Salad

So it's a weird thing to be naked. Wait, let me qualify that. I guess I'm naked every day at some point when I'm dressing or in the shower. No, no, to STAY naked, I guess, is what I really mean. Even with all the porn I've watched, I guess I never thought about how the girls have to just stand around the set in the buff for hours on end. But you do actually feel really awkward when you're just hanging out (pardon the REALLY bad pun) with no clothes on.

Because when I left the kitchen to follow Maria outside to the pool area, that's exactly what I was. Completely naked, thanks to Andrea removing my T-shirt to squiggle the number 2 on my chest. Somehow I had found it less embarrassing to walk into the kitchen with no pants on a few minutes ago than it was to walk out to the pool area now without so much as my shirt. I guess it was because I had nothing left to hide behind.

It didn't help that I was apparently the last person to arrive outside, or that this was my first time participating in a Cuisine Club game. I felt like everyone was staring at me, and hell, they probably were, for all those reasons I just listed. Many people were gathering near the pool, and after a mortifying moment or two of just standing on the patio completely naked, I decided to make my way to the water.

"Little James! What's up?"

I recognized the voice. There were a couple of huge speakers and a DJ table set up on the patio, and it was being run by Jonas Reynolds, a tall African-American security guard from my Dad's work. I'd met him before, and he was pretty cool. He was in his mid-forties now, but he'd served in the military prior to working at EnGENuTech and was an all-around stand-up guy. His young son Ryder was reading in the basement when I'd left earlier, and his daughter, Jessica, was going to turn 19 in a few months; I always remembered her birthday because it was just a week before Jenna's and mine.

Back when Jessica used to be stuck in the basement with the rest of us, I would tease her and compare her to Alicia Keyes. While her father was African-American, Jessica's mother, Vanessa, happened to be white (and stacked, as I recall. In private, Dad used to say it was the biggest boob job he'd ever seen), and, also like Ms. Keyes, Jessica was smoking hot. Because her mother preferred to shorten her own name to Nessa, Jessica had chosen to be called Jessa ever since she was a little kid.

She was always a little flighty, as I recalled (so was Andrea Tanaka, now that I think about it, and those two girls were best friends in high school), but Jessa was also fun to hang out with. She was gangbusters at Scrabble, which just killed me. One moment Jessa'd be prattling on about the shallowest of high school minutiae with Andrea or one of the other girls, and the next she'd be turning "male" into "maleficent." She had the attention span of a hyperactive kitten and the vocabulary of an English lit major.

I hadn't seen Jessa at the last two parties; not since she had turned 18. I just assumed that her parents, like mine, hadn't made her attend anymore, but now I didn't know what to think. Seeing Jonas at the DJ table made me wonder. Given the direction the party seemed headed, I was kind of hoping she was there and I had just missed her. I walked over to where Jonas was sitting.

"Hey, Mr. Reynolds, what, uh, what's up?" I reached out to shake his hand.

"Whoa! Dirk Diggler in the house over here! Put some clothes on young man. You're killing me!"

People behind me started laughing, and I panicked. Was I still supposed to have my jeans on? I looked down at my naked, bobbing head, which was rapidly deflating.

(By the way, you know you're having a strange day if it's almost eight in the evening and you're questioning pants etiquette.)

But Jonas just laughed. I looked up and saw that behind the DJ board he had his own swim trunks pulled down from his waist to his thighs. The trunks couldn't go any further than that because he had a giant brace on his left knee. Though I would have preferred to not know, I also couldn't help but notice that he was a monster-probably 8 inches.

"I'm just playing with you, Jimmy." He reached out and pounded my fist, a gesture I wasn't sure I wanted to reciprocate given what I'd just learned about where his hand had been.

He pointed at his leg and chuckled. "Had a disagreement with a car door." In truth, Jonas was being extremely modest, as was his way. He'd actually tore two ligaments in his left knee pulling an unconscious motorist from her burning car on the way home from work a month ago. Jonas was a certified hero, but you'd never have known it from his demeanor.

"Ouch," was my only reply.

"Jiiiimmmy!"

I spun around at the sound of another familiar voice. And just in time, too, as Jessa came bounding up to me and jumped into my arms before wrapping her legs around my back. She still had her bikini on (unlike her mom, Jessa was more than able to fill out her top, so I didn't foresee any trips to the plastic surgeon in her future), which made her leap of joy into my chest a good ten percent less uncomfortable for me. Embracing an old friend while you're standing nude in front of her hero father is awkward enough without having her naked boobs smacking your face. Although it would have been worth it...

I put Jessa down. She was about 5'7" with smooth, tan skin and raven-black hair fixed into braids. Her eyes were brown, and she always seemed to squint them just a smidge whenever she was happy, as if she could burst into tears at any moment, but never succumbed. Glancing at her forehead I saw a capital I stenciled in the middle of her brow. Behind me, Jonas started yelling.

