It's My Life: Six

Thanks to all for making this an enjoyable experience, and I appreciate your words of support.

We had almost been married a year when the Spring of 1975 rolled around, and the marriage that I envisioned a year ago had become something very different. Each day I hoped it would become more in line with the way I had thought it would be, and each day became more and more bizarre.

* * * * * *

Chapter 1. Our swingin' social life.

Mike picked me up from work one afternoon, and he was acting really antsy as he drove us home. An antsy Mike was rarely good as far as I was concerned, mainly because that usually meant that something was about to happen to me. This would prove to be no exception.

"We're going on the road again," Mike sang in his best imitation of Bob Hite of Canned Heat. "This weekend babe," Mike announced. "A little vacation."

Vacation was a word that I had not heard from Mike before, and for a minute my head spun with excitement before I came back to earth. This was Mike talking, after all, and with our finances I figured that for us a vacation would be a night in a tent somewhere. I was close.

"Syracuse!" Mike announced, referring to a city about 50 miles west of us.

"Syracuse?" I asked. "What's in Syracuse besides a college?"

"We got invited to a party," Mike said. "Not just a beer and chips party, but a real party with classy people."

Where we fit in as far as that crowd went was something I didn't understand, and Mike was typically vague about the whole trip. From past experience that could only mean that something was up, and most likely it would be something weird.

We drove to Syracuse that Saturday afternoon, and spent the better part of an hour driving around the general area of the interstate exit, in search of the cheapest possible budget motel room. While Mike scanned the signs outside the motel rooms, making the value judgements necessary to determine whether a room that was $17.76 would be better than the one that was $19 but had a pool.

"At least this will be interesting cocktail conversation with these society types tonight," I commented dryly. "You can tell them how we spent the afternoon driving all over East Buttfuck trying to save 75 cents by getting the cheapest possible motel room in the city."

"That's how people get to be where they are in this world," Mike the economist retorted. "Watch the pennies and the dollars take care of themselves."

"I think we passed a big cardboard refrigerator box a mile or so back," I quipped, resisting the urge to inform Mike that spending twenty bucks on a motel room instead of just driving back home after this party, would also make financial sense.

No way, for the motel room was part of Mike's grand plan. A plan that I was still in the dark about when we checked into this cheap motel on the outskirts of Syracuse.

It had been a warm spring day, and I had managed to get sweaty enough on the 50 mile trip that had taken nearly two hours, so that another shower was necessary before getting dressed for this party. When I emerged from the shower Mike was waiting, and to my surprise helped me dry off, showing his tender and caring side that I always loved. Probably because I saw it so infrequently.

"You're so beautiful babe," Mike said as he dried my back. "I'm really lucky to have you."

Even though I knew that none of this was really designed for my benefit, I went along with it because it felt so nice to be wanted by the man that I still loved for some reason.

"What's that Mike?" I asked as I looked up at the dress hanging on the hook on the door.

"That's your party dress Becky," Mike announced. "I got it special for you. Great, ain't it?"

I had brought a dress to wear, and it was a very conservative and simple dress. Nothing like what was hanging on the door in front of me.

"Where are we going, Laugh-In?" I asked as I looked at the brightly colored dress with the spaghetti straps that Mike had gotten me, and it looked just like something that Judy Carne or Goldie Hawn would have worn on that television show.

"You'll look incredible in it babe," Mike said, and while I had to admit that I liked it despite the fact that it was a little dated for 1975, I wasn't sure that it was right for me. It was going to be pretty obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra, for one thing, as the fabric was thin. The sides were really low as well, which meant that..."

"Oh, now I see," I said as Mike coincidentally just then lifted my arms and dried my armpits. "I'm going to be the entertainment."

"You're too paranoid, and way too sensitive," Mike said as he meticuously continued to work the towel. "Lots of women look just like you. European women too!"

"Well, the last I checked Syracuse isn't in Europe," I complained as Mike went on, practically drying each of my many armpit hairs individually for me.

I had stopped shaving under my arms a few months ago at Mike's request - or was it instruction? I didn't mind doing it for him, as he had certainly paid more attention to me, at least for awhile. It's just that I felt very self-conscious about it, especially seeing how "well endowed" I was in those areas, and while it excited Mike, I was sure he was in the minority as far as public opinion went.

