It was a hot Sunday afternoon in late July. The smell of patchouli wafted through the humid air from the incense cone burning in the corner. A ceiling fan did its best, but there was no air conditioning in Becky's cabin, our usual hang-out. Most of us had stripped down to the bare minimum. The guys were in cut-offs and Becky was wearing a halter top and a pair of short-shorts with fringe at the hem. Since I'd had to work the Sunday brunch that day, I was in a cocktail dress, chosen by the hotel to wring as much money as possible out of the salesmen staying there. The slinky black top was held up by thin little spaghetti straps. It dipped almost to my navel in front and was practically backless. The skirt was slit to the top of my thigh. Bras were impossible. Panties, if chosen carefully, could be worn. Today those panties remained in my dresser drawer. I was just too hot.
We were a pretty quiet bunch that day. Everyone had been up late the night before, either closing down the bar where we all worked or drinking and listening to music until almost dawn.
"Any 'turtles' today?" Becky's chocolate chop cookies were generally so full of marijuana they resembled those little turtles that used to be sold at Woolworth's.
"Nope, it's too hot to bake."
"Anybody wanna beer?" Gregg wheeled himself into the kitchen. He'd been sitting in the old-fashioned cane back convalescent's chair, his usual seat while at Becky's.
"Any straw dogs left?" Steve asked. We'd made strawberry daiquiris earlier that day. Most of us had used the glasses to rub on each other in a teasing attempt to cool off before we'd actually drank them.
"Nope," Steve called over his shoulder. "How 'bout a beer?"
"I'll just share yours, sweetie," Steve said.
"No way are you sharing anything of mine, you flaming faggot! I'll get you one of your own."
"You say the cutest things!" Steve yelled back.
Gregg rolled back into the kitchen with a couple of beers on his lap. He rubbed one of the bottles along his zipper and handed it to Steve.
"Here you go. I got it all ready for you."
"Mmmm. Tastes so good," Steve licked the condensation from the side of the bottle.
"Back in the closet, you queen," Gregg laughed.
"Honey, I haven't been in the closet since I came into Thanksgiving dinner wearing pink glitter and tap dancing when I was six!"
We all laughed. Then the group settled down into a drowsy silence as the fan blades whirred on and the music played low. The tape deck switched over to Roberta Flack.
"Damn. That woman's sexy," Mike said from the chair. He stroked Becky's leg as he talked, sliding closer and closer to the fringed edge of her short-shorts.
"Yeah, she makes me wet just listening to her," Becky squirmed as Mike's fingers disappeared into her panties.
"Baby, that's not the only thing making you wet," Mike purred.
"Jesse come home, there's a hole in the bed where we slept," Roberta Flack's voice poured out into the room.
"'Jesse, it's lonely. Come home," we sang quietly along as the song ended.
"Oh, she wants me bad. I've spoiled her for all other women," Gregg said.
"You say that about all your girls!"
"Nothin' but the truth. Swear to God," Gregg bragged, "polishing" his nails against his bare chest.
"It's true," I nodded.
"Which song's the sexiest? The First Time, Killing Me Softly or Jesse?"
"Well, Killing Me Softly's not about any guy she's really been with. It's just some dude she's crushing on. I don't think it should count unless she's actually making it with the guy."
"That lets Jesse out, too. She's been making it with him, but now he's gone. I'll bet she's in bed right now with her hands in her panties, crying for him."
"Quiet. The First Time's playing. I love this one," I said. "There's just something about the way she sings about kissing his mouth. It's soooo hot."
"'And then the earth moves in her hand.' What do you suppose she's touching?" Gregg asked. He edged the tip of the beer bottle under the strap of my dress and peeked inside.
"Very nice," he said, his thumb moving over my nipple. I leaned in closer and enjoyed the feel of his touch on me. He was my first lover and I reveled in his touch.
"More," I whispered. His fingers met his thumb and squeezed, rolling my erect nipple between them.
"Oh," I said, "it's definitely his cock. It's hard and throbbing and she loves it."
"Mmmmm....," Becky hummed in the corner. Mike's fingers were buried between her legs. Her hips rose and fell in time with the music. He brought his hand out and I could see Becky's dew glistening on them. Mike put them to his lips and licked off her juices.
"Oh, yeah. That one's the winner. She's hot and creamy just listening to it. See?"
"What song?" Becky teased and moved Mike's hand back to her panties. "Keep going, big guy. I'm almost there." Mike pulled Becky onto his lap and kissed her long and hard. One hand was thrusting in and out between her splayed legs while the other pushed her bikini top aside. Her breast was exposed to his hand. We could see the brown tip peeking out between Mike's fingers.
