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Okay, this next chapter picks up a few months later, at the end of Spring Semester and commencement for Angel; but before we launch into it, I wanted to make one more comment about the preceding chapter. You all know from my other writings that there is usually a lot more narrative around the sex than you saw in that chapter. I pretty much dove straight into the fucking in that one, but that’s how it really happened, and I wanted to preserve that spontaneity.
This chapter is more typical of my storytelling style because I feel that it’s important for you to know the context of these things. Otherwise you’re just getting snapshots of a fairly complicated journey, and you miss all the miles that make the journey worthwhile. Just so you know…
*****
Angel was graduating with a dual degree in finance and business, plus a minor in Portuguese and several honors. How awesome for our girl, yes? Yes… except that I still had about a year and a half to go to finish my BS in mechanical engineering, and Angel was moving away to do an MBA and an internship on full scholarship from some “women in business” endowment that she researched. It was only two hours drive to where she was going, and I planned on staying in the house and finding a roommate while I finished school, but… she was moving on, and I was not. In my overdramatic 20-year-old brain, it was the beginning of the end.
We were planning a big blowout graduation party with all the dinner party regulars to celebrate Angel’s achievement and to give her a big send off (though she wouldn’t actually be moving out for another week). There were a couple of other people in the normal crowd who were moving on as well, so it would be bittersweet regardless, but I was having a really hard time letting go of the sense of being left behind and a developing anger over it.
It’s not that I didn’t want Angel to go; it’s that I didn’t want to stay behind without her. I was having to confront the bald fact that I was comfortable in her orbit, and without her I would be loose in the world without that directing force that my big sister provided just by existing. It made me sad and afraid, and when I get that way, I get angry in response. It’s a survival skill held over from the issues I had when I was a teen.
I knew Angel was feeling something too, but with the stress of finals and preparation for her move, we just hadn’t had time to bleed it out with each other. So while Angel was getting things all squared away for graduation, diploma framing, honor’s society stuff, and her parents arriving the following afternoon, I was shopping for party supplies to distract myself with something useful.
Food was easy, as were plates, cups, and a few decorations. There would be alcohol, but I wasn’t old enough to legally buy it, nor was I interested in it. Anything known to be a depressant doesn’t go in my body, thank you. Angel could take care of that later. The only thing left on my list was a special thing I that wanted since most of the girls who would be there (myself and Angel included) loved to dance. I wanted a strobe light.
Radio Shack didn’t have one. Wal-Mart didn’t have one. That left one place I knew they did, but it was kind of out of the way: the NiQT Den. You remember that place, don’t you?
Over the year plus since Angel and I had first visited the place, we had been back numerous times. It’s not that we were “regulars” by any definition, but we had repeatedly bought water-based lube there and a replacement for my G-spot massager once after I accidentally stepped on it and a replacement for Little Vibe once after Angel accidentally lost the battery cap, etc. All that meant that we had become comfortable with the place, and that Kim (who more often than not seemed to be working the counter) knew us by face and name.
“What’s up luscious?” I greeted her as I walked through the door.
“Hey hot stuff. Where’s the other half of the big boob parade?”
“Busy at school. Do I remember correctly that you have strobe lights?” I said, getting right to business.
“Yup, at the back counter under the poster bin. There are black lights and multi-colored spinner lights there as well. Stay away from the spinner lights, though. They’re cheap crap and break really easily.”
“Just interested in a strobe light for a party.”
“What’s the occasion?” she asked and followed me back to pick one out.
“Angel is graduating and we’re throwing a small bash tomorrow night to celebrate.”
“No kidding? Will she be leaving town?”
“Not immediately, but yeah.”
“Pity, I’ll miss seeing them bounce every time she comes in. Tell her I said ‘congratulations’, please.”
“I will… Hey, do you want to come?”
“Depends. Will there be a chance to get into trouble?” Kim grinned in that particular lascivious way that she uses to sell product in the store.
“Most likely,” I replied, ignoring my intuitive feeling that this might be a very bad idea.
“Sure, I’ll be casino siteleri there.”
“The rest of the folks there will be college folks, so I don’t think you’ll know anybody but Angel and me.”
“Not a problem for me, unless you think people will ask the normal, ‘So how do you know Elain and Angel?’ question,” she reasoned out.
