Invitation & Revelation

Steven had also answered casually, damn him. "Oh, that. It's just an invitation to an informational meeting from a guy I know. I think it's one of those multi-level marketing or business things."

Yeah, right. "Oh. Like Amway? Is that all? What a waste of time. I can't imagine someone sending that by registered mail." I'm not letting you off that easy, hubby.

"Well, he had told me about it, and he's a good friend. So I'll at least sit through the one session. I've always been a bit curious about these things."

Not as much as me! "When is it?"

It was two nights later, and Steven returned late, offering nothing to her in the way of information. She had searched for the original letter in the house to no gain, not to mention the trash, his car, his briefcase, his suit pockets... She also searched for any of this "multi- level" marketing crap that, in theory, he would have returned with, and she wasn't surprised not to find that either. Damn.

Then the quiet period had come. It hadn't been until mid-January when her head started spinning.

He had arrived at the door, knocking several times, with even, firm taps. Through her peep hole she was a liveried courier, and a glance through the window indicated a limousine. In all likelihood, this either had to be her invitation, or else Ed McMahon was waiting outside also with a $1 million check. And she hadn't entered that sweepstakes, but it felt the same. She opened the door.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I presume you are Hayley Anders Fleming?"

The use of her middle name was unexpected. "Yes, I am."

"Very good." He placed an envelope in her hand, then held her wrist firmly as he said, "For your sincerest consideration, I offer you this invitation."

What do you say to that? "Thank you," she said, with more eagerness than had intended.

"And for our sincerest appreciation of your beauty, I offer you this rose." It was a beautiful red rose in a black vase marked with a golden "36" on it's side.

"Good day, ma'am." He bowed slightly, turned and left. She remained at the door, somewhat stunned as he began to pull away. How did he know her middle name? Who was "us?" And had they seen her before to know that she was... well, attractive, she thought. And then there was that 36... Then she ran inside, setting the vase down quickly and roughly tearing the envelope open. She didn't know much about stationary, but she knew the paper was expensive.

Dearest Mrs. Fleming,

You have been nominated and accepted by the OBO as a candidate for our society's charitable evening, to be held Thursday, February 19th, 2004. Mardi Gras in our City has become known for its licentious behavior, a behavior in which we, the men of OBO, freely participate.

Of you, Mrs. Fleming, much will be required, and much will be offered. The evening will begin by your honoring the Krewe of Chaos as a guest aboard one of their floats. This is, however, only the beginning of the evening, and the only aspect of which you may know in advance.

This opportunity will only be offered once. This invitation may incite certain questions. We ask that you trust the judgment of your nominator, who will not be revealed to you, that you will find this to be not only a rewarding and exciting evening, but one that fulfills some, or perhaps all, of your deepest desires.

To accept our invitation, you must present this invitation to Mr. Chin, at 400 Toulouse Street, promptly at 3:00 p.m., Wednesday, January 21, 2004.

Cordially,

The 36

She had spent days reading over the invitation, and had shown it to Louise in the hope of her letting out some details or at least some hints. Aside from an initial admission of feeling a great sense of guilt, Louise had finally brightened, although she offered no help at all in coming up with acronyms for OBO or explaining the meaning of "36." Order of Better Orgasms? Oreos Bring Orgasms? It was pointless speculating, but the orgasms came naturally enough as she considered what this was about.

And, therefore, she had dutifully presented herself to Mr. Chin. This Mr. Chin had her strip to just her panties and had carefully measured her in every way she thought possible. Although quite the professional, he had seemingly touched her in every possible place before dismissing her abruptly with the words "You get package delivered. Here." Thank you, Mr. Chin.

"Here" had referred to another note, which simply thanked her for accepting, and indicated that she was to set aside 4:30 p.m. through the night on Feb. 21st. She had imagined a Ball that started at midnight. Maybe.

