in need of a lost weekend

A few weeks ago, the physicist and I were talking at the dining room table. It was while he was living here, but before he broke up with his girlfriend of three years. (I had nothing to do with that. He's been waiting for a year for her to break it off, but that was never going to happen. He finally manned up and did it.)
One thing you should know about him: he talks like he's a sexpert and is quite the porn connoisseur. (Before you think that folks too busy watching porn aren't busy enough with actually having sex, I don't think that's necessarily true. It certainly was not for my big, blond, bespectacled, bear of a man (Mikey) in Okinawa. If only he hadn't wanted me to go live on the family farm back in Youngsville, Ohio, we might still be together.)
Anyhow, to hear the physicist speak, you would think that he's done it all, at least once.
Given some of the conversations he and I have had these past four months when he was renting a room here, I think maybe he's led a more quiet existence in the bedroom than he would have preferred.
I keep finding out I've done things he has not.

For now, all you need to know is this: he's obviously been with the wrong women.
Seriously, that's what he said to me.
I had just asked him if he'd ever had a night of sex that just went on and on.
When he asked what I meant, I told him.
"You had met up for an afternoon bootie call. Instead, you both keep f**king all night to the point of exhaustion. You know you should stop, but when you touch, it just starts all over again, bodies uniting and falling back exhausted... then fingertips brush and you're at it again until you pass out. The next morning, you're back at it, fingers all over each other, groins engaged and thrusting, thrusting. You're worn out, you know you need food and water, but neither of you can stop having sex. One of you finally manages to get out of the bed and down the stairs, bringing back food and water bottles so you can start again... and you do."
He looked like he had been slapped into silence.
Then he said, "I've obviously been dating the wrong women."
Obviously he has.
I cannot think of a single relationship I've had that didn't include at least one lost weekend.

Yesterday, I wanted very much to have my first lost weekend since I was dating the singing bird.
I've had a lost night, mind you, but not a lost weekend.
This time, like that last time with Mikey in San Diego, those 48 hours would have been with a big, blond, bespectacled bear of a man, too... had it actually occurred.
Honestly, this man was at least partly to blame for me getting hot and bothered.
I'm not saying he was touching me or kissing me or anything of that nature.
If only he had been... but that might well have wrecked our odd May-August relationship of the last two years... or transformed it from a comfortable chair into an awkward boat that sailed away.
(Hey, he's studying organic chemistry, okay? That inside joke is for him.)
Here's the way it all went down yesterday.

I had ended up spending six hours with him.
That wouldn't have been such a big deal if I'd been able to jerk off this morning before going to his house. That's what I usually try to do, you see. It relieves the sexual tension on my side and that allows both of us to be more at ease.
However, I had not had that option. The physicist had been home last night and this morning and I didn't want him to hear me moan.
So, I'm with the bear and it's not even 9 AM. He practices the talk he's giving, packs his bag with the multimedia bits, and places me in charge of his flash drive.
Wow. I'm sure he was wanting me to feel included, but it sure felt like a lot of trust being afforded in my direction.
Off we went to the downtown conference site.
Oops! We had to detour around the Buddy Walk! As he doesn't go north very often, he was letting me tell him where to go to get to where we needed to be.
That's right - me, navigating. Without my GPS. More trust in me.
So, we are successfully there! We even have some time available to have a bit of coffee and a nosh. Nice!
He gets set up, with all his show-and-tell bits on display, while I take photographs to document the occasion.
(Hey, it's what I do, and have done, my whole life.)
It ends up as only him and one other presenter, of the four scheduled.
I'm the sole audience... and when he begins to speak, it's a tale I don't fully know. He is sharing part of his essence up there... and I become distracted by the stirring activity between my legs.
"Concentrate, girlie," I tell myself. "He'll soon drop me back off at the car and our day will be done."
But it wasn't and he didn't.
Instead, he wanted to buy me lunch for going with him as morale support.
Knowing his taste for beef, I suggested the Distillery, but that didn't work. The Chromatic Dragon was a winner, though, and we ended up having a quite satisfying two-hour lunch.
The tingling had not left me, but at least it was still manageable.
I was sure he would beg off to attend to his studies... but he did not.
Instead, I found myself on his couch, with his kitty on my lap, while he played for me on his guitar... with not one word about schoolwork...
retuning the strings to the more traditional notes rather than the Sonic Youth configuration...
playing part of a song he was writing...
strumming some blues and imitating Tom Waits...
coming over to the bookcase near me at one point to show off his science collection, possibly noticing that I was hoping for a langorous kiss...
at which he bounded upstairs to the bathroom.
When he returned, it was to grab up his gym bag and hustle us both out the door.
Of course I got a hug, even two... then I raced off to the nearest place where I could jerk off.
Sweet release!
When home again, I took a shower, jerking off again - oh, my!
Then, to the bedroom, for a proper working over by Rosie and her talented dancing sisters.
Truly, if I'd had a device that I could just push a button to trip my pleasure center, I would have done so until unconscious.
This morning, I woke to more thoughts of him and more tingling urges...and already moist labia.
Incredible.
Twice in succession I stroked myself to a moan... even before coffee!
Honestly, I need to invest in some more toys if this craziness continues.

