Breafast at Cassandra's

Gold Rush Ballroom

June, 1944

The dance floor was packed, all in attendance happily swinging and swaying.

"Trolley Song" and "Swinging on a Star" played multiple times.

Some party goers simply mingled, sipping their drinks and enjoying a relaxing evening.

As Brittany Flowers sashayed over to the bar to freshen up her Manhattan, she was approached by a fan.

"Well, I'll be. You are sexy on screen but you're an even foxier dame in real life," said the buff gentleman.

Brittany turned around gracefully, her eyes meeting his.

"Well, thank you," she said.

"I just have to say, I'm a huge fun. I've seen all your movies," he gushed, the sort of compliment Brittany was used to hearing from the thousands of fans that would approach her throughout her storied lifetime.

But unlike those fans, this one - as keeping with the dress code of the party - was completely nude.

"Aw, thank you," Brittany obliged, enjoying his attention.

She also sensed an open invitation to check out his body up and down.

"You have...an amazing build," she had to stay, impressed by his bulging muscles. There seemingly wasn't an ounce of fat showing on his chiseled, 6-foot-2, 220-pound build. Not to mention, he was tanned to a golden bronze.

"Turn around," she instructed, being playfully bossy with him.

He did as told.

"Ooo, nice butt," she said, giving it a long, healthy squeeze.

"Okay, turn back around," she requested.

Again, he did as told.

Her eyes now lingered on another part of his anatomy.

She blushed a bit, holding her mouth and chuckling.

"And I have to say," she offered. "That's...well, you have a nice cock."

His eyes lit up.

"Aw, thank you, Ms. Flowers," he said happily.

"You are just...standing at attention, aren't you?" she noted, eyeing his stiff, seven-inch erection with scrutiny.

"In all honesty, Ms. Flowers, it hasn't gone down since you walked in," he had to admit.

They chatted for a bit, with Rod, as he introduced himself, going on and on about his favorite Brittany Flowers movies and how many times he saw each.

He asked about her outfit, a silver, knee-length cocktail dress that she wore in "Weekend at Donner Lake."

"Thought I would wear this honor of the 10th anniversary," she smiled.

Playfully, she kept sneaking glances at his uncompromising erection while smiling widely.

"Well, uh, Rod," she teased, poking fun at how his name was itself, slang for penis, his one of many that were on display this star-kissed evening. "I really should get back to my group."

"Oh, absolutely," he said.

She could sense he didn't want this friendly confrontation to end.

"Is there anything you want me to sign?" she posed.

He grabbed at air, trying to think of something he could hand to her: a napkin, a place mat, anything. Nothing was within reach.

A wicked idea came across his mind.

"How 'bout this?" he asked, thrusting out his midsection a bit.

She giggled with delight.

"You want me to sign your cock?" she asked.

"Yeah! That would be swell," he laughed.

"Well, this will be a first," she laughed.

He jogged briskly over to the bar, grabbing a pen and returning as quickly as he left.

Brittany couldn't contain her amusement watching his big, bouncing boner.

"Okay, here goes," she announced, as he handed her a felt, red pen.

She gently grabbed the head of his penis, then began to write, smoothly and effectively on the hardened shaft.

"I have to say, there's plenty of room to write," she giggled.

"Brittany...Flow...ers," she said aloud as she carefully inscribed her name along his rock-hard, extended member.

"There ya go," she told him, putting the cap back on the pen with gusto. "I even decorated with a few drawings of flowers."

He loved her adorable, happy nature.

"Thank you, Ms. Flowers," he belted out with tremendous appreciation.

"But...when you're not hard anymore, it's all gonna be mushed together," she said with a bit of dejection.

"Oh, trust me," he assured her, "this isn't going down anytime soon."

She smiled and began to walk away, then turned around, her black bracelets clanging a bit. She walked back to him with authority, her high heels creating a clickety-clomp sound affect along the perimeter of the packed dance floor.