"Look, if y'all want Jonas to keep time for your game, someone's gonna have play Jonas's game first!"

"Oh, my GOSH, Jonas, always with the complaining!" This voice sounded like Ms. Cordelia Grant, the executive head of marketing at EnGENuTech, and my suspicion was confirmed when she ambled over to us, stark naked. She had just turned 50 (I remembered Dad mentioning the office party on the way here) and with her bob of blond hair she reminded me of a mature Sharon Stone. Her boobs were of normal size, and starting to sag juuuuust a tiny bit. But her abs were actually ripped to the point of having a moderate six pack, and her legs were loooong and lean. The number 6 was written between her bangs.

She walked past Jessa and me and stopped right between Jonas's outstretched legs. Bending over, she spit on the head of his cock, then turned back to face us. With a sigh, she grabbed Jonas's tool with her fist and sat down. She was impaled immediately and let out a tiny cry of joy.

"That's what I'm talking about! Oh, ride the lightning, Ms. Grant. Ride it!" Jonas was enjoying every second, and he reached forward to grab two fistfuls of Cordelia's tits. I was both shocked and awed.

"Your father could talk his shit through a damn hurricane." I spun around once more. This time it was Nessa, who'd come to see what her husband was yelling about.

She was an inch taller than her daughter and her top was pulled beneath too massive, straining orbs. There are boob jobs, BOOB jobs, and then there's BOOB JOBS! Nessa had opted for the latter, and her twin guns rivaled Maria's for most "endowed" in the club. Maria at least LOOKED like she came by breasts honestly, but Nessa's were so inflated that they appeared ready to explode. Personally, I liked the natural look of Maria's chest better than Nessa's fake tits, but my dick really didn't care. He was back at full sail.

Meanwhile, Cordelia was sliding up and down Jonas's pole at a furious rate. Jonas started grunting, but Cordelia kept sliding away, lost in ecstasy.

"Shoot it in me. Shoot me, Jonas! I want to feel it in my kidneys. Up my fucking lungs! Shoot it hard, Jo-oooohhhh..." They both groaned, and Jonas grabbed Cordelia firmly by her hips and held her in place as his legs twitched involuntarily, which didn't seem like the healthiest thing for his recovering knee. Finally he exhaled low and loudly.

"Every time, baby. I'll fill you every time." He kissed her on the back of her neck, and then Jonas reclined his head and shut his eyes for a moment.

What happened next I would have never believed had I not witnessed it myself. It was that crazy. Well, I take that back. It seemed insane to me at the time, but I guess with the way the rest of the night went, it was kind of par for the course. Still ... it was wild.

Cordelia came back to earth and locked eyes with Jessa, who seemed entranced by the whole thing. She wiggled her hand in some sort of "sit" motion, and Jessa kneeled on the patio stones. Cordelia walked over to Jessa, spread her legs over the girl's face and stretched her labia as wide as she could.

All of the semen her father had just injected into Cordelia dropped onto Jessa's face in a long stream. Then Cordelia lowered her emptied mound onto Jessa's lips. She gyrated her hips across Jessa's mouth, then up to her nose before sliding back and forth over Jessa's entire face. Cordelia's eyes practically rolled to the back of her head and her thighs began to tremor as she was hit with a massive orgasm. Her own love liquid spilled forth to mix with Jonas's cum on Jessa's cheeks and lips, and it streaked the letter written on Jessa's forehead. They both moaned lovingly and Cordelia began licking Jessa's face clean before finishing with a long, sloppy kiss.

"That's why you're my favorite intern, Jessa." Cordelia whispered with a soft smile. She stood up, pecked Nessa on the cheek and walked back towards to the pool. Once Jessa was back on her feet, Nessa pull the string on her daughter's top and removed it. She licked inside one of the cups and pulled Jessa's face closer.

"Hold still, Jessa." Jessa still seemed like she was on another planet. She was smiling from ear to ear and breathing slowly while her mother dabbed bits of drying cum from her face.

The decadent display I had just witnessed was both shocking and enthralling at the same time. My boner was raging out of control at this point, so I stumbled back to the pool. They were about to explain the rules.

The game seemed somewhat complicated at first, but I got the gist of it once I saw how everything was laid out. Since Jonas's leg injury meant he couldn't participate, we were left with eight guys and a whopping eighteen women. Years later, my older brother Matt would explain to me just how insanely improbable that ratio was for a Club party. In truth, a lot of guys in the Club like Matt had conflicts with the date and just couldn't make it. Back then, it just seemed like my lucky day.