And I better handle this sexual appetite before I see him again on Tuesday.
I certainly don't want to scare him off.
That said, if he makes a move... I am certainly responding.
We've been dancing around this 'unspoken thing' far too long.

bang bang!

I actually had to come straight home from the cinema and get fucked.
I had started fingering my pussy in the bathroom, after the movie.  Amazingly, my pussy was already wet.
And not from pee.
It's been a long time since that happened.
Realizing I was onto a good thing - and wanting to be on another, if you catch my drift -
I peed, washed my hands, and went out to the car.
I needed to get home.
ASAP.
The Big Red Rabbit would be waiting for me.
I turned off the radio.
I turned off my phone.
No distractions.
I was a girl on a mission. Nothing was allowed to distract me.
My timing was good. The traffic was fairly light, as it was not yet 4 PM.
Time for a little afternoon delight!
Yeah, sure, it would have been nice to have a real, live, warm cock waiting for me, but Big Red will certainly do the trick.

I started shucking my clothes as soon as I walked through the door.
Pink Italian sandals, off my feet right inside the door.
Shorts, down on the hard wood of the living room floor, shirt pulled over my head and dropped on top of the pile.
A brief washing of my hands and into the bedroom I went.
Flowered panties onto the carpet, black lace bra draped onto the foot of the bed, and Big Red rescued from the bottom drawer of the bureau.
Time for some action!
But, it's been so long since anything that large tried to breach the labia and gain entrance. I had the Rabbit rubbing my clit, lots of lube flooding the site, but no go. Every gentle push was met with resistance and pain.
Shite!
Time for a little fluttering butterfly action, to get me over the hump and relieve my horniness.

I didn't even bother with insertion of the knob into my yearning pussy. With the vibration on the lowest setting, the wings - with a little pressure - did the trick.
Aaaaaaaahhhhh - relief, if only momentarily, from my need for touch.
Maybe to use Big Red now?
No, still too tender to move that meaty mass between the sugar walls.
Maybe in a few minutes...
before I venture back into the world....
no, definitely before I leave this house...
that work is not yet finished.
What I really need is a good, firm, cock and a nice long weekend.
Sadly, no such for now.
But a girl can dream...
And now, back to the bed for one more session with Big Red. Maybe I should sit on the couch instead, looking out the open window, have a bit of minor exhibitionism thrown in...
yeah, that should do nicely!.
Bye!

wanna know a secret?

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with my little sister.
Well, not quite.
She isn't really my little sister, she's one of my best friends.
But I think of her as one of the sisters I never had.
And I have a secret I don't think I can ever tell her.

You see, a while back, her dad was in the hospital for his heart.
(They thought he had one... jk.)
He was rather put out that they wouldn't allow him to smoke in the Cardiac Care Unit.
No joke.

She lives at the other coast and had come to town to be with him.  I had joined her there, keeping her company and being a good friend.
When she had to return to her family, I had told her I would continue to check in on her dad.  His brother and sister-in-law were to soon come and would be staying with him at his house when he was released.

So, there I was one night, visiting her dad at the hospital.
And I'm just chatting with him, you know?
And all of a sudden, I notice the way he's looking at me.
And one of his hands is under his sheets, down low.
About crotch level.
Moving.
Rhythmically.

Damn.

I realized what he was doing.  I realized that the conversation had been about me coming over to his house to check on him from time to time.

Damn.

I told him I have a boyfriend, an ex-cop boyfriend.

The hand stopped moving.

I told him goodbye and I left.

