Chapter 8

The party was going to be at Mom and Dad's. I fell into the preparations for it with quite a degree of comfort, and anticipation. You can't help but think about it. I was going to get laid. Just thinking about that made me wet.

I've asked guys what they think about during the day of a party, and the answers don't make sense. Some guys actually get hard, others have told me they picture a room full of naked women, and others sort of relive, in anticipation, the joy of coming. Three different answers from three different men. Sometimes guys are so confusing.

I don't picture doing specific things with different people. Oh, I wanted to take my tongue to Dale Robertson, but I wasn't thinking of probing between her legs so much as how soft her boobs were and how I could kiss them without having that sneaking feeling in the back of my mind that she was one of my teachers. I did anticipate the feel of naked skin, and sort of what it would feel like as skin slid against skin, but a woman has more sensitive skin than a man.

No, the thought that ricocheted around and around was that I was going to get laid, and that it'd been six months since the last time that happy thing had occurred. Six months, and I could hardly wait.

There are a lot of practical details to a party. Mom and I put out the rubber mats that kept most stray fluids off of the carpet, and then laid a couple of layers of blankets over them. Pillows, always a must; they were scattered around at "strategic" places. Mom had a spray that she put on all of the furniture that would help us wipe up any other stray bodily fluids. Come is actually easier than a woman's lubricating fluid, you can wait until it dries and then brush most of it out, but it's easier if you can wipe it up. Last but not least, bowls with condoms. You also have to put out some empty bowls (plastic is the cheapest) for the used ones. Other hosts would use plastic bags so they could go right in the trash. Everyone has a different idea.

When I'd been a little girl I'd just accepted that we had lots of towels. We put those next to the shower downstairs; Mom actually had enough blankets and towels for two nights of partying, and this weekend she planned on using most of them.

Finally, when that was all done, out came the jellies and creams. A girl can get dry over the course of a party despite the regular injections of come; that stuff helps, but it isn't the best solution when you need some slickness down there. KY Jelly is designed to work down there, but a clear petroleum jelly is nearly as good. Using a flavored one—they make them—is sort of gilding the dandelion, kind of unique, but you really don't need them.

One thing I'd forgotten: we made a trip to a store and got what you need for douches. Every woman brought her own, with her name on it, but you need the fluid that goes in it. It does get messy in there, and while most women don't mind some messiness—good sex is messy—there's nothing like that clean feeling you get after a good cleansing. Women who party can (and often are) a lot more practical than those who don't. Of course hygiene can be a turn-on, too. I had a guy help me clean up one time. We ended up getting that part of me all messy again, so maybe it was in vain, but we both liked it. Of course all men like messing around with that part of a woman. Come to think of it, most women like a guy fooling around down there, too. I guess it all works out.

This was all before the first guests showed up. The preparations took a good part of the afternoon, and from the way Mom was acting, the anticipation was getting to her. We were doing all of this work for a reason, and you couldn't help but think of the reason. In just a few short hours I was going to be in some man's arms, and I was getting really pumped at the thought.

The difference between the teen party and the adult one, aside from the age and endurance of the guys, was in what people wore. At the teen party you wore your regular clothes and got the guys to help you undress. As the guys helped take off what they'd seen you wearing in school they always reacted. You didn't just whip the clothes off and get on with it, you sort of played a bit, showing, exploring, and so on. The clothes didn't take that long to get off, usually only a couple of minutes, but guys really liked being able to do what they're not allowed to do in school. Normally I'd worn jeans, but one time I wore a skirt and blouse combination, and I had faces under my hem and hands all over my top. He'd gotten really hard, and it was just the polite thing to do to help him relieve the strain.

The adult party featured the clothes you saw in the "love boutiques" that you see in the strip malls. As a teenager I felt a little uncomfortable going in there because you don't shop there for casual clothes. For one thing, the brassieres are designed to show, not cover, and they aren't all that comfortable to wear for any extended period of time. That was all right, the average woman buying a bra there really had no intention of wearing it for very long. The same with a lot of other things, though they had better stockings than you could find in the mall.

Fortunately for me the company sold a lot of the things you could find in a boutique, and I could get them with an employee discount. I had done some thinking, and bought a few things that didn't fit the TV persona I played, but I was a long way from that or prying cameras. I had a sheer top that came halfway down my thighs (it opened in front). I wore a red halter (not a brassiere, there's a difference), just like I'd worn in that TV shot. I checked myself out in my room: gosh darn it, I seemed to have forgotten any panties. Oh well, I'd just have to suffer through the problem of not wearing them.

Now one of the things we'd learned, Mom and I greeted people at the door while dressed in street clothes. You never knew when the watchful eye of the Law, or Child Welfare Service, or even the paparazzi were lurking with telephoto lenses. Everything had to appear normal to the outside world. We didn't have any worry about the back. You couldn't see into our Rec Room without climbing a steep embankment filled with the only thing that kudzu couldn't compete with, wild blackberry vines, scaling a fence (overlapping wood so there were no inconvenient cracks) and then approaching the house with motion detector lights. Still, now that I had a part on TV, it was something to keep in mind. Some idiot just might try it.

What would everyone have seen from the front of the house? People arriving carrying dishes of food. We'd greet them with hugs, and then they'd come inside. People knew Mom and Dad hosted parties, and they'd even made a point of inviting some of the neighbors. They spread the word through all of the gossip channels that we'd put a movie on the projection TV, had a cocktail hour and buffet, and that was it. It was a very tame party compared to what really happened.

You don't give the snoops any opening. That meant nobody changed into their party clothes until they were out of any possible sight of the outside world. This usually wasn't the case with other parties, but since I'd started appearing on TV Mom had insisted, and it only took a few pictures from the tabloids to convince everyone of the necessity. Some starlet had lounged in her bikini (everything was covered) in her backyard, and some jerk with a telephoto lens had gotten some pictures. They'd been splashed across the inner pages of one of the tabloids. The point was taken. The most they got of me was a grainy picture of me in shorts and a tank. That was one of the reasons of living where I did now: security was a lot tighter, but we still didn't flash skin. You never knew.

You know who's going to be at the party, and so when the last couple (and their two sons and one daughter because they were old enough) had arrived, Mom and I went off to change. Our guess had been doing that, so we were a little behind. Mom wore a black lace corset and stockings that left her boobs free and the tiniest string thong I'd ever seen. I was in my outfit, and together we walked into a veritable sea of partially (or mostly) revealed flesh.

We started eating and flirting a little, and things quickly got out of hand, just as they were supposed to. I got a lot of comments about my halter, even after I took it off. I had to explain that I wasn't really naked in that shot, though I was from the bikini line up. That produced some exploring hands, erect cocks, stiff nipples, and things proceeded from there.