“Fantasy fest is fun,” Chloe said.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s in Key West, Florida. Thousands of people show up and parade through the streets and party all night. It’s illegal to be nude in public, but even a string of beads counts as clothes. Lots of strange people. Homosexuals, bisexuals, straights, old, young, etc. Go with me. You need a break.”

“Plus, I have a hotel room,” Chloe added. “It’s not easy to find one during Fantasy Fest. It’ll be expensive but not if we share a room. We can split the costs.”

I couldn’t help thinking that the invite from Chloe was more about money than friendship. But I needed a break. I was exhausted after a long period of travel and work -- mostly in Afghanistan, post 9/11. “Why not? I’ll go,” I said.

Chloe and I had been flat mates in New York City for several months, but we weren’t friends. Chloe had a quick temper and took offense if something was not to her liking. I tolerated that because I was traveling more than one-half of the time, owned little more than could be stuffed into a couple of suitcases, and my share of the rent was affordable.

I was 42 and divorced from my husband. Following in my footsteps, my daughter was employed in a refugee camp in Thailand. My son was still in college in Kansas. I was a veteran of work in refugee camps, and had now been contracted by the United Nations in New York. My job was to visit the sites of humanitarian emergencies around the world and recommend action to keep people from starving or being killed by rebels or governments. It was an emotional and dangerous job. I loved it.

Chloe was 32, blond and pretty, top-heavy in an attractive way, She worked as the manager of a restaurant. She was a serial monogamist, meeting a man, falling madly in love and devoting herself to him for a few weeks or months, and then moving on to the next man. On my stays in our apartment a man was often present – and sometimes when I came back after a month’s absence a different man.

I took sex as I found it with partners from all over the globe. For my age, I looked pretty good. I was slender, my light-brown hair had only a touch of gray, and my little boobs still stood up like I was 18 years old. I wasn’t beautiful, but I was proud of my ability to attract desirable men. They seemed to sense that I was good in bed. Nothing makes a man like you more than cumming as regularly as Old Faithful blows steam into the air. A man had given me that nickname after a session featuring multiple orgasms. I wasn’t offended. Over my years of travel and naked romps with nigh on to 30 men, I had lost the inhibitions of my youth. If you’re over thirty and fuck a lot of men, you weren’t called a slut. You just liked sex. That was a virtue.

“You want to take your sexiest outfits,” said Chloe.

“In that case, I won’t need a large suitcase,” I answered.

We arrived in warm, tropical Key West in the late afternoon. I was surprised to see chickens roaming freely up and down the streets and in the lush gardens. Our hotel was located just off Duval, the main street of the city. Our room had two queen-sized beds.

We dressed for the evening: Chloe in a bikini bottom and a sheer white blouse, open to her waist, displaying impressive cleavage and the brown of her nipples through the cloth. “Don’t wear a bra,” said Chloe.

“I won’t,” I answered. “It will be an early evening for me. I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow I’ll liven up.” I put on shorts and a sleeveless, flowery, button-down-the-front blouse.

Out on the streets, I discovered that I was overdressed. Amidst hundreds of photo-snapping tourists were women parading in the streets, some painted from head to toe, others in tiny bikinis, more than a few displaying bare breasts and flashing the photographers who lurked around taking pictures. Some of the women were beautiful; many were fat and old. Men wore shorts and went shirtless. One of them had a scarf wrapped about his middle and his semi-hard penis protruded from beneath the scarf. Another had his penis sheathed in a large rubber tube that hung down to his knees. Ages ranged from 18 to 70.

“Take it off,” shouted a man with a camera. Chloe obliged by pulling aside her blouse to display a large, firm breast, then quickly covered it up again.

“How about you?” asked the photographer, pointing at me.

I had a moment of panic. What if my employer saw my picture with bared breast posted on the internet? It would be bad for business. Best to be careful. I smiled and kept my shirt on.

We wended our way through the streets toward our destination, a restaurant and bar Chloe knew from her previous visits to Fantasy Fest. The streets were thronged with people. A parade went by with a jazz band and on a float women dressed as pirates, devils, and sirens threw out strings of beads to the crowd. I caught a string of beads and hung it around my neck. Chloe posed for photographs as we walked along.

We ate dinner in a large restaurant with a dance floor, loud music, and a small stage on which women undulated with the music and shed the scraps of clothing they had on. We sat at tables all jammed together, joining a quartet of chubby lesbian women dressed in short skirts with nothing underneath and with painted breasts. It was noisy. Men dropped by to say hello and ask for dances. In the spirit of the evening, I loosed a button on my blouse to show my meager cleavage -- but I declined to join the other women for photos. An outside patio was crammed with people, dancing, drinking, talking. I had finished dinner when a man handed me a bottle of beer and said, “A dance for a beer.”

I accepted the bottle and the man led me to an open space on the floor. He was about 40, paunchy, shirtless, his hairy chest glistening with sweat, beads hung around his neck, and he wore a pair of tight shorts that showed the outline of his penis and testicles.