No way I am ever telling that tale to my little sister.

change of plans

Admittedly, I've been a bit crazy for about a year, but I think that phase has passed.
I've been making decisions based on the person I thought he was.
I've been making decisions like the 20-year-old I once was.
I've been making decisions that I have not been able to even discuss with others.
THAT is just how wrong the situation has been.
Enough.
When I came down to Florida for my biannual trip to switch gears, I had thought I had a game plan.
True, the booking of the resort stay had been instigated by a desire to help out a friend.  The peace guy had been pushed into a financial sinkhole that just kept growing and I had hoped the condo with rooms a-plenty  would benefit him as well as myself.  You see, I've been findng myself at home more of late, perhaps from a subconscious fear of spending money until I know what my future job situation is.  Usually, by now, I would have a trip or two already scheduled, but I had nothing on the near, or even far, horizon.
So, I booked the rooms for three for five nights.
I even checked the websites for a few of the places I like, to see what was shakin' with them for the days I would be in Florida.  A film festival on the weekend at Cinematique?  Sah-weet!  A discount for fun at Dave & Buster's?  Even better!
It'll be bdsm Friday at the Fantasy House!  Alrighty then! And a swinger party the next night?  YEAH!!!
Say what?  What was that last part?
Uh, yeah, you know, um... didn't I tell you about that?
You know, when I was talking about decisions I couldn't share?
Well, um, yeah. That's what I was talking about.
I've been going to swinger parties since August.  Not continuously, mind you.
Like that is somehow important.
Yeah.
Well, I'm done with it.
It all started with a lunchtime conversation in late July with the Eagle scout.  Really!  I know, I can hear you know: an Eagle scout invited you to such a party?  Right.
Well, he did.  I'm not sure just how the topic came up.  I think we may have been discussing his new girlfriend in Charleston.  Perhaps she had attended the parties up there with her not-quite-ex and had taken my friend to such a party and he was simply wanting to share the fun.  That was probably the scenario.  He was attending swing parties and I was invited to come along with them some time and could bring a friend, "male or female, we make no judgements", if I wanted.
I had told him I would think about it, to please keep me posted on when they would next attend such a party.
Then I went off to my summer adventures, riding with the magician as far as O-Hi-O, then collecting him for the trip back to the South that first Saturday in August.  He had mentioned a couple of times during the onset of the trip that he was hoping to mend a broken friendship while home, but he had not elaborated on the nature of the break and I had not asked.  On the drive back, while talking about all manner of things, I asked if he had been successful at wall-mending and he said he had.  So I asked what had caused the break... and he said he was a swinger that she had taken too seriously.  He was part of a couple and she was part of a couple, so it wasn't a big party scene, but it was definitely swapping.
Whoa, what a coincidence!  I had just found out about swinger parties and the magician was a swinger!  So I shared my info with him and he expressed an interest and we were off to the races!
So to speak.  It probably didn't hurt that we had neither of us had sex for at least a year.  The idea of no-strings, x-rated fun was most appealing.
Later in August, he and I went to the party in South Carolina with the Eagle scout and his girl.  The magician and I went as a couple, as single males were not allowed to these home parties.  The theme was "end of the summer pool bash" and it was MUCH fun!  I regarded it as a nudist adventure and had a blast playing nude volleyball in the pool.  It had been many years since my time as a nudist in central Florida and I felt right at home.  I got laid, too, and that was a great stress reliever.
A month later,  I went to another party there, but without the magician.  He had not gotten laid, but he did get to see lots of tits and ass and all other body parts and had enjoyed that.  The theme was black-light-fantastic and I had such fun dancing with glowing stripes and stars!  They did have a nice dance floor, after all!  And, of course, as a girl there, I got laid again.   Okay!
No more venturing north until November.  The magician wanted to go for his birthday and so we went.  The problem was this: he is much more shy than he lets on.  He talks a big game, but he doesn't follow through.  He stuck close to my side, and I even taught him to play pool, but he ended up not laid after all.  I, of course, did get me some action.
He really wasn't interested in going to the parties after that.  True, the winter break came and he went to see his folks for most of that time.  Even so, when he returned, he simply was not the same guy he was when he left.  There was a marked difference in his behavior with me and he seemed to withdraw from the closeness we'd shared.  No more long talks about any and every little thing.
And he had no interest in the Florida party house I had found in December.
We did venture to Charleston for a symphony, a la Cirque, and had much fun.
That was in January and was the last overnight trip we've taken.  (Separate beds, as always.  We didn't want to muck up our friendship with sex.  Though, perhaps one doesn't need to have sex with each other to cause that same ill effect?)
Now, it seems, he has found someone he might have a relationship with and is not wanting to act as a swinger until he knows for sure.  Then, I guess, he'll try to ascertain how she feels about swinging, as he has done with his other girlfriends.  But, for now, better to give the appearance of being a fine upstanding guy, or so he says.
Really???  After giving me a hard time about appearances and protocol?
So, now, even though I had continued on to Florida for this trip and had thought I would go to the Fantasy House this evening, I think now that I am done.
I am done with having sex with other women's husbands, even though I have the wife's permission and she is having sex with someone else under the same roof.
I am done with out of town parties that I cannot share with my friends and family.
I am done with having a secret sex life.
I'm not condemning swingers or their lifestyle.  Nor am I condemning those in the bdsm lifestyle (which is pretty tame compared to some of the abusive relationships I have witnessed).
I'm just saying that if I am uncomfortable with sharing my participation in those lifestyles, then that makes it pretty damned obvious that I do not belong at parties which embrace those lifestyles.  That isn't fair to the other partiers.
Of course, I will continue to masturbate, with and without toys.  That is a healthy part of life and one that I don't feel the need to hide.  Most folks know I've hosted a Pure Romance party and have attended one or two and truly enjoy sharing those experiences with other women.  Nice to have new toys!  I even have a Pure Romance party next month, which will be a good thing, as I need more lube.
But I'll find something else to do tonight.
And maybe I'll look for a nudist group to join for some volleyball fun.

