palpably by that chemistry I mentioned before with my first look into her eyes (which happened to be almond shaped, dark, and sparkling with sexuality). However, I certainly noticed it. Plus, both she and Linda had on either panties or bikini bottoms under their shirts, with no bras, and both have delicious bodies. Soon I was drawn to Diane for the duration of the party. I was curious as to just how those Playtex nipples were kept in place, but my interest was anything but scientific. If you happen to be a blindly heterosexual woman or a determinedly homosexual man, you may not appreciate the sensuality of a woman's breast swaying as she moves when unfettered by a bra. Each breast size and firmness has its own characteristic, and they're all mesmerizing, but when breasts are lovely and of medium size, that simple shifting of their weight is worthy of symphonies of inspiration. I happen to favor the medium to small breast, and I especially appreciate the subtle hint of that movement. Diane audaciously, positively swayed when she walked, she swayed when she drank (and we were all drinking freely), and she swayed in my mind when she smiled at me, and so started our rampant flirtation.
I couldn't tell then if she was merely flirtatious, or if she was feeling the same jolts I was as we talked, but soon a train of people occasionally passed through the room, the revelers chanting some "choo-choo" sort of mantra, then disappearing, to reappear moments later, the line slowly growing. I'd never seen the game, so when a friend's wife, Ruthie, grabbed my arm and pulled me to join her, I left Linda and whoever was chatting with us, and playfully grabbed onto her waist, becoming the caboose for that round. The train led us to a bedroom, where I was delighted to observe the "engine" turn and kiss the next person in line, who turned and kissed the next, right down to Ruthie. When I puckered up to be a good sport and receive my happy reward for being chosen, Ruthie unceremoniously and briskly slapped me, to the laughter of the other "cars" in front of me. Like Disney's Bongo the Circus Bear (really taking me back here), I was chagrined, my stung face no doubt reddened, but soon registered that the slap was the initiation for each new inductee. Immediately, we recommenced choo-choo'ing about the rooms of the house. Planning my prize, I grabbed Diane and we soon trained into the appointed bedroom. As the kisses proceeded, Ruthie planted a generous kiss on me, with tongue, making more than restitution for her earlier assault. I turned, and in accord with my Southern upbringing, merely tapped Diane on the cheek, to the vocal disappointment of the sadists earlier than we were in the line. I didn't care and was interested only in the following rounds. All my hopes were confirmed, as Diane picked someone, and I got to kiss her at last, a nice but tentative first kiss, with lots of promises embedded. During the next several rounds, before the game broke up, Diane and I got increasingly passionate, to the hoots and applause of the other train members. We were inebriated enough not to care, and passionately drawn enough not to disguise our lust. In retrospect, I would not be surprised if the game dissolved because we were embarrassing the others, but that is only in retrospect.
Sometime after rejoining the rest of the party, and checking to find that Linda was enjoying herself, apparently unaware that I'd been necking in the train train, I noticed ("noticed" being an understatement) that Diane's latex nipples had somehow disappeared (fallen out, or taken out?), and in their place were the real things, poking through to the light and air. They were lovely and erect and virtually begging for attention. Linda and I both shared laughing with Diane about the loss of her bottle nipples, but we were all feeling no pain, thanks to the alcohol and ambiance, and none of us seemed embarrassed by the exposure. I recall thinking that this reaction by both of them was possibly an opening for something of a fem-on-fem attraction. I also noticed that Diane had immediately become the route by which all the men seemed to be passing, on their way anywhere, or just to stop and stammer inanities while they tried to disguise their gaping. Ah, the mystery of the female breast! And the sexual temperature just kept on rising.
Sometime later, some of us ended up in the hot tub (did I mention this was California?), and soon thereafter various articles of clothing were tossed behind us onto the decking. Some eight or so of us were basking in and shielded by the bubbles, presumably nude. I was between Linda and Diane, and Ted (the host) was on Diane's other side. Both Linda and Diane were by then topless, although the bubbles masked that for the most part, and I'd pulled Linda's bottom off as well, and was busily working on finding out if I could bring her to climax surreptitiously amidst the chatter and the crowd. I remember the delicious decadence of having one hand in Linda's lap, stroking and seeking her clitoris, as my other hand stroked Diane's thigh and sought her crotch as well. Between what Linda told me later and what Diane told me later, I think I recall that Ted was groping Diane's breasts (which she says did not welcome but didn't particularly reject), followed by my finding her warm and welcoming pussy with my other hand. Diane in turn stroked me under the frothing waters, while Linda (without my knowing it at the time, but finding out much later, to my delight was wrapping her hand around the cock to her left. I don't recall whose it was, and I don't know if Linda particularly cared at that point - she was pretty well tanked. I do recall her later reporting that it was substantial in its length and girth - something that she would have appreciated. I had a raging erection, the physical presentation of an evening's worth of intentions by that time.
