All About the Story

The evite had made it clear that those invited should feel very comfortable to be very comfortable at the party. Every word dripped with innuendo:

"Attention Game Lovers: We're ready to play and sense you are as well. Come as you are by all means. No losers invited and no losers allowed. You're a winner by virtue of this invite. Now what will you do with prizes?"

She thought the cheese factor was a bit high but she applauded the courage it took for the newly "outed" swingers to host their first gathering of no-rules play. She just didn't want to attend.

She'd been there done that. And she was bored.

But Friday night was upon her and she had no commitments, no obligations, and no date. She wanted not to want more but she had to embrace her extroversion and acknowledge that the idea of spending a Friday night alone when she knew a party was underway was almost torturous.

So she was standing before the mirror with one of her favorite ensembles on. She didn't really like dress up in the technical sense. She was no one's maid. She was no one's baby doll. But she had a short skirt that showed her legs in the proper perspective to truly appreciate that short women still had much to offer in that area. She had a brilliantly white blouse that dipped between her breasts and with her best bra for showing off the D cups on, she knew that they were an attention getting pair. She also had a pair of maryjane type shoes with heels. Not quite the school girl but something suggesting she was ready for play.

Even if tonight what she really wanted was conversation.

Ahhhh. . . there's the rub. No one at this gig was all that interested in knowing her for her wit and charm.

Or so she thought.

The house was incredible. The entryway rose to the second floor. The couple's love of the renaissance period was evident on almost every wall. The den was perfectly attired with long inviting sofas and ottomans to allow for intimate conversations.

She arrived late and found many hook ups had already occurred. Pairings and trios were actively engaged in the nervous laughter that provided the background "music" for encounters in the making. She thought she recognized 80s music faintly playing as well.

"Disco is still not dead," she thought, "as long as one last gay couple lives and breathes."

She wandered to the kitchen where the open bottles of white, red and anything you want for shots were displayed. She poured and began to wander from room to room.

She smiled at the two women in the corner that she knew to be a couple playing what looked like a card game with words and a 20-something with a ready laugh and moist lips that she kept licking as she pondered her next move. The returned smile from the more aggressive of the couple welcomed her acknowledgement and warned that she was a bit too late for meaningful engagement there. They'd be leaving soon she could tell and someone was going to have to come back and get the pretty blonde's car tomorrow.

She kept moving.

The pool room was filled with half naked men and a woman fully clothed who seemed to be simply watching. Drink in hand, relaxed on the corner stool, she smiled at her entrance but quickly returned her gaze to the game. The foursome were obviously taking a shot at strip pool. They were also very gay and very drunk.

She continued the tour.

When she got to poolside, the conversations were quiet but evidence of a previous raucous behavior was all around. A few vibrators, a dildoe, an ass plug and numeorous other toys littered the walkway. She imagined the game of catch that must have been the center of attention earlier in the evening. She knew not one person and not one really looked to see if they knew her.

Frustrated with the fact that she'd even remotely thought this was a good idea, she considered making her exit immediately and without bothering to thank her hosts.

Then the woman from the pool room tapped her on the shoulder.

"Scared? Bored? Amused? or Aroused? You pick," the auburn haired beauty offered up. With deep emerald eyes and red highlights one almost expected a brogue to come forth from the nicely done (still at this hour) lips but it was Southern drawl all the way. She was a runner perhaps but definitely active. Her arms were bare and the yellow halter top highlighted their perfect tone.

"How about I'm scared that I look too bored when in fact I'm amused at how aroused everyone already is?"

"Nicely done. You deserve a refill," and the belle of the ball took her glass without question and led her to the remote bar set up at the back of the pool.

She followed simply because she had at least been engaged by this one. But she didn't really think she was into the idea of a girl on girl experience. She was looking for something a bit more erect than her previous experience with women had provided. Wait, she wasn't looking at all, she reminded herself. And yet, she still followed.

"I propose we play a game. A mind game," the belle offered and without waiting for approval began to create a cocktail that she quickly handed off as she described her activity. The slight lilt at the end of the sentence made it seem somewhat less like an order but it didn’t really qualify as a question either.

She decided to let the belle have her way until she would decide not to. Seemed like a reasonable plan. Besides, the belle knew how to make a cocktail. Lime, something a tad sweet, a splash juice and vodka. Her kind of drink. She’d see if it was her kind of game.

