The party was going along fine without us, it turns out, as Maé and I reentered my apartment through the kitchen entrance. A quick glance into the living room: all enchanted with another of Torri's stories about a recent date. Maé pulled me back into the entrance, out of sight of the others, and held me close, his hands on my chest. I put my arms around him, let them slide down his thin back, felt the curve of his butt under the fabric of his dress.
"Can I really stay the night?" he asked.
"Of course. That is, if we outlast the party."
He gave me a quick kiss and spun away from me so quickly that his dress flared a bit, and grabbed us two new glasses, filled them with champagne, and left one for me after picking the other up. He turned his back to the living room, my guests still lost in Torri's spell, and took a sip while letting his other hand trace a line down my chest to my crotch, drawing little circles there. Then he took his phone from where he had left it before our side quest, spun away again, and left the kitchen. I watched him pick his way to the end of the couch, where he plopped on the floor in front of it, drawing his feet under him. He seamlessly merged into their conversational traffic, and while I did a little cleaning up, saw him pull out his phone and catch my eye. He flashed his eyes down to the phone and up again, and I got the message. I pulled out my own phone and left it on the counter while I tried to continue my straightening, which doubled as a cover for my having to let my erection loosen a bit.
My phone buzzed.
Maé:
Everyone is drunk
I'm going to stay sitting right here like this in case you make me hard again
I looked up at him, but he was deliberately not making eye contact. Much bolder on the phone than in person. My erection bounced back. I went into the bathroom, right off the kitchen, and sent him a dick pic.
MORE
I sent another.
I'M GETTING HARD MORE
I sent another.
SEE IF YOU CAN GET TORRI TO SEND PIX OF HER TITS
I had only a moment to wonder what he meant by that, because I was startled out of my reverie by a knock on the door; I nearly dropped my phone into the toilet.
"Just a moment," I said, and flushed, repositioned my hard-on down a pant leg, which was already softening from this scare, and then ran the taps for a moment, gauging how long someone would have the taps running for while washing their hands, realizing all too late I could have just washed my hands for real, and then opened the door.
"Hello, stranger!" Torri said. She was a vision, tall, bouncy in all the right places, her hair locked into place with a messy bun. It took all my will power to keep locked on her eyes as her breasts beat against the inside of a thin tee-shirt, her thick smooth legs bared by cut-off jean shorts. She worked at said bun, a hairpin held in her mouth. She wasn't drunk; but she was in an exceptionally flamboyant mood.
"Hi!"
"Great party, buddy," she said, as we switched spots with each other. She was still working her hair as she swung her hip to close the door behind her.
I stepped out into the kitchen for a direct line-of-sight with Maé, and gave him a playfully scolding look. He looked away, pressing his lips to contain her laughter.
"Anyone need a refresh?" I said aloud, and the party cheered.
I played the host and went around filling glasses. They'd had enough that no one had seemed to notice that Maé and I had gone off together for our episode. I poured Maé's glass last, and he smiled up at me coyly, taking a glance down at my crotch as I leaned over him to administer champagne. He put his hand on my calf surreptitiously. "Thank you," he said. I nodded, and reciprocated his glance by giving my own to his crotch, where he had placed his hands, suddenly turning pink.
Back in the kitchen to drop off the bottle, Torri came out of the bathroom, and boinged into me as we walked back to the living room, ironically leading Jean to ask aloud why we had spent so much time in the kitchen together.
I looked at Maé, sipping at his drink, smiling, arching an eyebrow.
"That's right," Torri said, squishing her body right up to mine, wrapping her arms around me. "We just got married. In the kitchen. Give us a kiss, dear." I pecked her on the lips, and she gave a melodramatic swoon. "Where's
my
drink?" She said, after seeing everyone refilled.
"Let me get if for you, dear," I said, and she squeezed against me harder. I felt her tits glob against my chest.
"I won't hear of it," she said. "We haven't seen you all night. Sit, sit, I'll get it."
"Sit over here," Maé said, "By me." He patted the sofa cushion right behind him and I stepped through my guests and plopped down.
It was a nice party. Everyone was at a very friendly stage, talking amiably, not too drunk, leaning back, getting cozy, feet up, lovingly buzzed. Lots of laughter.
For the first few minutes, Maé was sitting a bit forward, between my knees. Then, during a break in conversation for one of Torri's punchlines, the laughter allowed Maé to lean back against the front of the couch, his fine shoulders between my knees. I casually traced the width of them with my fingers, the sort-of innocent lazing about that comes with friends at this stage of a party. After a bit, he shifted positions, drawing his knees up to his chest, arranging his dress, and he brought his elbows up and rested them on my thighs as armrests.