getting off with a bang!

She knew when she met him that they would f&ck.
When she arrived at the party, the hostess had greeted her warmly and given her the grand tour.  "These two bedrooms in the back can be locked for privacy, but this one has a curtain you can open to let others enjoy.  here is one of the three bathrooms.  Here is the living room, with porn on the big tv all the time. This is where some of the bdsm will be going on tonight.  The cross is part of that.  Feel free to watch or be part of it!"
"This bed, with the mesh curtain, is for our exhibitionists.  Anyone can watch, but no one may enter without your permission."
"This is the kitchen and dining area, with lots of munchies.  Just help yourself!  Then we pass through the den, with another huge tv with continuous porn.  The guys seem to really enjoy that.  And this is my bedroom.  That tv will always have sports on, for those who need to keep up with their games.  You know how some guys are!  And here is my bathroom, but it's open to all.  I keep Scope right on the counter and if you want to take a shower, towels are right here."
"Now we go down to the pool room!  Pool is a great way to socialize and meet new folks.  This bedroom has a two-way mirror, so folks playing pool can watch the action in the room.  And here's the hot tub, if you like those, and the dance floor, complete with stripper pole."
"Oh, nice!  I really enjoy dancing! Maybe not so much with the pole... I don't know that I'm that graceful. (smile) But dancing really gets me going."
"Well, good!  If there's any kind of music you want, just let me know.  I'm going to leave you to meet some folks, but let me know if you need anything.  I'm glad you're here!" (big hug) And off the hostess went, leaving the single girl to mingle.
And the single girl thought to herself how glad she was that she came.  The atmosphere was totally different from her usual party scene.  For starters, guests could have their cellphones.  Guests could even take consensual pictures.  Also, folks could smoke in the pool room/dance hall/social area.  And folks were free to fix their own drinks, no bartender needed.
And it was bdsm night.  Apparently, every third Friday of the month was bdsm night.  Maybe future trips would be warranted?  She would have to see.  It had been almost three decades since she had been around anything remotely associated with bondage and discipline, and that had been pretty tame.
Meanwhile, if naught else, she was there to mark the fifth anniversary of her divorce.  If the Mayan end of the world came along on this same day, she would at least make sure she marked it with a orgasm or two.
So, there she was, her name on the pool list, chatting with the Beaver and his longtime bride, Dallas, mildly flirting and greeting and meeting others as they arrived.
And then he arrived.  Michelangelo was congenial and flirtatious and interested from the get-go.  But not pushy.
She liked that.
He had arrived as part of the bdsm contingent, to complement the ever-smiling P (who apparently wore a butt-plug all evening) and her kilt-clad honey, Gamma.  Michelangelo's wife? - partner?- DL was there too, but traveling without her slave on this occasion.
This was certainly getting interesting.  Here was another difference from the usual party: these folks came to play, and everyone was aware of that.  One thing about the bdsm group: they enjoyed all aspects of sex and weren't daunted by audiences that might cast aspersions on their approach to sex.  Nice change of pace, that.
So, there it was: the single girl knew she would f&ck Michelangelo some time that evening.  Not just suck his cock.  F&CK him.  And she was fairly certain he was aware of that inevitability, but he didn't just take it for granted.  He took an active role in seducing her.  Not in any way cocky, but, actually, it was as if he could sense she wanted to be finessed... and that was what he really enjoyed doing.  The gradual seduction scene, not just "hey, you wanna hit the sheets?"  Not that she was opposed to that scenario, but, given the date, and how long it had been since she'd had any action with a man, she wanted some specific things tonight.
She wanted to be kissed.
She wanted to be held from behind, with her neck nuzzled and her tits fondled.
She wanted to feel the strength of a man who was being extra-gentle.
And she wanted to feel cherished.
Somehow, Michelangelo knew that.  Because he did all of that, without her even once having to tell him what she wanted.
That must be the benefit of being there on a bdsm night, and finding the one dom with a submissive undertone.
How very fortunate!
