This wasn't the first time I'd come to 'The Masquerade', as it was colloquially known despite the organiser being desperate for it to be known as 'Sally's Suave Soiree's' that name just hadn't stuck for multiple reasons, the main one being the masks everyone was made to wear, closely followed by it being a really, really dumb name, so the Masquerade it was.
Also, unlike many soirees, which are elegant and graceful, the Masquerade involved a lot of fucking and nudity. It wasn't crass or dirty by any stretch of the imagination, but elegant? Not quite. I'd been sucked off and shot my load too many times at the Masquerade to many times to think of it as anything other than tawdry, but incredible fun nonetheless.
To be fair to Sally, who'd been running these things for a good decade, the venue was lovely, a local boutique hotel that she and her husband ran. But every third Sunday of the month they refused to book any guests, instead running The Masquerade where the rooms were used for everything but sleeping. Apparently, Sally had started it after getting disillusioned with local dogging spots and the closure of the local sex shop, which had had an attached 'adult cinema' where watching the films was second to attempting to recreate them, but with ladies outnumbered by a good ten to one.
The Masquerade was firmly female-led, and the numbers were always split equally between genders, so women could turn up whenever, but men had to book well in advance. It was also inclusive and acted as a safe space for anyone who didn't fit neatly into a specific box.
Women were also the only ones allowed to approach a prospective partner of either gender, helping prevent and reduce unwanted attention. Not follow that rule and you were out on your ear by the burly security guards Sally hired.
Personally, I enjoyed The Masquerade because I enjoyed the thrill of not necessarily knowing who I was fucking, although now and again there were one or two whose identities couldn't be hidden by a half-face mask, which is why I mostly wore a full-face mask. While full face masks weren't provided, you were allowed to bring your own and so I did, a different one every time.
So there I was, sitting at a table alone in the dining room, listening to the chatter of those around me, trying not to get too distracted by everyone wearing either the necessary fancy lingerie or tight shorts per usual. I, as a bloke, had gone for the tight shorts, although a few guys were going around in lace and thongs as was their personal preference. Although I couldn't go up to anyone, I had my eyes set on a cute redhead, curvy, big ass, big breasts, kind smile and was considering how I could get her to notice me, when someone else walked through the door and distracted me, someone I hadn't seen in nigh on four years.
Looking at the long-haired blonde walking through the door, wearing a set of silky lingerie, her nipples and cunt hidden by tiny pieces of fabric, alongside a cat-inspired masquerade mask, I was shocked that in the four years since I'd last seen her Sharon hadn't changed a bit. She remained slim, with small breasts and hips, and I'd recognise that pointed chin anywhere. It was as if she still had that aura of wantonness that had so attracted me to her seven years ago when I was barely twenty, that very same aura that had pushed me away three years later, as I discovered she'd been constantly unfaithful the whole time we'd been supposedly dating.
She laughed when I'd told her it was over, shrugging as she informed me she'd mentally ended the relationship a year before, she'd just kept it going because of the attention I gave her, and when I wasn't able to do that, why shouldn't she get it elsewhere? Anyway, she'd decided that, sometime in the future she was going to want a family and I, without a shadow of a doubt, wasn't 'Daddy' material. She wanted someone who would command her, make her beg, but also support her and any children she might have, and I was just... fine. I was nice, I just wasn't what she wanted, and she hadn't been bothered to tell me.
To say I was hurt by this was an understatement. Physically I knew I was 'fine', nothing awful but hardly exciting, as I was six foot tall and fairly slim and not much of a 'hands-on' guy. I couldn't clean an engine, I didn't lift weights, I enjoyed computer games and watching basketball, you know, normal stuff that I see nothing wrong with, but her dismissal of me set a fire in my head I couldn't put out, and after that destruction of my self-worth I decided that I wasn't happy with 'fine'.
I got contact lenses and began to go the gym, something I'd never before considered doing and, over time, got pretty buff. I wasn't able to lift a car or make my pecs dance, but I started to wear more form-fitting clothing and revelled in the attention I was now getting from the ladies and even some men. Although nothing had changed for me on the inside, I was unrecognisable on the outside. So, this was the test. Would Sharon recognise me?
To test this, I walked towards where she was standing, thankfully near the bar, where I ordered a pale ale. I was now close enough for her to notice, and almost immediately I started getting some attention from her, eyeing me up and down. Standing closer to her I was able to notice a few changes, her blonde hair lighter than it had been, her stomach maybe a little saggier than before, or maybe I was just feeling vengeful, but I knew I didn't have the same attraction to her as I once did.
As I contemplated upon this change, she turned to face me, a familiar half-smile on her face.
"Hey," she spoke lightly, a put-upon accent masking her natural somerset, or 'zummerzet', twang, "I'm Sharon," she confirmed for me, "Nice to meet you. Come here often?"
I was glad my face was covered because it was taking everything I had not to laugh at her pathetic chat-up lines.
"Nice to meet you, Sharon," I spoke in a slightly deeper register to try and prevent any obvious recognition, "I'm Francis," I obviously wasn't going to use my real name, and I wanted something banal and unremarkable, "Yeah, I've been here a few times before, it's good."
"Maybe," Sharon pushed her chest towards me, "you could help me find my way around? Tell me where to go, what to do sort of thing?" She was trying desperately to be flirtatious, but I don't think I could be attracted to this woman again even if it meant saving the world. Her previous behaviour had shown me that, while she was still outwardly attractive, inside she had nothing going for her. So why not treat her like she wanted to be treated? Be commanding, make her beg.
"I suppose I could," I responded, disinterest pouring off every word, "but what's in it for me?"
Looking taken aback by that, Sharon seemed quite put out.
"Because you get to walk around with a half-naked hottie?" She fired back, as modest as ever.
"Look around love," was my gruff response, "most of the people here are half-naked hotties. What makes you special?"
"Because," she leant towards me, her breasts now rubbing against my chest, "of the things I can do for you."
I shrugged, finishing my drink as she looked up at me with surprise.
"I suppose that'll do," Placing my glass onto the bar, I started to walk off, only looking back several steps away to see her staring like a deer in the headlights, "Come on then, gardens this way."
Without looking to see if she was even following, I walked into the garden. Only open during the summer months, it was surrounded by large bushes and trees that gave them the privacy they required from neighbours but didn't stop the sunlight from getting in to warm their semi-naked bodies thanks to the evening sun.
I stood there, enjoying the breeze, staring out at the flowers and bushes, before turning to see if Sharon had come with me. To my amazement she had, shivering despite the sunlight.
