Chapter 7: Twin Bridges

We wanted to attend the annual convention of the Young Republican National Federation (YRNF). Lots of the attendees would just do internal politics.

Even if you live in the Washington, DC, area, when attending a convention, you just may want to stay in the convention hotel. There are late-night hospitality suites and just informal meetings. After a 12 hour day, the last thing you may want to do is wait to get your car out of valet parking, and then hunt for street parking near home.

Olivia and John, also were attending. While John is on the Republican staff of the Senate Intelligence Committee, that committee has a sufficient commitment to nonpartisanship that he stays in the background at political events. While she did her political consulting as an individual, she still was of counsel to a firm that did work for the Marriott Corporation, which was generous with suite upgrades even for a mid-range political event like the YR convention. They told us that they had gotten a suite upgrade, and we would be welcome to share with them.

The four of us met for dinner, about two weeks before. “Although the convention starts on Friday, we’re getting the suite from Wednesday on. At the least, we’ll get some vacation time out of it. What we would like to do is have you two, and some other playmates, for more adult play -- play that also explores some levels of compersion and polyamory. No strings, of course.” We enthusiastically agreed.

John added, “Lynda, we can arrange to have a piano in there. If for no other reason, that will have them make sure that the soundproofing is excellent. Another reason is that it will have a good-sized Jacuzzi, and other things that can make noise. Finally, I talked to a manager who said that they will try to arrange connecting rooms or suites if our crowd grows.”

Olivia told us, “One more thing. Arnold and John, in the next few days, we need you to call this research group associated with George Washington Medical Center and arrange for cardiac testing. It’s just a precaution, because we’ve arranged for you to have join a clinical trial of some drugs that promise to bring adult male endurance and repetitive orgasms to the level of a vigorous woman. Believe me, I’ve reviewed the literature. Arnold, I can get you the detailed descriptions if you would like to evaluate them.”

I did get the materials, was impressed, and agreed. John and I got dobutamine heart scans, echocardiograms, cardiac chemistry profiles, and expert listening by a cardiologist, passing with flying colors.

Preparing for the hotel

We didn’t get together physically before getting to the hotel. I don’t remember who suggested it, but we did do some phone sex, on speakerphone, with the couple at the other end.

On the first call, Olivia told us, “For me, and I think Lynda, these calls are open to anything you can think of. While I’m actually not very interested in being fucked by a goat, if somebody wants to talk about that, I’m more than happy to try to imagine my play.”

Lynda continued, “I agree. You know me well enough to know that I’m genuinely appalled by racism and risk a lot to end it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have fantasies of dealing with stereotypes. I can separate fantasies, realities, and political correctness.”

“As to that,” I added, “I really grew up without thinking about race -- my mother being a social worker who really made a point of that. Her closest colleague had beautiful purplish-black skin. Mom, I would learn after her death, not only was a single adoptive mother, but deeply in the closet. I can only say that if she was in a relationship with a couple of her friends, they would have been great second mommies.

“That doesn’t mean that I haven’t at least greatly admired some women that meet the physical description of being of another race. But for me, that’s saying like Olivia is blonde while Lynda has black hair. Incidentally, does it bother anyone else that brunette covers all shades from brown to black, unless someone differentiates? Why is it that when somebody writes about a fantasy group scene, they have three, not four, characters separated by hair color?”

With a giggle, Lynda calmed me down. “I never know when to call you obsessive-compulsive, a grammar Nazi, or simply a precise person. But cool it. We’re dealing with clichés. Deal with it.”

“Okay. I’d enjoy seeing the contrast of different skin among playmates -- even deep tans. Lynda does enough tanning to be fascinating against Olivia. John is even more of a bear than I am. I’ve actually considered removing my body hair, more for swimming and jacuzzi than sex.”

Warmup

Our women drove there first, with lots of luggage. They told us they wanted to set the scene.

Olivia answered the door for us. She obviously had been thinking of the intersex imagery in Cabaret, being dressed in what first seemed a man-tailored suit, complete to a top hat, which turned out to have a buttoned pencil skirt rather than trousers. Her makeup was theatrical, heavier than any in which I’d ever seen on her but fitting the look she was presenting.

As we came in, Lynda started to play the grand piano. I recognized the complex piece as the Warsaw Concerto from the movie, Suicide Squadron, one on the thought-provoking side. She was in one of her rather provocative eveningwear outfits that she used when playing at the strip clubs and a few other engagements: mostly sequined black, backless, with a plunging neckline, and a long slit skirt that showed her black-stockinged legs.

Olivia ushered us to a couch, got us drinks, and then sat between us, hips touching. She draped a leg across each of our laps. “Not that there’s anything wrong with men, but did my outfit cause you to think I was one?”

In an exaggerated cowboy drawl, John responded, “Not hardly, dear.”

When she finished the Concerto, Lynda held up a hand. Smiling, she inquired, “Do the outfits and poses come across as sufficiently provocative and inviting for you?

“Olivia and I have been scheming. John, you’re to come close to me, and Harold, you to Olivia. Remember, it may have been theoretical, but both couples did agree on open relationships. We can’t imagine a better start than with close friends. I shall be explicit for Olivia and me: we want to be touched everywhere by the other male partner.

“We know that both of you, at least in high school, tended not to believe that the hot women would want you. Well, you’re dealing with more discerning women. I suppose we could pick different music that came from your high school days and put on cheerleader outfits. Is that necessary?” Both of us emphatically shook our heads in the negative.

“But before husbandly touches, we have something to show you. Lynda and I will be moving a little slowly. As part of the display, you’ll note we both are wearing six-inch heels, in which we can barely walk, but help us look even more spectacular. While I’m stronger than Olivia, she’s a better dancer and with superior balance, so she’s coming to me.”

John and I looked at one another, realizing we were breathing hard. I spoke first. “There’s no question that I enjoy watching Lynda flirt and exhibit. I think I’d definitely like watching you touch her.”

Olivia slithered to Lynda and took her into her arms. They kissed, wetly and ostentatiously. Bold lipstick emphasized their darting tongues. Hands caressed thighs and slid under skirts.