She considered herself to be high-maintenance.  That did not mean she needed to be showered with gifts all the time.  No.  That meant, of course, that she wanted her needs to be met without her having to make an explicit request. Her body language would certainly help with that, so it wasn't really mind-reading so much as being versed in the art of body language.
And a bdsm fan would certainly be adept in that field.
And Michelangelo was.
It started with conversing by the pool table.  He had initiated the conversation, on a quest to find out how open-minded she might be.  He would be doing a wax treatment in the bedroom overlooking the pool table; would she be interested in seeing what that was about? He applied the wax using a four-inch paintbrush, so the technique was not a painful experience like the dripping of wax.  He even bought his paraffin from a mundane place: Sally's Beauty Supply.
Really?  So easily available and not painful or blister-raising? Yes, yes she would be interested in seeing that, and maybe experiencing it for herself.
And he smiled and went to make ready the wax.  And he let her know when he was going to start on DL, but she wasn't able to watch right then, as her turn had finally come to play pool.  Then she won, by default, when the single man she was playing scratched on the 8-ball.  So she had to play a second game, this time against the hostess.  And this time, she was more fortunate and lost in a fairly timely manner, which really wasn't difficult: she was distracted by her desire to watch the waxing, and her hostess was a good shot.
So the single girl went up to the hostess' bedroom, to view the naked form of DL, on her stomach, with the aromatic wax now being removed from all over her back and upper buttocks. DL seemed totally relaxed!
The single girl, when asked if she might want to partake, said "sure! It seems very relaxing and warm!"
And Michelangelo said, "After I'm done with your back, if you'd like, I'll do your front, too."
"Well, let's see how the back waxing goes first."  She removed her open-weave, blue mist sweater and chocolate bra and laid stomach-down on the massage table, adjusting her tits so they would be comfortable.
He started by making sure she was comfortable, smoothing her hair away from her upper back, keeping up a gentle patter of conversation.  Low-key, no stress approach.  Talk about life in the military, in education.  By this time, he had begun applying the warmed wax on her body, starting with the shoulder blades, working his way down to her waist, painting the eucalyptus-scented paraffin on with the brush.  One layer.  Two layers, Three layers.  By that final layer, she was totally relaxed, basking in the warmth spreading from her back into her body.  Divine!
Then he started massaging the warm wax and the skin beneath, rousing her gently, smoothly, allowing his voice to occupy her mind while his hands worked their magic.  Her eyes were closed, enjoying the experience totally.  Then, she felt a blade being drawn gently and slowly across her skin, through the layers of set wax.  And it felt good.  And she was not afraid at all.  In fact, she rather liked it, this sense of controlled danger.  Then the rectangles of wax were peeled from her skin, slowly, sensuously, with his breath following their passage across her warmed skin.  Shivers of delight, over and over, as the wax was peeled, then gently, ever so gently, he scraped any last bits of the wax.  Leaning over her, caressing her warm flesh with his gentle hands, lightly pressing his chest against her.
Total relaxation.  Total.
When asked, yes, yes, she did want to get her front waxed, too.  So he helped her turn over on the table.  And yes, she would like her belly included, as she unzipped her pants and lowered the top of her panties.  And he was glad to comply, painting her flesh with warmth.  Drawing her nipples up with the brush strokes, circling the areola and returning to the nipple, noticing her welcomed response to the extra attention.  Pulling the wax-laden brush down between her breasts, over the navel, following the hairline almost to the end of the line, then waving the brush over the lower belly, spreading warmth, spreading joy.  And repeating the process again.  And again.  Taking extra care that each breast, each nipple, each areola, would feel the healing heat and the fine handling of the brush.