"You will look incredible, and I'll bet you any money that there will be other women with hairy armpits there tonight," Mike assured me. "It's a hip thing nowadays. Besides, you don't have to flaunt it if you don't want to."

"Flaunting won't be necessary," I said forlornly as I looked at the skimpy garment. "I do look forward to you watching you looking under every woman's arm tonight though,"

"I will be," Mike said, and I didn't doubt him at all. "You'll see!"

I envisioned a long night with my arms pinned to my sides, and could only hope that the booze was flowing, because I had a feeling that I was going to feel the need to get shit faced as soon as possible.

Chapter 2. Party time.

We got dressed and headed out to this party, and what a sorry sight we were. Since I was one of this motley crew and felt that way, I can't imagine what we looked like to the real world. Two goobers who gave every indication that they had just emerged from a time capsule dated 1968, with me in my 'Sock it to me!' dress, and Mike in a new acquisition of his own. A Nehru jacket.

"What is this we're going to, a costume party?" I asked when Mike had first put on the olive green relic and checked himself out in the mirror. "All that's missing is a medallion and you'll look like a pale Sammy Davis Jr.!"

I wasn't surprised in the least when he went over to his suitcase and pulled out a silver necklace with a peace symbol on it, and did a little dance while looking at his reflection.

"What do you think?" Mike said proudly, flashing me a peace sign, and getting half of one back in return.

"I think you went to shop at the Salvation Army thrift store."

"Your dress was brand new," Mike said defiantly. "This looks like it was hardly ever worn."

"No wonder," I mused.

"Relax Becky," Mike said. "They know we're hippies."

"We are?" I asked increduously. "You were playing a Raspberries album before we left the house."

"We're plenty cool, and a whole lot hipper than anybody else that's going to be there," Mike said. "This isn't just any party we got invited to, you know. They are very selective."

"Who is?" I asked while watching Mike try and drive while reading what seemed to be directions, after refusing my offer to help.

"I'll tell you when we get there," Mike said while hanging a quick left.

"That makes sense," I said. "After all, why tell me now in the car while I can still jump out."

I dug around the bottom of the car console and found a half of a joint, which was what I needed at that point, but in far greater quantities than that. I refused Mike's reach for the joint after I got it going.

"I'll give it to you when we get there," I assured him as the tips of my fingers burned.

We got there after a lengthy drive, and "there" was a pretty fancy neighborhood by anybody's standards. There were a number of cars parked on the quiet street as we parked and climbed out of our latest "new car", a 1968 Olds Cutlass 442. It was the fifth car we had owned in the short time we had been married, and was our best by far according to Mike, especially when he got around to fixing the front end damage like he planned. Sure.

"What are you doing with my bag?" I asked Mike as he pulled my little suitcase out of the trunk.

"You'll need your stuff," Mike said.

I stopped at the end of the driveway and looked at my hipster hubby walking up the driveway toward this beautiful split level ranch alone, before noticing I was not with him.

"C'mon Becky."

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on."

"It's a party," Mike said. "You know, with swingers like us."

"We aren't swingers Mike!" I pleaded. "We're still fucking newlyweds!"

"Ssssh Becky," Mike said as he looked over his shoulder at the house. "You're going to make me look bad. Yourself too. We have to go through with this now, and I promise you'll have fun."

"How are we even here?"

"I saw this ad in a magazine," Mike finally explained with an annoyed voice. "These people have these parties every month, and they only invite a few couples besides their regular group. It's like an honor. I wrote and asked if we could get invited, and we got accepted. It's a little drink - a little smoke, and then everybody pairs off, like at random. What's the big deal? Everybody's doing it these days. These people are high class too! Look at this place!"

With that I found myself on the doorstep while Mike rang the bell. Mike was greeted warmly, and we were whisked inside the house, where the party was in progress.

"I'll take your bag sweetie," the guy that answered the door said, and a woman escorted us upstairs and into the living room, where a group of about twenty people were milling around while jazz played in the background.

