Chapter 1

I always liked partying at Sarah's because she provided hangers. I'd left the sorority wearing a freshly pressed dress, and I would get all sorts of comments if it got wrinkled beyond what you would expect from just sitting in a car. Sarah had hangers for the girls—guys don't care as much about their clothes—and a little bag for shoes and underthings. With all of that out of the way, my date and I joined everyone else.

A proper party has a food table that everyone contributs to. This is important. You can work up quite an appetite, and a little restorative food can help tide you over. It was either that, or eating like it was going out of style when I got back to the sorority, and that would raise too many questions.

My date's name was Wesley and so far he was working out. They tell you to never date anyone you meet at a swinger's party, but where else was I to meet guys who were interested in the same things I was? Wesley was good-looking enough that my sorority sisters thought he was cute.

It's a good thing guys don't hear the comments girls make about them. The general rule of thumb was you dated a guy because he was cute, he was interesting, he was going to be rich, or he had a tremendous dick. Wesley had two of those attributes: he had a good-sized dick, and he was cute. I only admitted to the second one; we were supposed to be virginal, though the person who thinks any girl who reaches her twenties without some sexual experience is living in a fool's paradise. It's just that I had a lot more sexual experience than the average girl, both average-wise, and in terms of sheer numbers. Swinging will give that to you.

So after eating, Wesley and I circulated. We soon hit it off with a couple, and retired to the mattresses in the middle of the floor to get to know each other better. He was fun and a little adventurous, and we had a really good time together. He liked to cuddle, too, which sometimes is the best part of sex ... okay, the second best part. You can decide for yourself what the best part is.

After a rest—I was still charged up, but Wesley needed a few minutes, we began circulating again. Overall we partied with three couples by the time the night was over. Wesley was absolutely whipped.

That's one of the big differences I've noticed between high school and college. Guys are more interested, but after 18 or 19 they begin to lose a little stamina. It makes me glad I'm a girl. I'd hate it if I could only come two or three times in one night. And multiple orgasms ... There were times I really enjoyed being a girl, and when the third guy helped me up into one, I was in Seventh Heaven.

Any climax is wonderful, but when it rolls on and on and on, and the highs keep happening, it's beyond words. You feel an especial tenderness toward the guy who helped you get there.

"I'm Amber," I told him when my breathing had returned to normal. He was lying on top of me, and my skin felt electric. I was touching him everywhere, and that was almost exciting enough to start me in again.

"Frank."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he burst out laughing. "Do we shake hands or something?"

"I don't believe Miss Manners has ever ruled on the situation." I felt his dick slide out of me. "However she probably wouldn't like what just happened."

"She isn't the only one. I'd have preferred it stay there."

"Me too." I sighed. "It's not to be, though. I can feel your come sliding down my bottom."

"There should be plenty there, I don't think I've come that hard in some time."

"If you can stand, would you join me in cleaning up?"

He laughed again. "Sure. The tricky part might be standing up. Right now your legs are wrapped around mine, and..."

I got the hint and we slowly untangled. He did have trouble standing—you're welcome!—but eventually we got to our feet. There wasn't a line at the bathroom, that was a surprise, and he joined me in the shower.

Now we'd just had sex, so I wasn't unfamiliar with his body. But there's something dead-sexy about running your hands over a guy's body. It's hard in all sorts of interesting places, and while he didn't get it up again, not that I think he could have done much with it if he had, we got to make sure we were both clean.

Most girls wisely don't let guys clean between their legs. Soap can be an irritant, and there are some places you should not itch, that being one of them. But Frank made sure his hands were soap free before he went down there. He helped give me a finger-douche, enough to get most of the remains of his passion out of me. He also made sure my boobs were sparkling clean, and even helped me with my hair.

I'm a natural redhead, and my hair has a distressing habit of sticking together at the slightest drop of come. That's all too common an occurrence at a swinger's party, and brushing it doesn't help, it doesn't get rid of the smell, and house mothers and sorority sisters have incredibly keen noses.

I cleaned his "equipment", but I really like washing a guy's chest and shoulders. Sure, his dick was an important muscle, one I liked having in me fairly often, but a girl gets turned on by the chest and shoulders, or at least I do. It's so different than my chest with its two bags of fat and glands, and a girl picks up on that. Guys can remove their shirts in public, and girls like that; I just got to touch and run my hands over these chests, something a lot of girls can only do in their fantasies.