In the coming weeks, she had fretted over what excuses she might offer Steven for her evening...would it be the whole night?... away, but several days ahead he indicated he would be working out of town. That was a relief, sort of. Although she didn't anticipate betraying their vows, holding a secret wasn't healthy to a marriage. As the first note had said, she had to trust her sponsor, whom, of course, she knew was John. She tried to imagine receiving the invitation without knowing who the sponsor was or any other clues. Had Louise known when she had done this? The thought was both erotic and terrifying. She was happy to be able deal with just the erotic..., although, there were plenty of questions that, if answered certain ways, could be terrifying. Trust your sponsor. Trust your sponsor...

The 21st finally finished creeping up on her. She was beginning to have serious doubts. Was someone going to call her? Pick her up? If she was supposed to be downtown for a parade, it was going to take time to cross Lake Ponchartrain and fight rush hour, especially with the mobs in town, to get to the French Quarter.

The promised package never showed until 1:00 p.m., and what was that? Two hours ago? It was delivered by a commercial courier this time. Her "package" included one hanging garment in a box and a smaller cube shaped box. Both boxes were black and were adorned with "36" on them. The smaller box had contained the shoes now on her feet, hosiery, and garters.

As she held each aloft, she was thankful that she had thought to tell the kids to go to a neighbor's house after school. Claire seemed to manage a co-op of sorts to baby-sit for the majority of the neighborhood whenever the parades were scheduled.

For as little as she received, though, there were plenty of surprises. She was surprised that the shoes fit so well for being so new. She would have liked to have known a brand for future purchases, but there was none, other than a small indentation indicating the crafter's mark, she believed. Which meant that this was custom.

The hose and garters also fit perfectly, with no adjustment needed. She would have guessed some strap adjustments would be necessary, but not in this case. The box had also contained a note, indicating that the delivered clothes were to be her only attire for the evening. Her first cursory look had revealed that she had a little trimming to do with her "winter growth." Having reassembled, the black garter straps provocatively framed her freshly trimmed mound, now sporting the clean lines of a narrow triangle. She shuddered to think that she might be flashing someone "that," but on the other hand, the provisions made it seem likely that she would be asked. And she would, she knew, because the moment would be too strong for the 51% now saying "This is wrong." But if she were asked, and said yes, she would have been mortified if she hadn't trimmed.

That she wasn't to wear a bra wasn't a surprise. She did like surprises, though, and it was for that reason that she hadn't opened the garment box until that moment. But when she had opened the garment bag, her dress hadn't surprised her. It shocked her. It shocked her still. And it was at her dress that she continued to gaze upon now.

It, like the rest of her wardrobe, was black. Black was good for slimming the appearance, but she didn't particularly need slimming and that wasn't the point. The dress clung tightly to her skin, but that wasn't a surprise either. It seemed to cling to the very places in which Mr. Chin had placed his hand, which was all over. Such a tight fitting dress wasn't what she would have chosen, perhaps, but...

It had been confusing to put on, with the left arm opening impossibly wide. It was so wide that she had thought that surely she had somehow missed both a head and an arm opening. But there it was. The dress clung to her thighs mere inches below her crotch, roundly fastening to her hips before diving in to her waist. It clung for a short distance to her abdomen, before turning with a direct line for her right shoulder, slightly flattening her breast yet managing to capture her natural curves, with not a single wrinkle.

The problem was her bare left tit.

As she looked now, her right nipple was fully erect, obvious under the tight fabric. And she imaged that, if viewed doubtfully by a casual observer, then one had only to glance at the other more directly observable nipple for conformation that, yes, the protrusions are at the same elevation and are, indeed, a matched pair. She was getting silly now.

There had been one other item on the hangar, and she put that on now, a short black shawl to cover her shoulders and her breast. It seemed a barely practical accessory to what was almost a Spandex toga. A single button and loop connected the halves. The left nipple remained more prominent than the right, as it had only half the fabric thickness covering it. Yet, this wasn't as obvious, due to an embroidered "OBO" in gold threads, set on the shawl upon her left breast. What? No "36?"

She raised the shawl. Boob. She lowered it. No boob. A dress with one boob exposed. Something clicked. Aha... One Breast Out. OBO. There, that was it. She was tempted to call Louise and tell her the gag was over. But really, it wasn't. She had no idea what to expect.