Kim was a smart girl. Just because she sold rubber cocks and porn videos for a living, didn’t mean anything about her level of intelligence or common sense. She had already figured that it might not be appropriate to introduce her as “Kim, our sex toy friend.”
“I could introduce you as my new girlfriend,” I volunteered.
“Might work,” Kim giggled. “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t mind.”
“Show’s what I know,” I mused. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“I don’t wear my rings in the shop,” she explained. “My hands take a lot of abuse moving stock, operating the register, opening boxes, etc. I don’t want to take the chance of damaging my nice jewelry.
“But anyway, I’m sure my husband wouldn’t mind if I came to the party as long as I don’t drink and drive. He works this weekend anyway, so I won’t have anything to do otherwise. I could be your girlfriend for one evening.”
*****
I caught up with Angel later that day and told her that I had invited Kim, which was fine by her. There would just be nine girls and Rodney at the party. Rodney was one my friends in the ME program, a brilliant designer, solid with his analysis skills, imminently reliable, and flamboyantly gay. Rodney may have worn designer shoes and snakeskin print shirts, but he also played intramural rugby and had wrestled at the state level when he was in high school. There are too many jokes there – all of them in poor taste – but the point is that nobody messed with Rodney. I could think of no better chaperone for a group of party girls. He was coming as designated driver for a few of the girls and as a solid presence of sobriety to assist me in case anyone got out of hand.
Graduation ceremonies went fine. Angel’s parents, two of her aunts, and my parents (who came to show their support for her too) took us out to dinner afterward and we heaped presents on her. She deserved it all, graduating near the top of her class with multiple degrees and extra honors. I couldn’t have been prouder.
The party was due to start later that night after family went back to their hotels or back toward home (in my parents’ case), so Angel and I got the food ready and changed into less formal clothes.
Antici. … … …pation. It’s a killer isn’t it? You, the reader, are slogging through all this thinking, where is this going to go? Bunch of girls get drunk and end up in a sweaty pile? Rodney surprises us all by turning straight, and we gangbang him? Kim’s husband shows up, and we gangbang him? Nothing as dramatic as any of that happened, but not too far off in some degrees.
Kim did prove to be the wild card. She brought a huge bottle of tequila (vile stuff, don’t go near it if you value your virginity) and provided enough artful peer pressure to get the girls a lot more drunk than they intended to get. Angel refrained from the tequila, but had her share of wine, and Kim ended up completely smashed and slept at our house that night after slurring a message onto her home answering machine for her husband to get later. Rodney and I remained resolutely sober the entire time and kept everyone safe.
Boring right? Hardly. The reason I laid all that out for you was to lay the bulk of the culpability for what happened on my shoulders. I was completely lucid and did nothing to stop it.
*****
There are a number of websites now that advertise “drunken college sex parties”. With very few exceptions that I’ve seen, they’re all drunken college parties, and somebody with a camera brings some people in to have sex. Not exactly as advertised you might say, but it tends to support my belief that unless a group of people has gathered specifically for sex, it’s not going to happen just because they get drunk. That’s why we didn’t end up with a pile of sweaty girls or a gangbang on Rodney. On the other hand, I did discover that tequila has the interesting side effect of making people want to take off their clothes if they’re given even the slightest motivation. That, in my direct experience, is actually true.
We were all in our early twenties except Kim. Allison was twenty (like me at the time) and the youngest of the nine girls and Kim was twenty-six and four years older than Angel. We were all in good shape and liked to dance, so almost immediately the music was going, and we were dancing in the strobe light. Rodney, being a good sport, danced with everybody. Kim was immediately accepted at face value as my “new girlfriend” and because of that it was not a surprise to them that she was a little foul mouthed at times.
The party was fun. All of us mingled, ate, and danced for hours. There were multiple card games and party canlı casino games going on. Once the booze really got flowing, the girls got even more loosened up and in the heat of the music and dancing, it suddenly seemed not only reasonable but intelligent that Kim had taken off her shirt and was dancing in her bra. Kim was small chested, so it wasn’t like she was in danger of bouncing out of it or anything. Camille, another small chested girl, followed suit about two minutes later, and they started dancing with each other. The girl version of hoots and catcalls surrounded them, and then three more girls (Megan, Marlena, and Cheryl) took off their shirts. It’s amazing how quickly it happened. The four of us left fully clothed (not counting Rodney) were the more top-heavy girls, with Angel, Nicci, and me in the very large category and Allison somewhat smaller but definitely full chested.
