"Alget qui non ardet: He grows cold who does not burn." (Old proverb)
At the end of the passage a crimson velvet rope barred the entrance to a big room that was richly, indeed extravagantly decorated. It was carpeted in green and purple silk and wool, into which elaborate geometrical patterns were hand-woven with gold thread. The walls were covered with fine tapestries depicting natural landscapes and pastoral scenes, except where oak floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes, including antique texts and rare editions. The furnishings were equally ornate and luxurious -- swank settees and sofas, sumptuous armchairs and ottoman couches, large tasselled floor cushions. There were marble-topped coffee tables, mahogany side and drink tables, a snooker table and a grand piano. At one end of the room was a baroque fireplace and at the other a well-stocked bar.
There were forty or fifty people present. I knew some of them, personally and by reputation, from the university. Others had vaguely familiar faces, perhaps celebrities or VIPs. They were drinking martinis, wine and whisky, nibbling
hors d'oeuvres
and engaged in urbane discourse. While the men wore tuxedos, the women were naked, or at least their torsos were. Some had on silk stockings with lace garters (there were no suspender belts) with stiletto or kitten heels; others were barefoot. All the females wore choker necklaces of velvet or satin ribbon, embossed or braided leather, gold or silver, some gem-garnished, often with an amulet, pendant or miniature cameo. Jewellery was elegant and expensive. Make-up was applied not only to the face; many areolae and labia had been rouged. Some of the women adopted poses that might be called seductive, though not provocative. None appeared self-conscious, let alone coy, shy or embarrassed. Instead they displayed a blithe self-possession, even a serene pride, in their nudity.
Most of the guests were conversing in small groups. There were more exotic tableaux. Two men lounged in voluptuous club chairs sipping cognac out of enormous brandy snifters. They were using as footstools two females who were on their hands and knees facing each other, their lips united in a steady kiss. Standing at the bar were another two men, with their ladies kneeling at their feet, locked in an intimate embrace. Near the bookshelves a couple was talking and the girl, absorbed in their dialogue, was gesticulating in dramatic fashion that caused her opulent bare breasts to swing and sway. The man, in a bright blue barathea dinner jacket, did not appear to notice as he listened. A young woman was playing the piano. She was an exceptional virtuoso, whose recital was unhindered by the fact that she was sitting in the lap of a guy who was assiduously massaging her chest in harmony with her tune.
Moving about were a dozen or so serving staff. An all-female string quartet played chamber music (when the pianiste finished performing). The waiters had a uniform of black trousers, white shirt and purple satin waistcoat. The waitresses and musicians were unadorned apart from metal collars and fishnet stay-up stockings.
Richard's eyes wandered eagerly about the room; then he looked at me and smiled. Behind us, Emily had begun to undress. She handed each item of clothing to her husband, who packed them neatly into one of the baskets arranged on a shelf near the doorway. When she was fully revealed, she turned away from him. He tenderly swept aside her hair, kissed her on the neck, tickled her breasts, then fastened a choker about her throat and matching bracelets around her wrists. She sighed and fondled the silver filigree. They turned to me.
"Ready, sweetie?" Emily asked.
Before I could answer, Olivia appeared on the other side of the rope. She bent over it and beckoned me closer, to give me a welcoming hug. She was a striking, statuesque woman with a resonant, crystalline voice, who radiated a self-confident, free-spirited sexuality (which no doubt she would have exuded through a burlap sack). She wore black lace gloves and a rose-gold choker with a tiny lock on the front. On each of her nipples was a tiny ring with a pearl drop. These were not piercings but snug-fitting loops. They had a stimulating effect which kept her nipples erect to hold them in place. They were linked by a slim chain, also of rose-gold, which draped past her navel, drawing one's line of sight down her belly.
"So this is Richard," she said.
I was going to reply with a joke but thought better of it and nodded. They shook hands, and like everything about her this was done with an effortless flair. She clasped his hand with both of hers, creating a sense of intimacy, while drawing her shoulders slightly backwards, as if trying to establish distance but having the effect of accenting her already imposing façade.
As Olivia greeted Emily and Matthew, I took the opportunity to remove my skirt and blouse. While I was still feeling some trepidation, my determination to see this through to wherever it might lead was stronger than the misgivings. Richard found an empty basket and I placed my clothing in it with care, like storing delicate porcelain. My bra and panties followed as everyone now watched, Olivia and Emily with approval, the men with admiration. I am no supermodel, but I think I'm pleasing to look at, curvaceous enough with nice legs. Unlike the other women I hadn't depilated my pubes; but I'm naturally sparse down there, so just a little trimming had left me virtually hairless. Richard secured my choker about my throat. It was of exquisite lavender lace with a cabochon ruby charm.
Olivia unhitched the velvet rope. We passed across the threshold and our hostess left it to Emily to guide me around the room for introductions. Matthew did the same with Richard. The conversations were fascinating -- philosophy, science, history, art, etcetera. Normally awkward at parties, I felt cosy in this convivial, intellectual milieu, very much in my element. The fact that half the bodies (including mine) were stark naked could almost be overlooked. I was relaxed. I'd prepared myself mentally (and, I confess, physically) and I was in good company. The women seemed entirely at ease. Their physiques varied from svelte to full-figured, with a rich assortment of skin tones. Ages ranged from early twenties to late forties. Everyone was good-looking, and I savoured the flattery of being invited to join them.
The males looked me over (and I would probably have been offended if they didn't), but in most instances their eyes didn't linger. There were no furtive glances and positively no ogling or leering. So despite the somewhat surreal quality, I felt less exposed than I've been on the beach in my tiniest bikini.
I had been most apprehensive about Richard seeing me nude. We'd been friends since childhood, albeit never lovers. I regarded him practically as a little brother, and had begun to feel a twinge of disquiet over choosing him to be my escort. Of course he looked me over in a very non-brotherly fashion, but I found myself enjoying, not regretting, the attention. For now that I'd taken the plunge, I felt surprisingly upbeat, elated by my audacity.
After we had done the rounds, I attached myself to a group discussing astronomy and Emily peeled off to circulate on her own. My new friends were impressed by my credentials in astrophysics. They showed a genuine interest and informed curiosity. Like everyone else in the room they were smart, educated and inquisitive. Claire was a surgeon, her husband Jerome a lawyer. Kirsten was doing postgraduate research in biochemistry, and her boyfriend Samesh was an engineer.
