If there was an era you could relive, when do you think it would be? For me, it would definitely be the 1970s. I was in my sexual prime then, my late twenties and early thirties.
It was a time of great promiscuity, both for the country and for me personally. You could have a seat in a bar and be served by a totally naked woman. Well, almost naked. She wore her shoes and a smile, but nothing else.
Massage parlors proliferated. You could get a semi-decent massage for twenty bucks and a hand job for a five-dollar tip. For another twenty, you got laid.
In San Francisco, there was a theater that changed its entertainment from strippers to porno films. Between movie showings there was a live sex show. That's right. A couple came out on the stage and fucked. Naturally that only lasted a few months before the local blue noses put a stop to the paid couples. The theater kept the movies and hired strippers again. After they were down to their shoes and smiles, a member of the all-male audience was invited to come up and fuck them. Usually it was a boyfriend or husband who had been planted in the crowd who came up to do the horizontal dance. That way prostitution charges were avoided. Like all things that challenge the mores of the time, that, too, was eventually stopped.
Then there were the wife-swapping groups, or swingers. Orgies were held every weekend in private homes purposely set up for swing parties. The bedroom floors had wall-to-wall mattresses. The master bedroom was the group room. The rule was couples and single women only, but a single man could hire a 'date,' also known as a ticket, for fifty to seventy-five dollars. This kept the gender balance in line, otherwise there would be too many men and not enough women for what is essentially a couples activity. As long as the guy screwed any woman other than his ticket, it wasn't prostitution. I went to a couple parties; I'd guess there were more tickets than wives at them.
There's not much left from those heady days of the sexual revolution. Nudity couldn't be banned, but alcohol served by naked girls could be. Can you imagine a coffee shop or a juice bar with nude waitresses? There are still a few dirty movie theaters around, but the ready availability of rental movies, and then the Internet, killed the adult theaters. The old Hookers' Ball folded at the end of the decade. There were some attempts to revive it, but the glamour is gone.
I got married in '72. I had never worn a ring before then, and I made a comment that it felt like the wedding band was cutting off my circulation to which my bride responded, "It better!" My swinging single days were closed. Little did I suspect what was opening up on that highly important day in my life.
My new beginning started the night before the wedding at the bachelor party. It was held at my best man's house. I had been to several such gatherings before, so I expected it would be just a bunch of guys sitting around tossing down a few beers and telling a bunch of old dirty jokes. In spite of the old theory that the parties ran all night so the groom was drunk at his wedding, most broke up around ten with everyone still legally sober. No groom was ever even slightly intoxicated the next morning -- nervous, yes, but sober. I didn't think mine would be any different.
The first clue that my party was different came around nine o'clock. Some guy I hadn't seen before asked who the guest of honor was. All hands immediately pointed to me. A chair was set in the middle of the room, and I was instructed to sit down. "Ok, Frank," he said, "I understand you've been involved in many of your friends' bachelor parties. They want to repay you for your thoughtfulness, so they have arranged some special entertainment for you. Gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome Leilani."
A lovely girl dashed to the center of the room from the hall as some Hawaiian music began on the stereo. Her only garment was a hula skirt. She was definitely not Hawaiian, but she knew who to dance the hula. Her breasts were huge, at least 38DD in size. Her blonde hair was long and silky. The traditional hula tells a story with hand gestures, but I didn't care about that. Her enormous tits held my attention. When the second song began, she sat on my lap and unbuttoned my shirt and removed it. I wasn't wearing a t-shirt, so she pressed her naked tits against my bare chest. After a couple hugs, she pointed to the clasp on her skirt and told me to unhook it. As the catch opened she stood up letting the skirt drop to the floor. Her shaved pussy stared me in the face. She put her hands on the chair seat on either side of my lap and dragged her long hair back and forth across my lap until her face was completely obscured from the audience. She bobbed her head up and down simulating a blow job. The guys were hooting and hollering and were having a good time. This girl, as everyone knew, was a professional dancer, not a hooker, and the blow job simulation was just for fun. Everybody knew exactly what she was doing, and we all went along with the gag. As the music ended, she sat crosswise on my lap, kissed me with her tongue entering my mouth, and wished me a happy marriage.