"Would you stroke your cock for me?" she requested. "I mean, it'll probably ruin the autograph but...I'd like to see you...In fact, I'd like to see you shoot."

Rod could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was as if someone asked him to guest star in Brittany's next movie. But this was maybe even better.

"I'd love you to watch me," he announced happily.

Rod savagely stroked his fierce erection, using one hand, then, at times, two.

"By the look of those big, hanging balls, I'm in for quite a show," she further encouraged him in a saucy tone.

He stroked and stroked, one hand on top of the other.

Brittany adjusted one of the shoulder straps on her dress, causing her generously-sized breasts to jiggle ever so slightly beneath the thin fabric.

This sight was not wasted on Rod, who watched - and was aroused by - her every move.

"Oh, Ms. Flowers, I'm gonna cum," he said.

"Well, do it already," she playfully taunted.

His erection spasmed and shot forth a copious amount of semen, so much so that not one, not two, not three, but four hefty spurts of ejaculate splashed down onto the marble floor.

Brittany laughed and applauded.

"Woo-wee," she cheered. "That was something else."

Brittany walked over to the bar, retrieved a sheet of paper from the bartender, and gladly gave Rod another autograph, this one with more staying power.

"Thank you, again, Ms. Flowers," he said with deep appreciation.

"Thanks for the show...Rod," she teased again. "And again, nice cock."

And that was that.

Brittany returned to her friends, drink in hand, and recanted her story.

"He actually had me sign his DICK," she belted out.

"No!," Sage Peron replied.

"Honest to God, he had me sign his dick, and then...I had him play with himself, right in front of me!" Brittany went on.

"These parties are so wild. Gosh, the guys here are soooooooo submissive," Deziree said in a celebratory tone, her blue and silver Grecian style dress shimmering under the bright lights.

"And they love being here, that' for sure," Patricia noted.

Brittany let out a long, satisfied sigh, like the cat that ate the canary.

Life was good, and she hoped these wild times would never end.

***

Hollywood, California

June, 1982

Harold sat in Brittany's living room, glancing up at the many photos.

All in a row were pictures of her three former husbands: Rod Wilkinson, Cliff Baxter, and Chad Belton.

Brittany had a daughter with Rod, and that was Julie, who was happily married, a mother of two, and lived in Phoenix with her darling husband.

Brittany gracefully walked into the living room to join Harold, a Manhattan in hand.

Harold was fidgety, not only a little nervous and embarrassed because of what Brittany caught him doing, but also because of the home movies that Harold had stumbled upon. He wondered how she would broach the subject.

"Now, Harold, the story behind that," she calmly began, "my hair was brown at that time only because I was filming "Here's to You." It called for me dying my hair a beautiful golden, honey brown..."

She was playing with him.

"Britt, you're being awfully coy," was his retort.

"What?" she innocently persisted.

He took a deep breath.

"What was up...with the full frontal male nudity?!" he finally belted out.

She chuckled.

"Is that what got your motor running? Seeing the darling Brittany Flowers cavorting about with so many...naked men?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted wholeheartedly.

"Oh, Harold, it was Hollywood," she feigned, with a wave of her hand. "Wild parties, drinking..."

It was her now that took a deep breath, and pushed on.

"Aubrey Chattersly had what she called...cocktail parties...That's, uh, cock...tail...parties," she revealed with that famous, sexy grin of hers.

He started to get an idea of what she meant.

"Did you see the tails?" she asked in such a cute fashion.

Harold scoffed.

"No, but I definitely saw the cocks," he answered with gusto.

Brittany casually laughed.

"Honest to God, she had them wear little tails, on their behinds. It was just her thing," Brittany explained, so nonchalant about the discussion that she now picked up the T.V. Guide that was sitting on the glass coffee table, a picture of the cast of Love Boat gracing its cover.

Harold was having trouble finding words to keep the conversation going. He was absolutely stunned, and marvelously aroused.

