Chapter Twenty-One
That weekend is a blur in my memory. There was a fresh keg of beer in the big galvanized tub full of ice. There was almost always a joint being passed around. And there were two women and eleven men and no clothes and plenty of music. It was pure hedonism.
At one point Paula and I were both being spit-roasted, side by side, on the futon that had been drug into the great room, while the other guys were cheering us on like it was a damn horse race.
The guys satisfied, Paula and I made love, slowly, gently, taking our time, learning each other.
As they watched, making it even more exciting for me.
I was drunk and stoned Saturday, making my memories kind of spotty, almost a kaleidoscope of individual flashes rather than a smooth film.
One image that still gets to me when I think of it was Paula and me on that futon, her on top in the classic 69 position. Her mouth was busy, holding me right on the edge, and I was licking and sucking greedily, her salty love nectar delicious in my mouth. When Timothy got his knees between her ankles, and he took her anally. I reached back, finding his ass and pulling him in and holding him there, alternating between her pussy and his balls while he held still, buried in her ass.
My mouth was busy, licking and kissing. I would lick and kiss her pussy and then lick and kiss his balls. When he came, suddenly, and softened and slipped out shortly after that, I pulled him down and took him in my mouth, sucking and licking, cleaning him. I was almost surprised when I came then.
Another flash memory has me laying on the futon being fed pizza in small bites while being fucked. Cumming and chewing at the same time, while Alan fed me and brushed the hair, sweat-damp, from my face. Looking over and seeing the same thing happening to Paula, with Roger inside her as Davey fed her.
Another image was just watching while Paula was on top, being had vaginally by Roger while being taken anally at the same time by Davey, while she took Timothy in her mouth.
When I woke up in my own bed Monday morning I was kind of surprised. That I was sandwiched between Timothy and Davey, though, surprised me not at all. That I had a hellacious hangover surprised me even less.
I squirmed out from between them, dodging grasping hands, and headed into the bathroom. I sat and peed, bent far over, my head in my hands. Finished, I stood, shaky, got a mouthful of Listerine, walked into the shower, and turned it on full hot.
But, of course, it ran cold at first making me gasp and shiver.
About the time the water warmed up the door to the shower opened and Timothy joined me. We washed each other, sensually but not sexually, and I was fighting a headache anyway.
We dried each other and he took my hand, walking with me downstairs. Neither of us bothered to dress and I, for one anyway, felt no shame.
Paula was already sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand. She stood and kissed me.
"Good morning wife," she said.
I giggled and said, "good morning, wife."
I got coffee and sat.
"Jesus," I groaned, "I haven't had a hangover like this in years." I looked over at Paula, "and it's all your fault," I added.
She giggled and raised her cup in a toast.
Aaron came down about then, kissed Paula, kissed me, and sat.
"Okay my brides," he said, "we have another dozen coming back this week so we need to get busy with recruiting you some help."
I grinned, picked up my coffee cup, and headed into the great room.
I hip bumped Timothy, saying "move over," and sat on the couch.
"Okay, let's see what's next on your hit parade," I called to Aaron.
He got his coffee, patted Paula on the head and she followed him over.
"Welllllllll," he said, fiddling with the little ChromeBook and then letting out one of his ear-splitting whistles, "let's see. We definitely have a pear," and he pointed at Paula, "and you, my love, buxom and sexy as you are are still a tube," he said to me, "so let's see what we can find in the way of an apple or an hourglass."
He re-opened the dating program.
God, his profile now had over a thousand "winks."
So we started through them. I was fascinated at how many 40-something divorcees had responded, many with pictures that left damn little to the imagination.
Most of them were easy to block. Okay, we're vain but there was a certain level of appearance we wanted to maintain. In some cases, I just couldn't understand how those women could have allowed a picture that bad to be posted on a dating site.
Nancy offered up a picture of herself standing against a railing with mountains in the background. It was hard to decide how to classify her. She was big enough to qualify as an "apple," but busty enough to be seen as an hourglass.
There was a chorus of "yes," and so Aaron hit the "wink" button. A message returned almost immediately saying "sorry, taken."
"THAT ONE," Roger said as a picture of Annette popped up on the screen. Okay, there was no doubt she was an apple. She was pretty in that round-faced way of some fat women, but not ashamed of the big round belly that extended past her bustline.
Aaron clicked on the "more" box and several more pictures popped up. She was pretty in a mom-next-door way, with a smile that made you want to smile back.
Aaron hit the "wink" button and we kept scrolling through his list, still looking for hourglasses and apples.