The CD on the stereo ended right then and everyone laughed and blinked at each other in the sudden quiet. Kim walked over to the table, poured another shot of tequila, knocked it back, and picked up her shirt from the back of a chair. She used it to blot sweat from her face and chest before grinning dazedly.
“Whoooooo! Hot stuff bitches. Y’all look sooo fine.”
Everyone laughed and dispersed to sit, eat, drink, and rest for a few minutes; meanwhile, Angel put something mellower on the CD player. Nobody got any more dressed though.
“I didn’t know I’d be getting a free show,” Rodney said quietly as he passed Angel on the way to the chips and sandwiches. “I expect this to escalate. You okay with that or do you want to steer this somewhere else?”
“It’s not hurting anything,” Angel said after a moment’s consideration through the slight veil of wine. “You two just make sure that nobody gets pressured into anything.”
“You got it, baby girl,” replied Rodney and solicited a nod from me.
Almost as if on cue, Camille blurted hoarsely from the couch while waving an empty shot glass, “Nicci! Show ’em!”
“Show what?”
“Your boobs!” Camille answered, and then addressed the room at large. “She has the most awesomest boobs ever.”
“Why would I show them?” from Nicci.
“Cuz’m drunk and hot and feel like showing off,” Camille justified to her roommate in perfect tequila logic.
“Then show your own boobs, you wacky bitch!” Nicci replied, and everyone laughed.
“Yours are bigger’n mine. C’mon, you walk around topless all the time in our room.”
“This isn’t our room,” Nicci answered and looked to Angel and me.
“Up to you,” I said. “I don’t think anybody here would be offended.”
“It’s your house,” said Nicci.
“They’re your tits,” said Angel, and everyone laughed again.
It wasn’t nervous or tense laughter either. I think everyone was too loose to take anything seriously. That, I have seen, is the danger.
“C’mon Nicci. We’re all sittin’ around in bras and stuff, and you’re still wearin’ a shirt,” pressed Camille.
“Fine,” said Nicci to Camille and rolled her eyes. “Pour me a shot of courage, and we’ll both do it.”
The girls all “whoo-hooed” at this in affirmation.
“You don’t have to,” Rodney said quietly to Nicci, but her mind was made up.
“You saying you don’t want to see them?” Nicci asked him while her shot was being prepared.
“I’m saying that I don’t want you to do anything you’ll later wish you hadn’t.”
“That’s sweet, Rodney,” she said, accepted the shot, knocked it back, and continued after a wince and swallow, “but they are awesome boobs.”
Nicci put down the shot glass and grasped the bottom of her tank top. She pulled it up to the bottom of her bra and got her fingers under the edge of that as well.
“All right, Camille. Spill ’em,” she said and lifted everything off over her head.
Nicci’s big tits bounced into view and everyone cheered. Then Camille snapped off her bra making everyone cheer again, and Kim yodeled the obvious, “Whooooooooo naked tits!”
“Damn Nicci!” Allison said uncharacteristically. “You do have really nice boobs.”
Allison was “the shy girl” in the group and blushed hotly when Nicci gave a jiggle in her direction and said, “Damn right, sister. Let’s see yours now.”
Let me digress for a moment and describe the girls. Camille, Marlena, Cheryl, and Kim all had about the same small sized breasts, a little smaller than the proverbial handful. They could all also be described as “your average white girl”, except Marlena who was half Filipina. Her skin looked kind of like Angel’s except more yellowish. Kim was the only blonde. Megan was the smallest girl overall. She was just a petite person and even though she was definitely girl-shaped and had breasts, they were wide and flat by comparison. Allison was a redhead like me, taller than me but shorter than Angel and had what I would guess to be solid C-cup tits. I was a DD at the time and Angel was an E cup. Nicci, the only African American girl in the kaçak casino crowd, had what I would guess were a full D cup set. They were a gorgeous even brown color with dark nipples, and though measurably smaller, they were shaped exactly like mine — big, high, and round.
