Fashion Show Bacstage

I dated this knockout gal for about 6 months when I was in college. She lived with her parents in my hometown, and I lived in the other end of the state where I went to college. I've written several stories about her already here—"Feeling Kind Of Lucky," about meeting her at an outdoor jazz concert, she having her first group sex with me and my roommate on Halloween, and "Two Or Three Hours," the time they tried to prematurely kick us out of the pay-by-the-hour motel.

I've dated some knockout gals, but if I had to pick just one, Zoe was probably the best looking chick I ever dated. Six feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes on her cover-girl face, she had legs a mile long and bright red, rigid nips on the firmest, baseball-size boobs I've ever had the pleasure to suckle. She was modeling in a fashion show when I was home from college Christmas break, so, of course, I went.

The theme of the show was "New Wave" fashion, clothes that reflected the "in" musical style of the early 1980s. I drove us, and we went in the back entrance as directed. Since it was a fashion show, I intentionally dressed extremely fashion forward, and the swishy, obviously gay guy monitoring the back entrance just waived me through with her, patting my butt and giving me that wouldn't-I-just-love-his-cock-in-my-ass look.

Well, I soon realized that both of the "fashionista" men there with all these beautiful women were flamers, and, because of the way I was dressed, they--as well as all the women except my girlfriend--thought I was gay, too. I chose to see this as an opportunity, for as long as everyone thought I was sweet, I'd be welcome and able to view the half dozen or so hot chicks in various states of undress.

I don't know if y'all know how a fashion show works backstage, but the models are in a huge hurry to get out of one outfit and into another. As such, they are practically or completely nude for some of the time at every quick-change between walks out onto the runway.

At first, I hung back and just observed. New Wave music blared and the very effeminate MC would describe the clothes and accessories on the model as she strutted down and back the catwalk. Upon her exit, another model would strut out. As soon as the model came backstage through the curtains, a flamer and/or a couple other half-naked hot-bodied models would strip her clothes off and help her get into the next outfit. The show was very fast-paced, and there weren't many models, so they had to change even more quickly than is usual.

Being a supremely helpful person, I wanted to assist these dynamite babes, but how could I pull it off, so to speak? I decided my best tactic would be to act as gay as possible, so I played it up to the max with a slight lisp, waved my arms about wildly, and just generally strutted about like a flaming fag--not that there's anything wrong with that--to quote Jerry Seinfeld.

When my girlfriend returned from her first runway walk, I immediately intercepted her and proceeded to undress her, assisted by a slim A-cup brunette wearing nothing but a pair of sheer panties. Doing my best gay guy imitation, I said, "Isn't she just gorgeous; I would just DIE to have her breasts!" tweaking both nipples of my girlfriend' boobs.

The slim brunette agreed she had perfect tits, and stared at them admiringly as she helped her peel off the tight leather skirt. I boldly reached around the slim brunette and cupped her little boobs, encountering absolutely no resistance, as I said reassureadly, "You are a lovely slender tender thing with nice little ta-tas of your own, darlin'."

"Gee, you're sweet," she said over her shoulder, arching her back and swaying her buns against my already half-hard cock. "But I wish you weren't quite SO sweet." Little did she know! My girlfriend was laughing out loud at my ridiculous antics and knew exactly what I was up to. Being utterly sexually decadent, she supported my act 100%, and it worked like a dream.

The rest of the evening went similarly. Doing my best flaming gay guy, I'd step up and strip off the clothes of the next gorgeous babe coming off the cat walk, fondling her boobs and ass and just about every other part of their bodies.

Emboldened, when I saw one with a little wet spot in the crotch of her panties a few moments before she was to go down the cat walk, I placed my finger on the spot and just said, "Oh, honey, I can't let you embarrass yourself," snatched them off, wiped her nice, bare pussy with the silk hanky from my blazer pocket, and pulled off my girlfriend's panties and up onto her hips.

This shenanigan had a double benefit, as my girlfriend made her next catwalk in a short skirt without panties. Since I was backstage, I could not see anything, but from the sound of the crowd reaction, more than a few got an up-skirt view.

I was certainly pushing it, and my girlfriend was having a helluva time suppressing her laughter, but she was having nearly as good a time as I was.

I fondled the bodies of every girl in the show many times as I "helped" them get dressed and undressed over and over. Of course, the other models were touching each other all the while, too, which was particularly exciting.

The only other model I knew, and I really only knew who she was, was a fabulous, big breasted brunette my age (all the others were a few years younger) who used to date a friend of a friend back when I was in high school. Bisexual, she had a reputation as extremely wild and kinky, and there was a rumor that she even did a porno flick that had a graphic FMF group sex scene.

The height of the evening was when that girl was facing my girlfriend helping with her hair, and their boobs were jiggling against each other. They were the two best-looking girls in that group models, all of whom were hot. Suffice it to say that I had something on the order of a major erection.

Months later, when my girlfriend was visiting me at college, I had managed with enormous effort to get a not-so-good-but-still-viewable copy of that porno in Beta format (the original was on 16 mm film), and my girlfriend and I watched it together. Talk about steamin'! Zoe kept rewinding to watch the two-girls-and-a-guy scene over and over and over, which featured plenty of girl-on-girl action, something I knew she'd never done but was now quite obviously interested in.

I reminded her of the boob-jostling moment back at the fashion show, and, wet of pussy and hard of nip, Zoe, almost angry, said she would have loved to do an orgy with her that night, and why had I not just arranged it like I had the MFM with me, her, and my roommate the previous Halloween.

Unfortunately, at that moment, she was in our home town in the other end of the state, and the only bi women I knew in my college town were ugly fat bitches.

So, setting up menage a trois with Zoe and me and that gal instantly assumed first-priority status. I mean, having sex with my tall, leggy, blonde girlfriend at the same time as the short, super-boobed, brunet became nothing short of an obsession. With the determination of a bulldog, though it took a month because she had a very common name, was 400 miles away, and was no longer connected with anyone I knew, I was actually able to track her down and speak with her on the phone.

Now, what do you say to a woman you only met once months before and are trying to set up a three-way with? The first challenge, of course, was her recalling just who we were. Astonishingly, she remembered Zoe and me—Zoe because of her ravishing tall beauty, and me due to my way-over-the-top dress and silly gay act at the fashion show. She was really surprised, as she'd bought my homo act hook, line and sinker, but, most importantly, pleasantly surprised, saying, "Geez, if I'd known that then, we coulda all piled into my bed together after the show!"

I was on for what portended to be a menage a trois with two of the best-looking, sexiest women ever to walk the planet.

I immediately tried to contact Zoe, but, being university bound, her brother said she was away with her parents on a multi-college trip and gone for two weeks. By the time I finally got an answer at her home, I was only able to talk with her mom, who said she was back out on an equestrian competition trip. So, at that point, I was shooting for Spring Break, but by then, our relationship had gone south, and the orgy was, consequently, not in the cards.

Chalk up another one in the lost opportunity column.