This is the first time I've put pen to paper in many months. I hope you all enjoy it. Please feel free to read the rest of my stories, and feel free to let me know what you think! I can be reached at the link below the story.
These stories are all from a time in my life when I was a young punk rock college student, part of a group of amazingly talented and unashamedly brilliant friends with enormous sex drives. We found each other, and created an environement where those drives could drive us right over the cliff, constantly. It was an idyllic time, because we were able to create our own rules, and those rules were deliciously wicked! Enjoy!
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We unpacked all our goodies in the kitchen, and everyone had a look at what everyone else had brought. Anarkali and I had brought bok choi and the makings for chinese dumplings. Annie and Jo had little bags full of miscellaneous vegetables and nuts and cheese and spices for their special Satrap's Salad Gargantua.
Margaret hoisted an old cooler onto the broad counter. The top lifted AND the front folded down to reveal a stash of illegal, or at least untaxed, hard cider from southwest England. I had no idea how she got it out of the country, and she wouldn't tell. I do know that if I tried to bring such dosh home, it would have been seized as contraband in an instant, much to the delight of thirsty airport security, I might add.
Lastly, I pulled out three dozen young roses, tightly curled, which I'd gotten a deal on from an ancient flower market on the Main Line. I bought them because these particular roses reminded me of the female sex, or more precisely, sex organs, and I explained this with a certain glee to the girls as I unwrapped them.
The girls were untypically quiet, and there seemed to be some sort of group glancings back and forth with Margaret, who visibly blushed, something I'd never seen this subtly bold girl do before. Margaret smiled a light smile, full of much thought, turned and left the room.
"Whaaaat????" I laughed, a little awkwardly, as the rest of the group giggled. "You've never actually SEEN Margaret's pussy, have you?", asked Annie, as all three of them grinned, totally wide eyed. "Come to think of it, I don't believe I have", I said, a little surprised at the revelation, being that we had all fallen into a happy, remarkably relaxed sexual relationship with each other. In all our various couplings and combinations and dares and rolls in the hay and poolside coits, I couldn't remember actually having MY face below Margaret's belt, though I'm sure I'd been with Anarkali while she headed south to Margaretville, and I'm sure I'd been present while Annie and Jo had gone there, as well. "Why?", I demanded, still smiling, still confused at all the fuss.
"Nevermind." said Anarkali, decisively, and I knew enough to leave it at that. We cooked and cooked, traded news and yarns, drank cider, then broke off into singles and pairs to study.. Anarkali and I headed to the guest room, which was more like the grand guest suite, or the East Wing of the Palais Rustique Moderne, made love, and settled in for a four hour session with the books.
Just before ten, a typical hour for us all to break, Jo appeared in one of Margaret's magnificent robes, with two more robes over her arm for us, and a tray with a decanter full of chilled vodka, and a cluster of apperitif glasses. She poured the equivelent of double shots, which we downed in northern and eastern European style (and anytown USA sorority style!), then she announced "again", so we threw back a second round. Annie appeared, naked under her open robe, grinning, carrying another tray. This one was blessed with three small ciders and one cartoon sized cider, apparently for me.
Knowing from our past that creating something delightful and sexual often meant that at least one of us had to be surprised in some way, it was clear that I was the surprisee tonight, and I willingly surrendered to their comical wickedness. They surrounded me and led me to The Orientale Room. I was made to pause just outside the door while Annie skipped ahead, then I heard the stereo come on, loudly. Never a group to miss an opportunity for comedy or drama, the tune was the progressive jazz version of THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA by Emuir Deodato, AKA the theme to 2001, A Space Oddysey.