"Hey everybody," a pretty blonde in her mid 30's yelled out. "I want you all to meet our newest friends, Mike and Becky."

Everybody in the room waved or yelled out a greeting while Mike bellowed back and waved. As for me, I smiled a little and looked around for the bar.

"Looking for something dearie?" a woman about twice my age asked as she came up alongside me.

"A drink," I said meekly, and she took me by the elbow and together we wove our way around to the booze, where she made me a vodka and tonic.

"Your first time here I see," my new friend said as I downed the drink as fast as I could and asked for another. "Nervous?"

"Yes," I answered, and my new friend smiled and introduced herself as Betty, and we shook hands while I tried to not look at her gigantic bosom which was threatening to explode out of her blouse at any minute.

"You should be nervous," Betty said with a laugh. "You should be wearing a poncho because most of the guys in this room are going to be drooling all over you by the end of the night. Half the women too."

"Betty, don't be monopolizing the new blood," a deep voice said from behind me.

"I should have known you'd be the first to track the scent of fresh meat, Tyrone," Betty said, and I turned to face the voice, which belonged to a tall black guy with sunglasses and a canary yellow sportscoat.

"They said you looked like Cher baby, and for once they weren't telling tales," this Tyrone said and he took my hand and brought it to his lips. "You're sweet and petite and you know the rest."

"Nice to meet you," I said trembling as his cologne washed over me.

"Do me a favor and feel this for me," Tyrone said, and he handed me something cold and metallic.

It was a set of keys on a keychain, and he leaned forward next to my ear as he squeezed my hand around it.

"Commit the shape of this to your memory baby," Tyrone whispered loudly. "When you go fishin' later I want you to make sure you find this, because I got the power to change your life and give you an evening you'll never forget."

"Who's your friend baby?" a blonde asked as she came up to Tyrone and put her arm around him.

"This is the girl of my dreams," Tyrone said.

"Oh, the little hippie girl," the blonde said with a condesending attitude. "She's a cutie, but aren't you afraid you might be a little too much for her to handle, Tyrone?"

"Rhonda baby, I'm too much for any one woman to handle, you know that," Tyrone said. "Now the two of you combined, now that might be more fair."

"Sounds good to me baby," Rhonda cooed as she squirmed around, no doubt as the result of Tyrone's free hand which was working around her backside.

"I can dig it," Tyrone announced to one and all, "and besides, we're odd numbered here tonight. Cher baby makes three and that's fine with me"

"Um, where's the bathroom?" I asked, as a feeling of claustrophobia engulfed me.

Betty pointed me toward a hallway and I started hustling in that direction, only to look down and see that I still had Tyrone's keys in my hand.

"Thought you might have been trying to cheat the game baby," Tyrone said as I went back and returned them to him before scurrying away. "Not that I was complaining or anything. It would have been fine by me, sugar."

Chapter 3. Advice from another new friend.

I walked down the hallway and saw that there were a couple of people waiting in line for the facility, and I was glad that I really didn't have to go. I walked further down the hall, looking at pictures on the walls and basically just killing time, trying to delay going back to the party.

I felt like I was on display, and while nobody said anything, I got the impression that everyone thought that we were kind of amusing, like a joke or something. I couldn't blame them for thinking that, because that's how I felt. I didn't belong here, and neither did Mike.

On the wall there was a picture of a man and a woman on the beach, with two young children. These people had kids? Where were they? Why would you be throwing a party like this if you had a family? I supposed it was one thing if you were young and attached, but quite another thing if you had a real family.

"Hiding I take it," a voice said in my ear, and I was startled, having been deep in thought.

"Sorry," the woman said. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"That's okay," I said. "I was lost in space or something."

"You're Becky I take it," The woman said. "I'm Carla."

We shook hands and I looked at this woman, who seemed a little out of place here as well, but then again who was I to talk? She was about 35 and was dressed more conservatively than most of the other women here, librarian-ish in a way, but very sharp looking. Her hair was drawn back and while she smiled, it didn't seem to have any real emotion behind it.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"My pleasure," Carla said. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure," I answered, and Carla led me into a room with a bunch of coats on the bed, and closed the door behind her.