Then he put away the brush and switched to his hands, leaning over her breasts as he massaged the wax, working it into a smooth mass over the skin, stroking the skin below the slippery, smooth surface.  Oh, yes, she enjoyed that very much, especially the teasing of the nipples, peaking the snowy white up on each mound!  And then he let her rest a moment, enjoying the warmth from her upper chest to her lower abdomen, floating in the sensation.  She closed her eyes as he slid the blade across her flesh, turning the smooth wax into rectangles, lifting the edges and removing the strips, ever so slowly.  No tug of hair, not a single follicle, just the warm wax slipping off her skin, from the center of her body and outward over the curve of her ribs, the curve of her belly, the curve of her breasts.  And, all the while, his warm breath tracing the path of the removed sections, his hands cupping the breasts, caressing the warmed flesh around her navel, firmly pressing against her.  Every so often, his actions would elicit a giggle from her, a response of her sensitive skin to the ticklish sensations, her arousal evident.
He gave her his hand and helped her sit up, but continued to caress her shoulders, her back, her arms.  And she responded in turn, slipping an arm under his left arm and onto his shoulder, drawing him close, rubbing his right nipple between her fingers, nibbling his neck, tracing her fingernails slowly across his back and ribs.  He did the same to her, nuzzling the sweet spot at the base of her throat, rubbing her groin through her panties, then concentrating on the unclothed flesh before him.  No rush, no frantic scrambling, just leisurely caresses between them both, gentle but firm kisses on the mouth, the neck, the shoulders, the chest.
He asked if he could pleasure her and she agreed, then he took her by the hand and led her to one of the private bedrooms.  Nice touch!  She grabbed her playbag on the way and he grabbed his.  She wondered what he might have in there, but felt comfortable with him.  They had discussed safe words earlier and so she knew he would let her decide.
They finished undressing, watching each other, then he swooped her into his arms and they resumed kissing and touching, lowering themselves onto the closest bed.  He nuzzled her neck, sucked her tits, and moved his lips down her belly, moving her legs apart and stroking her pussy, finding his way through the dark bush.  She moaned, even more so when his lips reached her clit - oh! Oh, yes!
Then he moved to his bag and pulled out - a strap-on dick.  He explained to her that after his prostate cancer, his penis wasn't quite up to performance level, but with this hollowed out tool, he could slip his penis into it, suction it into place, and then be able to feel every contraction and squeeze of her vagina.  In other words, exactly like his penis was part of the action, but not susceptible to failure in mid-stroke.
Wow, really?  She was a bit surprised, but also alarmed.  So she told him she had recently had surgery in that lower area and, even though she thought sufficient time had passed and all was healed, she still needed to be very careful and had brought her lube to help out.
So, he put the condom over his toy and she put lots of lube on the toy and on her labia, with him helping her spread it.  Yeah, yeah, that's nice... then he entered her, slowly, cautiously, waiting for any sign of pain.  Let's use a little more lube, just to be safe, she said, and so they did, making things nice and slippery and smooth... oh, yeah... oh, yeah... and she came, getting rocked along, sometimes faster, sometimes slower and deeper, voicing her pleasure! And he was so pleased to have been able to pleasure her, he was moaning, too.  And they kissed and played and, since he was still hard, they continued moving back and forth, bringing her more pleasure and him more pleasure, until, both sated, they pulled apart and he held her for a while.  Ahhhh... so nice to breathe in his smell!
Then they dressed, chatting and flirting a bit, then opened the door - to a crowd in the living room, right outside the door, drawn like moths to the flame of her passion.  She smilled and flirted and wondered aloud if it were her turn to play pool again, as she walked past the onlookers to retrieve her bra and top.  The beaver asked "Why not play pool topless? That would be distracting to the other player!" "Really, you think so?" "Oh, yes, I'm distracted and I'm not even playing yet."  "Well," she smiled, "I wouldn't want my girls to get chilled!"
