Not Your Usual Sorority Party

Imagine a classic Baroque painting: a voluptuous woman, nude, lies stretched out on a divan. Men and women mill around, talking, unconcerned with the nakedness before them. Just a figment of Peter Paul Ruben's fevered imagination, right?

Well, that was close to what was taking place at a sorority house at State University. It was a party welcoming this year's new pledges to the sorority. But the situation I'm talking about was not a planned part of the evening. One of the sisters, Lisa, was wearing only panties, stretched out on her back on a sofa, one foot on the sofa, the other on the floor. She did not have the exaggerated breasts, hips and fleshy buttocks so favored by 17th century painters. No, she was a modern woman, with full but not huge breasts, a lean curvy body and a tight rounded ass. She was drowsy from alcohol, half asleep. The party continued on around her, people drinking, dancing, trying not to stare at her -- but everyone fully conscious of her presence.

Back up an hour. The party at the sorority house had been going on for some time. Music played, drinks flowed, and the college kids were having a good time. Lisa was a pretty, long-haired brunette, a sophomore, but still new to drinking alcohol. Like so many in that situation, she had yet to learn to control her taste for the brew. She poured herself another glass of vodka. She hadn't met anybody; it looked like the evening would be a bust. But at least there was alcohol. She loved the blurred reality intoxication brought, the dream-like haze it produced. Alcohol calmed Lisa and she drifted willingly into its clutches. That last drink pushed her over a line, and she was now more in a world in her head than in the one around her.

Standing in a hazy state near one of the large sofas in the main room, Lisa announced to no one in particular, "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

While the party continued around her, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She slipped it off her shoulders. Underneath was a push-up blue bra, which caused her breasts to swell invitingly.

The party-goers in the room began to notice what was happening.

"We should stop her," hissed a sorority sister to Lisa's friend Sarah.

"Screw it," said Sarah. "We've warned her plenty of times not to get blind drunk. She's got to learn. Let this play out."

Lisa, with unsteady hands, unzipped her skirt, and it fell to the floor. She was now in just her bra and panties.

"Where are my pajamas?" Lisa asked.

No one answered. Conversation in the room had slowed as all eyes watched this slow-motion strip show.

Lisa pressed the release on the front of the bra and it fell open. Her plump lily white breasts spilled out, the bra now hanging in two halves, suspended from her shoulders.

"Let me get that for you," said a fraternity fellow, helpfully. He freed the bra from her shoulders. Lisa was now only in her panties.

"Where are my pajamas?" Lisa asked, again.

A few of the young men at the party were eager to make this train wreck worse. They surrounded her.

"They're in the laundry," the frat boy improvised. "You'll have to sleep in the nude."

"No," Lisa said. "I always wear pajamas. I need my pajamas."

"You should get those panties off," one said. "You can't sleep in your underwear."

"Yes," Lisa replied, speaking deliberately, as intoxicated people do. "But first I need my pajamas."

Resigned that her pajamas were missing, Lisa sat down on the sofa, then reclined onto her back. One leg was on the sofa, the other on the floor, opening up a clear view of her groin. The panties fell back into the creases of her vulva, offering a tantalizing prospect as to what lay beneath. Lisa closed her eyes. Nude except for her panties, she drifted in a sleep-like state.

No one knew what to do -- or, better said, no one chose to intervene. Some of the girls grabbed the guys away from the sofa, and slowly the party resumed. People talked and drank, leaving Lisa exposed on the couch. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing.

The sight of the mostly naked girl gave a sexual charge to the gathering. All eyes regularly drifted back to the female form on the sofa.

"It's not right that we let this lovely lady be the only one without clothes," said a fraternity brother, with mock concern. "Let's make this a topless party." And he took off his shirt. Most of the other guys, sensing an opportunity, quickly removed their shirts too.

Now the baton was passed to the girls. Would this be a topless party? The bare muscular chests of the guys were a pleasant sight, but everyone knew it was a totally different dynamic for the girls. Would anyone have the nerve to be the first?