The guys were all given numbers ranging from one through eight. The first four sat naked on one edge of the pool while the last four sat in identical positions on the opposite end. Since I'd drawn a two, I was in the first group with Rod Jenkins, Ross Gottweil (Maria's husband and Dad's boss), and a young, short guy I'd never met before. He introduced himself as Jordan Gottweil, and he was actually Ross's 25 year-old nephew. Ross's younger brother Lincoln, Jordan's dad, was the middle-aged white guy I'd seen my stepmom Catalina conversing with when I first stumbled upon the party.

Lincoln Gottweil, Dad, Gary Tanaka and Ted Lewis made up the other group across the pool. Except for the odd ring or necklace, or Ted Lewis's hat, we were all naked as jaybirds with our legs dangling in the water.

The ladies, meanwhile, all waded into the pool and were promptly divided into two groups of nine apiece, which was necessary for the game. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Nine of them had letters drawn on their foreheads while the other nine had numerals. Why they couldn't all have letters or all have numbers, I still don't know.

The nine women with letters were paired with my group, as Andrea had hinted before. The nine with numbers would be partnering with the other row of guys. We were told to look our women over and remember their letters (or, for Dad's group, numbers). I glanced down the row.

My group of ladies, from A to I, were Nessa Reynolds; Monica Jenkins; Catalina; Andrea Tanaka; Yara, the Gottweil's Brazilian maid; Kim, my SISTER; Beverly Gottweil, who, I learned, was Lincoln's wife and Jordan's MOM; Natalie Tanaka; and Jessa Reynolds. So with Nessa and Jessa and Andrea and Natalie, we had two sets of mothers and daughters, along with my own stepmom and sister. My sister! Which now somehow seemed less egregiously decadent because Jordan was in the same group as his own mother!

Across the divide, from 1 to 9, my dad's group was going to be serviced by Aaliyah Jenkins; Riley Gottweil, who I was told was actually Jordan's 29 year-old sister and Lincoln's daughter; my Mom; Divya; Jo Anne Lewis; Cordelia Grant; Maria; and two women I'd not met before.

Mary Ingerness was a cute thirty-something with shimmering red hair. She was the receptionist at my Dad's office. The last woman was Payal, Divya's younger sister. She had short black hair and a beautiful white smile, and her breasts were just a bit larger than her sister's. Padma Lakshmi from the Food Channel was the closest comparison I could make.

Once the various groups were sorted and in the right place, the actual game was quite easy to understand, if a bit random. In Tic-Tac-Blow, each guy had a sheet of posterboard behind him that was divided into nine squares. Every square held a letter (or number, for Dad's group) that ranged from A through I (or 1 through 9). The guys would each wear a special pair of goggles that had been sprayed inside and out with black paint.

On Jonas's signal, four random women on each side would perform oral sex on the guys for 24 seconds (basically, a shot clock). Afterwards, the guy would have to guess who blew him. If he was correct, the girl would have to sign her corresponding square on the guy's board. If he guessed wrong, he got nothing.

At the same time, the girls would be trying to get the guys to finish during the 24 seconds they were blowing them (Right then I realized that for the girls, those precious 24 moments really did amount to a "shot clock"). Anytime a guy blew his load, he'd have to sign his name on the girl's arm. At the very end of the game, the girl with the most signatures would be declared the winner among the women.

The first two guys in each heat to get three signatures in some sort of row would advance to the next round. If a guy guessed a girl correctly, she moved out of his rotation for the rest of the round. But if a girl got a guy to blow his load, that girl would also move out of that guy's rotation and he would no longer get a chance at her square. What the prizes were going to be for the winners, no one would say just yet. Hell, to me, the whole game seemed like a prize.

Lastly, Jonas informed us, while the girls could use any parts of their body they wanted, the men had to sit on their hands. This one was met with more than a few groans of disappointment, and not just from the guys.

Jonas gave the signal, and all of the guys put our goggles on. Whoever had put all of the preparation work in had done a fine job; everything was pitch black when the goggles settled over my eyes. I could also hear the women circling and changing their positions in the water. Damn. I'd been hoping to gain some sort of advantage by memorizing where they were before I goggled up, but they were already two steps ahead of that strategy. I silently cursed the fact that Maria was in the other group. She'd given me the only real blowjob I'd ever known; she was probably the only one I had a fighting chance with in terms of identifying.

Some crappy Pop music began blaring over the speakers (something from Pink's oeuvre, I believe), and we were underway. I heard the water break in front of me, and my erection strained in anticipation. Suddenly, the top half of my penis was engulfed by a pair of lips that felt softer than cotton. One of her hands began massaging my scrotum while the other formed around the base of my dick. That hand motioned upwards while her mouth worked its way down, and her fingers and lips met in the middle of my cock. From there, her mouth retracted up at the same rate of speed that her hand moved downward. This gave the overly sensitive skin on my shaft the exquisite feeling of being gently stretched. I felt like I was slowly rising to heaven and exhaled sharply.