She returned to the bathroom, checking her hair, checking her light makeup, checking her teeth, checking anything but her eyes. She didn't want to go there. Her mind was made up; she was going. She had shown her breast before; she would do it again. No big deal. Really. No big deal.

She argued with herself about not being brave enough to argue with herself regarding the wisdom of the whole enterprise. This wasn't terrifying, she knew. It was more of a nervous excitement. And looking at herself in the mirror, again, she felt dressed beautifully, and if she could only look herself in the eye, she knew that she would see beauty there as well. Thank you, Mr. Courier and the 36. How curious it was that with a simple flip of her shawl, she felt beautifully... pagan? Her thoughts were finally interrupted by a knock at the front door. It was 4:30. And there was a limo waiting.

The ride was wonderful, but lonely. The driver wouldn't talk, although she caught him steal glances in his rear view mirror several times. She had been mindful to cross her legs when she sat, but she couldn't remember if she had maintained her poise as she had entered the limo. Maybe she had unintentionally invited his glances now. She had never worn so short a dress or a skirt.

Her immodest attire had certainly changed her ability to concentrate. She tried to think of what the parade would be like, she couldn't think about it for more than five seconds before she started dwelling on her dress, and how it might play a part in the evening. She decided on a more deliberate and controllable course by helping herself to a glass of white wine. It soothed her nerves. A bit, anyway.

As they began their drive across the bridge, she saw the bright flame of a refinery west of Kenner venting gas, a veritable beacon. It was rare to see that, due to environmental requirements. With her shawl off, she, too, would draw attention, and she already felt a tinge of heat between her legs. If there was a similarity to her and the refinery, she only hoped her fine wouldn't be as severe.

As they continued, she speculated where she might be delivered. Her guesses of law offices, a hotel, an accountant firm, a street corner with the other women participating, and surely there would be other women, were all completely wrong. She was dropped off at a fading, beat up metal building with gunshot holes in the wall just east of the Quarter. Faded paint indicated it had once been a cotton warehouse. Royal Street. How ironic. She was receiving the royal treatment, certainly. But in whose kingdom?

She exited the limo rather gracefully, she thought, for being so focused on keeping thighs pressed together. She was ushered indoors, where she found other women waiting in a moderately sized room, surprisingly well appointed. There were only 10 of them, gathered in an unnatural silence. She would have guessed that there would have been 36...

Then it dawned on her. All the women appeared to be about the same age. And two years ago, Louise would have been...

"A question. Does everyone here happen to be 36 years old?"

This was quickly confirmed. How... unusual! No one had an explanation for it. But at least it started conversation. No one seemed to know anything other than what she knew, and all had the same fears and excitement that she did, it seemed. They shared several trays of hor's doerves, talking lightly, about... nothing really. And they waited.

The building did turn out to be a warehouse, after all, one used by the Krewe to apparently build and stage their floats. She was escorted to a float colorfully decorated like a jester. And although she didn't dwell on it, she had half expected for them to ask for her shawl before climbing aboard. That didn't happen, but as she surveyed the steps to the float and the assortment of goods that she would have to climb over, it would be impossible for her to maintain her modesty. Strangely, her spirits lifted. She knew maintaining her modesty was not what this evening was to be about. And as the several men grew to a small group as she approached the steps, there was more than a twinge of excitement as she climbed, making neither an obvious show of her sex nor awkwardly trying to keep her thighs closed. She finally settled in a centrally located seat, with some vocal admiration from the assembled gallery.

It was a different kind of exhibition, the "accidental" type. Intentionally accidental, perhaps. But she knew that she would try something similar again, with Steven around. Steven! At that thought, she mentally sobered, feeling more than a twinge of guilt for carrying on without him there, and without him knowing, even, what she was up to.

The men filled in around her, and the floats began to move. There was ample beer, but more importantly to her, there were boxes of beads, plastic cups, doubloons, and candy placed about her, and she was encouraged to throw the items as she wished. She was surprised to find a pretty good quantity of stuffed animals, even. She was also provided with a feathered mask that she was to wear which matched those to be worn by the Krewe. Fortunately, it proved to be comfortable.

