Chapter 9: Sex Olympics

Tonight’s party was at Bob and Bobbi’s place. As we drove over, Debby loosened her long raincoat enough so that her legs showed through the opening. A lot of leg, too. She wouldn’t let me see what she was wearing before we left, but it sure couldn’t be much. No stockings, and no visible hemline. Was she naked? By the time we got there, I was rock hard again.

Matters didn’t change when we got there. Bob let us in, and then directed Debby down the hall, where she disappeared into a bedroom. She still had on the raincoat. Confused, I wandered into the living room. Grabbing a beer from the bar, I sat down and asked Jeff what was up.

“It’s Olympics night,” he responded gleefully.

“Huh?”

“Olympics night. Didn’t Debby tell you?”

“Nope.”

“Probably wanted to surprise you.”

I interrupted. “She surely did. What the hell is Olympics Night?”

Jeff grinned widely. “Several years ago, we had a party during the Olympics, and somebody bright made a joke about having the girls put on a competition. Any number of witty and not so witty suggestions were made, and the girls argued with us. Anyway, the bottom line was that the following month the girls put on Olympic Night for the guys.”

“No shit! Is there an Olympic Night where we have to do something, too?” I asked.

“Nah. We tried it once, and it bombed. But somehow this just keeps going, year in, year out,” Jeff said.

“So, what goes on?” I was really curious. Is this why Debby had been so secretive about her dressing? Must have been.

While Jeff and I were talking, the last couple, Dan and Cindy, had arrived. Cindy had been shuffled off to the bedroom, and Dan had dropped onto the couch next to me. He had overheard the tail end of the conversation, and responded, “Watch and see.” Calling out loudly, he yelled, “Let the games begin!”

Amazingly, a loud trumpet fanfare blared out over the stereo. Most of the guys weren’t expecting this, and they looked around, laughing. At this point, the six women marched down the hall and stood in a line across the living room. I hadn’t really noticed before, but all the armchairs and couches were in a line, so that we had two lines facing each other.

The women were all dressed similarly, if outrageously. First, they all wore what had to be the shortest skirts ever put out on the market. Skirts that barely, if at all, covered their asses and pussies. They also wore high heels, very high heels, much higher than they would normally wear. And it seemed as if they were wearing bras under their blouses and tops, which was unusual for these parties.

Bob, as host, was the emcee. Occasionally glancing at a script, he announced that the first competition was for shortest skirt. Ah, hah! Light was beginning to dawn. There was method to this madness, after all. Immediately Jerry and Jeff volunteered to judge and were provided with tape measures. Going to the lineup, they began measuring the length of the skirts, as well as how far they dropped below the crotch. Denise, in a skirt that could charitably be called a wide elastic belt, won.

I felt sorry for Debby. While she had dressed fairly exotically for the competition, she wasn’t as outlandish as the rest. I suspected that, although she knew what was going to happen, since she had never seen one of these events before, she didn’t know the level of competition to be faced. Her dress, marvelously short, was at least two inches longer than any of the others. Well, there’s always next year.

The second event was for highest heels. Jeff and Ted grabbed the tapes and dropped on their knees in front of the girls. But while Ted started measuring, Jeff, kneeling before Bobbi, straightened up and buried his head under her skirt. Bobbi gave a muffled whimper and wrapped her hands behind his head, while his hands were on her ass, pulling him in. The rest of the guys started laughing hysterically, and Jeff was disqualified as a judge. We also discussed disqualifying Bobbi, for jury tampering, but it was decided that Jeff’s disqualification was sufficient. Carol won handily, with a pair of six-and-a-half-inch stilts from her modeling days. Again, Debby, with four-inch heels, was not in the running.

The next competition, placed in the Olympics after the movie “When Harry Met Sally” came out, was for best fake orgasm. Simultaneously, the six began panting, moaning, groaning, crying, screaming, begging, and so forth. This was one of the funniest points of the night. All were judged equally winners.

I was curious what was next when the women all began to undress. Still standing in line, off came tops and skirts. I had been correct earlier. They were wearing bras. And despite Jeff’s earlier antics, they also wore panties. To be specific, they were all wearing bikini swimsuits. And what swimsuits! The only rule the girls seemed to follow was that nipples and clits had to be covered, because that was about all that was. Once they had taken off their clothes, they all had to tuck tits and cunts back where they were supposed to be, because each of them had jiggled out of place. It was delightful. Thankfully, Debby wore a suit that equaled the others, one that she never wore swimming, because whenever she modeled it beforehand, I would immediately strip it off her and fuck her on the spot. Her suit had a string top and a thong bottom that tied on the sides. In fact, the bottom was so small, she had to shave her pussy before she could wear it. I had taken care of that for her earlier, just a couple of nights ago. Now I knew why she had asked! Not that I minded, of course, since whenever I do shave her cunt, it always leads to a night of great cunt and cock eating.