"None of my affair, but you really seemed uncomfortable out there. Almost like you were forced into being here," Carla said.

"Forced? No, more like coerced. Duped. Deceived. Conned. Dragged. Persuaded."

"I know the feeling," Carla said with a laugh. "That's how I first got involved in coming to these parties about a year ago."

"Why do you keep coming back?"

"Trying to keep my husband happy," Carla replied. "He enjoys the variety, and I go along because - I don't know. Good question Becky. Why am I here? Obligated? Bored?"

"I don't understand how this works, or what I'm supposed to do."

"Your hubby didn't fill you in?" Carla said, and a wry smirk appeared in the corner of her mouth when I shook my head no.

"Well, in about an hour or so, all the guys throw their keys into a big bowl," Carla explained. "Then the girls draw straws to determine who picks in what order. You go up and grab a key out of the bowl - you're not supposed to try and pick out a certain one, mind you. The guy whose keys you pull out, that's your man."

"And..."

"You dutifully follow him out to his car, and you drive to his house or hotel room, and he fucks you," Carla said coldly.

"That's it? Just like that?"

"That's about it," Carla said. "Sometimes you just go get drunk with the person if you really don't want to be with each other that way, but that's rare. These guys would stick their dicks in the crack of dawn if they could, and most of the women try out other guys to see if they fuck as badly as their own husbands do."

"Not very romantic," I quipped.

"Just like real life," Carla said.

"Then why are you here?" I asked.

"I've been married for 8 years to a guy who owns a string of car dealerships. I signed a pre-nuptual agreement that still has a couple of years left in it. I was divorced and a cashier at Woolworth's when I met him, and now I live pretty nicely and piss money away left and right on whatever I want."

"Oh."

"It ain't love, but it ain't bad," Carla said. "Here, take this," Carla said. "It's my phone number, in case you ever want to talk or anything."

I nodded and leaned back against the wall as Carla came up to me.

"I saw Tyrone leaning on you," Carls said. "He's all talk but the action isn't all that great. Believe me, after Tyrone you can go back, if you know what I mean, and at top speed too! Avoid Big Wally if you can, for obvious reasons."

"I don't know any of these people," I said.

"There's an odd number here tonight," Carla informed me. "They always invite extra women to try and make it come out even in case one of the wives comes up with a good excuse, but it never does end up right. Liz and Dave will probably claim you because it's their place."

I stood in a daze as Carla continued.

"My husband is all right - he's the bald guy that looks a little like Don Rickles," Carla said. "He's got a small dick and cums fast, so at least it's over with quick and painlessly. I meant that about calling me up some time honey. You're a real doll."

While she spoke, Carla leaned forward until she was on top of me, and in seconds her mouth was on mine. Her tongue found its way into my mouth while her hands found my breasts, and as her hands kneaded my tiny orbs her tongue was dancing with mine.

My reaction was - letting her do what she wanted, and as she ground me into the wall, her knee sliding up between my legs, I began returning the affection. It was only the door opening briefly, and a startled "Oops sorry!" from the intruder, that broke up apart.

"Call me, baby," Carla said as the door opened and she left to rejoin the party, leaving me standing there with her lipstick on my face and an embarrassingly wet place between my legs.

4. Goin' fishin'.

"Okay everybody, settle down," the blonde that had announced our arrival yelled out. "It's time to pair up."

The room got a little quieter as the music got turned off and the crowd formed around the perimeter of the room. There was a large bowl on the coffee table which was covered by a towel, where all the men had thrown their keys a few minutes earlier.

I had met almost all the men and many of the women since I had rejoined the party, but most of the names and the faces were a jumble. I had been firing down drinks left and right, but I had developed quite a tolerance to alcohol over the years, so I was still very much sober and standing, much to my dismay.

Mike had been out of sight most of the night, but now I caught sight of him on the opposite side of the room. He waved to me after he tried to look down a redhead's blouse and I rolled my eyes in disgust.

"Now tonight we have 11 girls and 10 guys, so one lucky guy is going to have his hands full," the blonde said.

"Look no further Liz baby. Here's your lucky guy right here," Tyrone bellowed from the corner, and the crowd jeered and hooted at him.