There was much to remember about the parade. She had great fun tossing items and waving. She tried to target children and those kindred spirits that bared their breasts for the men around her on the float. She had been tempted several times to lift her shawl, but that seemed like cheating her evening in some sense. Her time would come...and there was always Fat Tuesday around the corner when she could flash more conventionally to her heart's desire. And her desires were strong.

After the parade and enough time for traffic to clear the backstreets of the Quarter, they were guided to the limousines and driven a short distance where they turned into an very narrow gated alley. This led to a courtyard that otherwise wouldn't be visible in the street. The area was well lighted, with a central fountain and ample plants hanging from the upstairs walkways that surrounded the courtyard. The building appeared to be an old hotel, possibly converted into several apartments or condominiums.

They were led to one of the upstairs rooms, where they were again treated to a light snack. The room was equipped with mirrors, brushes, combs and an assortment of makeup. It was both an obvious and welcome opportunity to clean up a bit, before... whatever. Everyone was talking about their trip on the floats as they groomed. After about half an hour, the conversation was interrupted as the gentleman who had originally handed her the invitation entered the room.

"Good evening, ladies. Our party has assembled. We will be calling you individually. Mrs. Connor, would you please accompany me at this time? A brunette who had been pacing walked to the door, where she accepted the gentlemen's arm. The door was closed, and she was gone. And the room became quiet for a time.

Just as conversation would return, the gentlemen would return. Mrs. Daniels. Mrs. LeCroix. Mrs. Shaner. Ms. Williams. Mrs. Lombardier. And so it went. Hayley wasn't sure if it was her imagination, as there were no clocks in the room, but it seemed like the intervals were getting longer and longer. Mrs. Gottschall. Mrs. Landon.

There were three of them now. A lady she now knew as Addison looked like she might pass out. She kept repeating, "oh my God!" again and again. The gentleman returned, and Mrs. Fauber, as she turned out to be, was led away.

"Any final ideas before one of us is called away?" Stephanie asked.

"Not really. A bunch of 36 year old women, all pretty. All with great figures. All wearing a dress that leaves one breast out."

"Oh! Is that what that means?"

"That's my guess..."

Then Lynn was called away, and she was alone. Figures. Last.

She sang the ending of a children's song to herself. "There were two in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over. So they all rolled over and one fell out, and the little one said, Good Night!"

Well, she hoped it would be, and she certainly had one breast that fell out.

The door, finally, opened.

They walked a short distance down the 2nd floor balcony to another room. This room appeared to be lived in, but temporarily converted to a photography studio. The gentleman waited outside. The photographer seated her on a stool and angled the lights slightly. Curtains were behind her, one embroidered with a large "36" and the other with "OBO." The photographer stepped behind her, straightening her back and directing her jaw at a certain angle. He then, professionally, she remarked, removed her shawl. She colored slightly, a breast visible to this stranger in a rather more intimate setting than the public streets. There found a sense of irony in that, and he seemed to appreciate her expression as again assessed her posture and placed her mask on her face. He then darted behind the camera.

His task was completed quickly, and he also proved to be a man of few words. "Please step forward." She did, and he placed the shawl about her shoulders, leaving it to her to refasten. "This photograph will adorn the walls in our member's hall. You, of course, will be receiving a framed portrait of the same. Should you wish to display it." It was clear he saw the humor in the likelihood of her hanging this picture in her house.

He opened the door for her, where her escort was waiting.

They continued along the balcony into another portion of the building. She was immediately taken with the décor of the room she entered, completely packed with art on the walls, blown glass collections, sculptures, old books. A private library... There was wealth here.

They exited the room to a landing, where she descended a wooden curved stair case, possibly imported and antique. The room was lit by a suspended light, set behind a large circular assembly of stained glass. She dared not look at it long, however, as she may have tripped. And besides, there were a gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs, in what was a surprisingly large room. They all wore various masks, unrecognizable, each in a black tuxedo. She didn't have to count, but if she guessed, there were probably 36 of them, many seated, some standing at the sides are rear. A small platform had been placed at the foot of the stairway, which she didn't notice until she found herself on stage. It was well padded and carpeted, with a stained railing on each side, carved in the same shape as the stairwell railing. The only person who wasn't masked was a bartender in the rear.