"OK, I'm in" said one girl. She pulled her t-shirt over her head, revealing a flesh colored bra. She didn't bare the breasts, but this was a first step. A number of other sorority sisters slid their tops off. "Pledges! Time to loosen up," called the sorority president. The pledges took this as part of their initiation. Soon they all were in their bras. The sexual charge in the room was palpable. It was waiting for a spark.

One of the fraternity brothers, who was dating a sorority sister, whispered into her ear. Then he reached behind her back and unfastened the bra. With a sheepish grin, she let him remove the bra. Soon, guys were unclipping and removing bras, whether or not the recipient of this favor asked. As more and more breasts were revealed, even those initially reluctant succumbed to the excitement of scandalous behavior, and peer pressure. Bras all over the room fell away, and the suggested topless party became a reality.

The DJ switched the music from the rock and hip hop he had been playing to 60's twist music. Chubby Checker never was more relevant to the direction of a party. Shoulders moved from side to side, arms gyrated, hips and bodies twisted and shook, and breasts swung freely. After the party-goers had worked up a sweat, the DJ switched to softer, danceable music. Guys and girls danced slowly in each other's arms, pressing their sweaty bare chests against each other.

Meanwhile, back at the sofa, some of the guys posed with Lisa, taking selfies and photos of her bare breasts. One intrepid guy climbed onto the sofa to lay alongside her. He posed with his hand cupping one of her breasts. A friend snapped pictures. Then he pulled Lisa's panty half-way down, exposing curly brown pubic hair. Another photo. Things were beginning to spiral.

Lisa's friend, who had said she needed to be taught a lesson, decided that this had gone far enough.

"Hey, pervert, get off of her," she said to a fellow posing with his face next to Lisa's crotch. Sheepishly, he complied. All this activity caused Lisa to stir. Enough time had gone by that some of the alcohol had worn off. She was semi-awake now, wondering why she was almost naked in the middle of the sorority party. She wrapped her arms across her chest, covering her breasts.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked with alarm.

"It's a topless party," one fellow answered. "Look around."

The answer seemed to satisfy Lisa as she viewed the many women without shirts or bras. Maybe she had forgotten about it? But then she asked, "Everyone else has their skirt or pants on. Why is mine off?"

"You're just ahead of us," the frat boy answered. "I'm taking mine off now."

With that, he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. Nodding to his friends, several other guys also removed their pants. Their underwear stirred as the organ beneath stretched to make its presence known.

This was a defining moment, Initially, no woman joined the men. Then the sorority girl who had first removed her bra, slipped off her skirt. "Pledges," she shouted, "time to make this a party. Skirts and pants off!"

There has some hesitancy, but one pledge felt compelled to comply with the order. This must be part of their initiation, right? One by one, others followed. Bottoms were shed. Soon, the entire party consisted of people just wearing underwear -- or less.

The slow dancing resumed, but now the bodies pressing into each other were only separated by thin fabric at the waist. Girls could feel engorged penises pressing into their crotch. Guy's hands that started at a girl's back soon drifted down and pressed against butt cheeks. If sexual tension had stirred earlier, testosterone and estrogen was now all but dripping onto the floor.

The seed inadvertently planted by Lisa and her alcohol-fueled need to sleep, had grown into a vine that entangled the room. Underwear was sliding lower on people's hips. A few couples were now nude. People began to leave the dance floor, heading for bedrooms and quiet alcoves. What began as a celebratory party for new pledges was turning into an orgy. It hadn't been planned. But since when do you need to plan an orgy?

Lisa, much more sober than before, watched the wanton sexuality of the party unfold before her. She felt isolated, sitting alone on the sofa almost naked. Then one boy, clad in Speedo-type underpants that highlighted his assets, approached her. He offered his hand. She pulled him toward her and he wrapped his arms around her. "He's not bad looking," Lisa thought. "Any port in a storm." They kissed. "Perhaps this evening will be all right after all," Lisa said to herself. And it was.