And off she headed to the kitchen for nibbles, to the massage table to retrieve and don her top.  And as she's nibbling and visiting with some late-comers, Michelangelo pads up and says, "DL is going on the cross.  You want to watch?"  Sure, why not?  This might be the only time she would be at such a party, so she was going to experience whatever she could.  So, she went to the living room and sat by Gamma, which was actually helpful.  As one of the bdsm couples, he explained what was going on and the purpose of it all: to help the one on the cross achieve subspace and the ones doing the flagellating to attain topspace.  A wide variety of soft leather whips and paddles of different materials were employed by Michelangelo and P, while DL stood with her hands attached to the top part of the cross (which was actually an "X" mounted upright).  Michelangelo tried to encourage the single girl to participate with the whips on DL, but she abstained, preferring to see what she might learn from this experience.  After DL was done, she was released from the cross and they asked if anyone else was interested, but no one was so the toys were placed back into their cases.
The single girl said she was going to check out the dance floor and Michelangelo said he would, too.  Nice!  She kidded him about "dancing like a white boy,' but he laughed and said that was the only way he knew to dance.  So there they were, grooving to the music, the Beaver and Dallas watching and chatting her up.  And she didn't recall what song started playing, but she began putting some seriously flirty moves out there, rubbing her ultra-soft sweater against Michelangelo's bare chest, his arms, his back.  He started playing back at her, looping his arms around her, moving up behind her to nuzzle her neck and caress her tits and her arms... so very nice... and neither of them paying any attention to the folks watching... lost in the moment, in the music, in the touch...
And he's mumbling in her ear, "can I please pleasure you again?"  "Oh, yes, yes, you may."
And they returned to the same bedroom, the same bed, so he could bring her to new orgasms.
And, mind, neither of them had been drinking alcohol all evening.  Just vitamin waters and sodas, thank you.
No, thank YOU.
And now, when they left the room, they were no longer surprised to see listeners in the living room, ignoring the porn on television.  She had two of the guys trail her to the kitchen, then to the pool room, but she was obviously satisfied and pretty well done, in every sense of the phrase.
Play some pool?  Sure!  Would you take off your top and distract us?  Sure!
Then Michelangelo had a request: P wanted to be fisted.  Had she ever seen that?  Would she like to?
No, she had not seen it and it was to be a new experience.  The single girl knew the word, but had never been up close to the act, so now was the time, right?  Right.  So off she went to get educated, Michelangelo telling her how it worked and what he would be doing, and others trailing behind.  Michelangelo donned the glove and closed his fingers, to prevent any sharp edges, then lubed up and started inserting his hand into P's vagina.   Amazingly, and in fairly short order, his whole hand disappeared inside... and her vagina clamped down and he was simply along for the ride!  The single girl had thought fisters repeatedly moved their hand in and out.  Not at all, mostly because they cannot.  The suction of the hand into the vagina is so strong that the fister is held in place by the woman until she has climaxed and released the hand.  Incredible!
She was asked if she would like to fist P - no, thanks, she said, it might be too alarming if she felt trapped like that.  Then Michelangelo asked if she would like to be fisted?  No, that didn't sound any less scary to be on the other side of that trapped feeling.  But thanks for asking and for the education.
And, shortly after, she found herself with a large vibrating wand, using it to caress P's clitoral area while Michelangelo played with her labia and vagina.  The wand had been handed to her and she had thought, why not?  This evening had been about the education of the single girl, and this experience was another to learn.  She was gentlle with the wand, listening for vocal cues from P, moving the wand sometimes to the side, sometimes pointing down with firm pressure, sometimes aimed at the clit from below, pushing upward.  After P came, she complimented the single girl's "gentle touch".  "Thanks," was the reply, "that's just the way that pleases me."
And Michelangelo put away his toys and P left the room and the room door closed.  And Michelangelo told the single girl that he and DL were going to get some sleep and she was welcome to come and cuddle with them.
But she abstained.
Welcome as the thought was of being cuddled against his warm chest.
The time was 3 AM and she felt the need to call it a night and return to her own bed by the sea.
So he walked her to the door, as a gentleman, and gave her a long hug goodbye.  Then he padded back down the hall to the bedroom.
All in all, a very nice evening.
And a fitting way to survive the end of the world and to welcome a new year.