“We can sit in here,” the belle motioned to the pool “house” which was actually a room and bath situated off the garage. The guys had decorated it with a beach motif so there were two bleached wicker chairs facing each other next to the twin bed. The belle picked up one of the chair pillows and placed it on the floor as she sat down.

She followed her lead.

“Here’s how it can work. I’ll find something on you that reminds me of a story – true – and I’ll tell you what I’m looking at and I’ll give you the story. We’ll continue swapping roles until one of us is bored or has developed another game,” this time she did conclude with a question. “Agreed?”

“Sounds like you should begin since you have the concept down.”

“Ok . . . here goes. The white of shirt is very stark. Reminds me of sailboat I enjoyed one summer. My friend had refurbished it -- brilliant wood polished to perfection with these sails that took your breath away when you were at sea. . . They don't all have to be long. Your turn."

"Hmmmm . . . the color of the polish on your toes. I love coral. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that when I was in college I painted one wall what I thought was going to be exactly that color. Instead, on the wall it took on a Pepto pink hue. I lived with it for a week while I skipped meals to save money and buy another can of paint. I made the guy at the store mix it three times before I thought he had it right. When I finished that wall, I spent an afternoon just gazing on my work."

The belle looked around the room and then back at her new companion as though she had to clear her visual palate before moving on. "I noticed your ring finger has a slight indentation as though you were used to wearing a wedding band or some sort but now you don’t.”

“Am I supposed to correct you?”

“It’s not about the facts. It’s about the story,” she said, though not harshly. In fact her tone had taken on a less forceful quality and now she really was sounding like a storyteller … like a really good one at a library special events day for kids. She wasn’t condescending. She just knew her stuff.

She continued. “The missing ring reminded me of a doctor I knew who would take his ring off at the office because he was a general practitioner and never knew when he’d be called upon to get a tad bit messy, shall we say. When I first went to see him, I didn’t know the missing ring was for comfort and/or safety sake. I thought he might be divorced but didn’t know. As he lightly tapped my back and checked my lungs for congestion, I placed my hand on his and held it there. He was generally startled. As, quite frankly, was I because I had no intention of engaging with him at all when I first saw him. But there was something about the idea that he wasn’t complete, something was missing that drew me to him. And I wanted to connect. He started to object. But I looked at him and he knew. He stood there as I traced each finger with my own. I lingered a bit longer on the ring finger. Then I took my other hand and ran it up his thigh. I saw and felt that he was growing. I simply rubbed him a few moments, unzipped his zipper, dipped my head and took one long draw on him. I zipped him back up and placed both my hands on my thighs before the nurse returned. He continued the exam and we never spoke of it again. . . . Your turn.”
She had listened attentively and just before the belle had even gotten to the exam table, she somehow knew how the game was going to be played. She thought she might like it.

She sipped her drink, taking a long look at the incredibly serene woman who was sipping and silently waiting before her. “Your tan line is different from the halter you’re wearing. I was on a beach in Ecuador. A young man about 17 years my junior was with me. We’d connected in a language class and found that our interests were similar. We liked both to talk, to listen, and to write. On this day, we’d walked for a couple of miles away from our hotel and found a path to the rock formation that jutted up majestically along the edge of the beach. We easily walked out and sat on a boulder. He was a bit higher than me and I leaned back into his open legs as we listened to the waves crash, the birds do their thing and simply let each other be. We were present for one another but no words were exchanged. We couldn’t have heard each other anyway. I felt the sun on my face and shoulder and knew I was burning but it didn’t matter. I shifted slightly and felt him hard and pressing against my shoulder blade. I didn’t turn. I didn’t comment. I pushed back. He pushed forward. I moved my arm so that it was on his outer thigh and pulled him even closer. We rocked for a few minutes and then he came. He bent down, kissed my hair. And we stayed on the rocks for another 20 minutes or so. We walked back to the hotel and he came to my room, applied lotion to my shoulders and kissed me from head to toe. Three orgasms and one hour later, he came inside me.”