After we dried off he made me sit between his legs while he brushed out my hair. In high school it had been shoulder length, but after four years of junior college and regular college it was halfway down my back. I liked the longer look, and let my hair hang free as often as possible, restrained only by a band, unless I pulled it back in a pony tail.

I only reluctantly got dressed. Part of the whole swinger experience is the handing out while nude. When I was 15 I was uneasy about this because, well, you're not supposed to look. But now I could openly admire guys, and girls, and nobody minded. It was an "unlooked" for benefit of these parties.

One of the sad truths in any place where people can be naked in a social setting is that not everyone is good-looking with a gorgeous body. We girls are very good at hiding the little pooches of our tummies, or how our waists are just a hair thicker than we would like. And don't even get us started on our thighs! No woman is really happy with her body. You always want different-sized boobs, or a tinier waist, or even a curvier butt. Guys especially don't understand why a girl would want smaller boobs, but if they couldn't walk around without a bra they'd understand. When I was 12 I didn't need a bra, and could run like I had when I was 10. By about halfway through my fourteenth year I most definitely needed the support. By the time I was 16 I was probably the biggest girl in my P.E. Class, but when I got to college I saw that there were others larger than me. Some bought their size, but most had done what I'd done: grown them on our own.

Guys liked bigger boobs, and didn't understand why I felt sympathy for the girl in my morning dance class who needed a bra that came in DD size. The poor girl's back would kill her until she found a bra that fit. At least I could buy mine with only a little fiddling and trying on in the store. Girls who were larger usually needed special orders.

After Frank and I got cleaned up and dressed I went looking for my date. He and Frank's wife wee still going at it. I watched for a couple of minutes. I still could feel the stirrings of arousal, but they were pretty muted. And then Wesley came, and things slowed to a stop.

It took a while for them to clean up, but finally Wesley and Frank's wife joined us at the buffet table. Everyone was tired, and we sat there sipping our preferred drinks—at a swinger party they're almost all non-alcoholic because the idea is to not blunt the sensation—and watching the last few people still partying.

There's something almost hypnotic about the regular rise and fall of naked butts, the bounce of naked boobs, and the swinging of someone's hair. These were punctuated by moans, groans, and the occasional half-muted shriek. It's one of those peculiar things that the closer a girl gets to her peak, the higher pitch her voice gets. We could hear that all over the room; swinging girls who can't come from straight sex are almost impossible to find. Guys might respond with a deep groan, a roar, or the ever-popular "uh-uh-uh" as their own moment took them over the top.

There are a lot of things common to a swinger's party, and giggling is one of them. You get much happier with sex, and if you throw in a climax or two, well, your joy is almost unmatched. Add in a couple more climaxes, and, well, you get the picture. Every girl in the place was in a good mood.

"First class party," Wesley said as we took our leave. Sarah had put on a robe, but it gaped open in some interesting places, not that a woman's body did much for me, but her skin felt warm as we hugged. I was more interested in hugging Sarah's boyfriend, Tony. His skin was just as warm, but he was firm where Sarah was soft.

"Glad you came," Sarah said with a mischievous smile. She was a slender brunette in her thirties and taught at LSU.

I smiled in response. It was a joke in the local swinging community. We all enjoyed the sex, but we also enjoyed the 'coming'. You could certainly have the former without the latter, but something like 99% of the women involved in social sex climaxed from straight sex (the average among women was 38%) we were always "glad we came".

"I'm sure you'll see us at the next party," I added.

"I had a good time," I told Wesley when he escorted me up the walk at the sorority house. He already knew that; it was said for the eavesdropping House Mother.

"How about Saturday night?" he asked. That was another party night, one where there wasn't a house imposed curfew.

"How about 6:30? We could get a bite to eat beforehand."

"Sounds like a plan."

There was a sheltered nook next to the front door that gave us the illusion of privacy, at least from the street, and we shared a kiss. Then, with the forms properly met, I headed in.

I'd never expected to pledge a sorority. Wasn't that for the socially connected or something? But Mom and Krystal were both adamant. Krys was a law student—yes, my dumb sister was in Law School!!!--and she'd valued it for the contacts it brought. Mom had pressured me to pledge.