“Not my dream man,” I thought. I thanked him and moved on to another man. And then another one. I wasn’t really feeling it. They were all too old and rich and entitled. I sought out Chloe who was surrounded by men, all of them younger and better-looking than the ones I had attracted.

I’m going to go back to the room,” I announced.

“I’ll be along soon,” she answered, “Is it okay if I bring one of these guys home with me? I’ll feel safer bringing a man to our room than going to his.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll probably be asleep.”

I walked back to our hotel, enjoying the street scene which looked as if it would go on all night. At our room I picked out my sleepwear. “I must be somewhat modest,” I thought. “Chloe will come home with a man.” I kept my panties on and put on a t-shirt. I turned the overhead light off, but left the lamp on next to Chloe’s bed. I lay down and instantly fell asleep.

Chloe and her man woke me up. They came into the room like a whirlwind. “Oh, sorry,” said Chloe when she saw my open eyes looking at them. “Meet Brad,” she motioned at the tall, good-looking young man with her. “Brad,” she said to him with a laugh, “We must be quiet so Maggie can sleep.”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “Let’s take a quiet shower before we go to bed.” Chloe instantly complied by shedding her blouse and bikini bottom, and then turning and unbuckling his belt, and pulling his pants and underpants down to his feet and out of them. They rushed together toward the bathroom. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

I was still trying to sleep when the two of them came out of the bathroom, cavorted naked across the room toward the bed, an arm’s length from me. I turned toward them. Chloe leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “We’ll try to be quiet, Maggie. But you know I am noisy.”

Brad also leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, his hard penis rubbing against my stomach. He was young, very young and very muscular.

“Hey, leave my roommate alone,” said Chloe. I was aware the Chloe had a jealous streak. She wanted no competition from other females. “Pay attention to me, not to her,” she warned.

“Good night.” Brad said to me. Chloe grabbed Brad and wrestled him down on her bed, hovered over him, felt his penis in her hand and then lowered her head and began to suck him. Brad moaned softly, turned his head to Maggie and said, “Should I turn this lamp off?” He pointed to the lamp illuminating their bed.

“No, I’m not bothered by the light.” I turned away to face the opposite wall.

“Sweet dreams, said Brad.

The last thing I heard before going to sleep was a laughing Chloe as Brad said “I’m going to fuck you to death.”

“Big talk,” Chloe answered.

“A big dick is going inside you. Right now.”

I woke up with Brad crawling in bed with me. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was 6:10 a.m. “What are you doing?” I asked in a whisper.

“Getting in bed with you,” said Brad, pulling the covers over himself as he lay down beside me. He draped his hand over my chest and his leg pressed against mine.

I brushed his hand away. “You can’t be here,” I said. “You’re with Chloe.”

His hardened penis poked me in the thigh. He whispered, “We’ll be very quiet. She’s drunk and out cold.” Chloe was snoring.

I contemplated the offer for a long moment. His hand ranged over my stomach. I quivered – and pushed him away. “I like you, Brad. You’re very cute, but, no, it wouldn’t be right. We can’t. Not now.” And then after a pause when he didn’t move. “Later? Maybe? We can talk about it. But get back in bed with Chloe.” I never like to bruise a man’s tender ego.

“What’s going on over there?” came Chloe’s voice. She sat up suddenly, “Brad, you son of a bitch! You’re trying to fuck Maggie. You bastard!” She leaped out of bed, naked, grabbed Brad by the arm and pulled him out of my bed. “Get out of here. Now!” She pointed toward the door.

Brad didn’t argue with her. He quickly gathered up his clothes, and half put them on as an enraged Chloe continued to berate him. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” Chloe said after she pushed him out the door.

I attempted to sooth her. “It’s okay. Nothing happened.”

“No, I’m sorry -- because it isn’t okay. You were going to fuck my man. My man! I heard you.”

“I was just trying to get him out of my bed.”

Chloe would hear none of it. She was in a jealous rage. “No, I can’t tolerate that. You must leave. Now.”

“But...”

“Now! I can’t have a traitor in this room with me.” Chloe grabbed my suitcase and threw it on the bed. “Out!”

I went from puzzlement to speechless with fury. What to do? An old saying came to me, “Don’t get mad, get even.” I hadn’t yet paid Chloe for my share of the hotel room. “Leave her with the fucking bill,” I thought to myself. I got out of bed, put on my eyeglasses, shorts, and a blouse quickly, opened my suitcase, packed my things, and left without a word, slamming the door behind me.

“Where to go?” I asked herself. The sun was just coming up and I enjoyed the sunrise as I pulled my suitcase down the sidewalk, contemplating my options. A chicken ran away from me, crowing loudly. The streets were quiet, littered with debris from the party last night.

“Going somewhere?” It was Brad. He was sitting on a park bench outside the gate of the Hemingway Home, one of Key West’s tourist attractions. He motioned for me to sit down beside him. “You got thrown out also?”

I sat down. “Yeah.” I looked at him and then thought about myself. “Oh, my God. I look a fright.” I ran my fingers through my hair which was hanging in strands over my face.