“You’re hair is at least three colors,” she did somewhat ask that one. She nodded in affirmation. “Once when I was in a salon, the owner said she was leaving early and asked if my stylist would lock up. The salon was funky, filled with art that was somewhere between good and trying really hard to be good. The music was the choice of whoever had the gumption to get up and find a new satellite station. My stylist was the last to leave most days because she was the most successful and I liked late appointments because I knew she’d play jazz if she had an option. A beautiful sax solo had just taken me to some fantasy quiet bungalo and I must have moved to the music more than I thought I had. She asked if I liked to dance. I told her that in my dreams I was sexy and stylish as I moved across the floor but in reality, I had a few issues with rhythm. I did, tell her though, that that never stopped me. She took my hand and pulled me out of the chair. She had at least three inches on me and she took the lead in spinning and swaying me to an upbeat number before drawing me in close for the slow song that followed. When it concluded, she looked down, smiled and bent lower to kiss me at the nape of my neck. She traced her tongue along my collarbone and then sucked on my shoulder as though she had an orange opened and juicy in her hands. I kissed what was left to me – her hair. It smelled of lavender and I breathed it in. She led me to her chair and pumped the floor handle so that it rose. She then sat me down, pulled me to the edge and shifting the gown out of the way, she raised my dress to affirm what she must have noted as I came in – a lack of panties. She smiled again and got down on her knees and buried herself in the fine curly hair that would be the only confirmation she would ever have that indeed she had matched my natural coloring almost perfectly. She tasted me, swallowed me and tasted me again and again. I held tightly to the arms of the chair and watched it all through the mirror. My response was one of the wettest and hardest I can recall in the last several years.”
She let that one rest for a moment. The words hung almost visibly in the air and she didn’t see a need to rush into another telling. She watched the belle sip her drink, lick her lips and wait. Both women had the look of patient contentment on their faces.

She breathed in and allowed her eyes to drop past the thick masses of reddish hair that fell just at the belle’s shoulders. She studied her more than ample breasts and yet didn’t find the story there. She kept moving southward and noted that the khaki shorts the belle was wearing with a soft, the comfortable yet pricey halter, fell a few inches above the knee and the knee had a scar. She reached forward and to touch the scar but didn’t. She allowed her hand to hold just above it. “I was training for a race. My running buddy was a few yards ahead of me and we were on an uneven sidewalk. I took a dive and landed hard. He came back to check on me and I noticed that his sweat was dripping on my leg even before I noted that I was bleeding and my pants were torn at the knee. He helped me up and I began to limp down the sidewalk. We were at least six miles from home and I wasn’t exactly sure but I suspected I had either broken or torn something important. Every step was close to excruciating. I was leaning on him when the old Thunderbird slowed beside us. The driver, a younger than us but older than young man, asked if we needed help. Ordinarily, I’d have been leery but ordinarily I wasn’t about to cry from pain. I told him where I was parked and asked if he could drive us there. He said yes and did. When we got into the car I smelled the pot but didn’t comment. He looked and sounded ok. My friend sat up front and I laid in the back. The two men chatted away about great restaurants in the area and their favorite place for fried chicken. I smiled and tried to ‘feel’ for an assessment of breakage. When we arrived at the parking lot where we’d left our cars, I rose up and noted that the two men were now holding each other’s thighs. I had missed the exchanging of numbers but that had occurred at the last traffic light. As they turned to kiss each other goodbye, I placed my hand on each shoulder and held tightly. They both turned and kissed my hands. I thanked our hero and exited the car as they kissed one more time.”

“I’m not bored. I’m wet and I would love to continue this. But not tonight. Tonight, I want to go to my room. They let me stay here when they have parties and there’s a possibility I might be drinking more than usual. I am not going to invite you there because . . . well, because I don’t want you to think that this was just about alcohol. I would politely like to ask you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. Would you?”

“You like a bit of control don’t you?” she said smiling and releasing her own control issues at the foot of the master. She fished one of the cards she was carrying out of bra (the skirt had no pockets and she hadn’t known what the night might hold). “I’d be delighted. I might have a story or two left in me.”

“Indeed.”

They rose, never touching, and exited in silence.

The belle climbed the stairs. She opened the front door and let the heat of the night air wake her. She’d ride home with the top down and relive the tale she would have told about the shoes the belle was wearing. She’d perfect the telling somewhat between now and what was actually going to be dinner tonight.

She hoped the hosts wouldn’t miss the fact that she’d never actually said hello.