"Harold, let me ask you something," Brittany said, now placing the guide firmly down on the coffee table in order to give Harold her full attention. "Are you stunned that it was the MEN, and not the WOMEN, who were nude?"

He hemmed and hawed.

"Be honest, Harold," she insisted, albeit with a sweet smile. "Had it been a room full of nude women, you wouldn't have even batted an eye would you?

"Wall-to-wall bosoms and bush," she stressed, causing Harold to chuckle. "You wouldn't even have batted an eye..."

He had to be honest.

"No, probably not," he answered.

"I'm not judging you. It's just a symptom of the times," she said, taking a sip of her stiff drink. "It's a tremendous double standard. Female nudity seems to be...both exploited and embraced. While male nudity...seems...well, almost taboo."

A moment of introspective quiet followed. But it was short-lived.

"But Aubrey, boy, did she enjoy turning the tables," Brittany roared. "And believe me, she made no apologies."

Brittany described these affairs. They were catered, records played all evening long, and the parties sometimes went until four in the morning.

But it was the unique inequity in dress code that these parties enforced that had Brittany Flowers blushing and gushing, all these years later.

"Every man that entered, Harold, had to remove his clothes," she smiled. "And I mean everything. Shirt, pants, socks! Just...completely nude. And Aubrey had, oh, what's the term, like a coat-check system. Where each guy left his clothes at the door...

"Now Aubrey frequented Vegas, and she suggested we use poker chips, which I think would be a great idea. But instead, she used raffle tickets (laugh). So at the end of the night, each guy would hand in his raffle ticket and be like, 'yey, I won my clothes back!'"

Harold laughed along with her.

"But they didn't mind being nude. Most of the men, if not all of them, would have gotten nude at the drop of a hat," she laughed.

Harold shook his head, both stunned and amused.

"Now, on the other hand," Brittany said with emphasis, "the women were fully clothed. Some of us wore dresses, others were more casual. But Aubrey's parties began and ended with there being no female nudity whatsoever."

"Bummer," Harold had to say.

"And this was more many reasons," Brittany went on. "First, the obvious, and that's because these parties catered to the visual desires of all the women present. Secondly, if one woman disrobed, or decided to go topless, it might create this, uh, uneasy, awkward environment where other women felt pressured to do the same.

"Aubrey, and rightfully so, decided to make it uniform that, all of the men would go nude, all of the women would keep their clothes on...Case closed. And I thought it was marvelous, absolutely marvelous."

Just hearing Brittany go on on about these types of events had Harold aroused to the fullest once again.

The sight of his unyielding erection tenting out his blue jeans was not wasted on Ms. Flowers.

She eyed it like she would a blossoming bouquet of roses and lilies.

"I can see you're at full mast again," she teased.

He apologized, and she quickly waved that off.

"Harold, let me have a good, long look at you this time," she requested. "From what I could see, you have a really nice prick."

He blushed a bit, flattered by Ms. Flowers' naughty but endearing compliment.

He discreetly undid his pants, slowly tugging them down along with his underwear.

"Oh, I love the sight of it just flopping out like that," she laughed, speaking of his erection, now freed from its cloth confines.

Brittany urged him to stroke himself for her pleasure as well as his. She enjoyed watching his member pulse in the afternoon sun, which trickled in through the snow-white blinds of Ms. Flowers' immaculately-kept living room.

"Stroke...stroke...stroke," she cheered with a big smile. "Oh, I sound like I'm back at Stanford, cheering all those muscle-armed men on the rowing team to push their stunning torsos all the way to the finish..."

Her playful taunts and words of encouragement quickly brought Harold to a climactic moment of splendor.

As much to his surprise as hers, Harold's hardened cock relinquished two hefty ropes of semen along with a few noticeable spurts.

"Boy, oh, boy. You still had some bullets left in the chamber," Brittany said. "Harold, I'm impressed."

The two were getting to know each other a whole lot more.

TO BE CONTINUED...