Why did I know all this at a glance and still remember it in detail years later? Because girls do appraise each other’s breasts. We just don’t judge sexuality on it. How a girl “wears” her breasts can tell you a lot about her. Does she hide them? Does she show them off? Is she even conscious of them and how they appear? Does she “lead” with them? Is she comfortable with them? You can tell a lot about how a girl feels about herself by how she presents her breasts. Women’s mysteries, that’s all it is.
Nicci was comfortable with her tits. She knew they looked good, and she knew they were impressive. Camille, whose small tits were kind of conical and had bright raspberry colored nipples, was also very comfortable with her body. You could tell they spent a lot of time topless back in their dorm room. They felt relaxed and at home where they were, so they felt safe baring themselves even in a room full of girls that were at best casual friends.
“Uh uh,” said Allison, shaking her head.
“C’mon Allison, do it, do it,” said Camille, enjoying the new target.
“I don’t want to,” Allison said simply and somewhat plaintively.
“Lay off Alli now,” I said. “Besides, if anyone should be shouting for bare tits, it should be me. I’m the one who’s bi.”
“And meeee!” slurred Kim, who was probably the furthest gone into the alcohol of any of them. “I wanna see everybody’s tits!”
“Yeah!” drawled Camille and tweaked her nipples to make them stiffen. “Whadya think of mine? They’re niiiice, yeah, but not big like Nicci’s.”
“I think they’re beautiful,” said Allison, “but that doesn’t mean I’m flashing mine.”
“S’all right,” said Marlena out of the blue. “Here are Cheryl’s.”
And Marlena quickly popped the front clasp on Cheryl’s bra, causing it to fly open and expose her breasts to the room. It took a good three or four seconds for it to register with Cheryl that she was on display and an actual surprised glance down at herself to confirm it before she collapsed against Marlena in a fit of giggles.
“Here’s mine!” sang Kim and snapped off her bra. “I think mine are pretty too.”
They were very nice, I’ll admit that freely, and I was starting to get heated up by all the breast flesh on display. Camille protested that her tits were nicer, and Cheryl started to try to wrestle Marlena’s bra off her in retaliation. The atmosphere in the room took on a tense edge.
“Clothes are flying off left and right. Y’all are all going to end up bumping fuzzy parts if this goes much farther,” Rodney interjected from his chair at the table. “If anybody wants to make an exit, I can start chauffeuring folks home.”
That calmed things down a little until Nicci came up behind him and set her tits on top of his head. I had never seen Rodney blush so much in all the time I had known him. It did really break the tension though.
“Sorry, baby girl. If boobs like those won’t turn me straight, there’s nothing that will,” Rodney said. “Seriously though, it’s getting late. If anybody is ready to go, I’m the driver. Otherwise, y’all go ahead and get as naked as you want.”
Megan, Marlena, Cheryl, and Allison decided that they would say their goodbyes, so they gave hugs around (bare tits and all), collected themselves, and Rodney took off with them. Nicci, Camille, and Kim stayed. Nicci had stopped after her last shot (her only that evening) and was waiting an hour for sobering before driving home with Camille. Once that was arranged, Camille and Kim decided to polish off the rest of the tequila under strict orders from Angel that nobody was to throw up on the floor.
“You want me to put my shirt back on?” Nicci asked.
“Not on my account,” I said and Angel shrugged.
“Camille is right, we do go topless a lot back in the dorm. If you’re not bothered, I’ll just stay like this.”
“We’re the same,” I volunteered. “With all this privacy, we sometimes don’t get dressed at all on weekends.”
“I figured you were comfortable with it. Camille barely wears clothes in the room, so I got over my modestly really quick during our freshman year, especially since she had the top bunk.”
“How’s that?”
“Imagine waking up in the morning to see her bare business hanging at eye level as she gets out of bed to turn off the alarm clock!”
“Bare biznesssss!” Camille giggled from the couch next to Kim.
“That would be an ice-breaker, wouldn’t it?” Angle snorted. “We both sleep naked, so we got over it quickly too. After a while, it was just normal to be naked at home.”
“Yeah, it’s not like anybody has anything that we haven’t seen before, and between us, it’s not like we have anything to be ashamed of.”
“True,” Angel and I agreed, giggling.
“You’d think Allison would have more self confidence,” Nicci mused. “Still, life’s not a contest to see who’s biggest. The guys love Camille exactly the way she is.”
“Damn straight!” from the peanut gallery on the couch.
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