The First Time is Always a Bitch

The first time is always a bitch. That's what everybody tells you, and for me, the old adage keeps proving to be the case. I am a married man—23 years—with four kids, ages fifteen to twenty-one, so I'm what they call "old enough to know better." That's why when I first received an invitation to a JO party I told myself I had lived a quiet respectable life in a small community and didn't need to risk it all for one evening of new and unsampled pleasures.

The invitation came from a co-worker we'll call Dave, who had just gotten run through the wringer on a knock-down drag-out divorce and wound up with what they call the "former marital residence," a cracker-box house in a working-class neighborhood in a town we'll call Peoria, IL, together with back-breaking payments to his former wife. Understandably, he was bitter as hell about the whole rigamarole. That's why the invite was kind of a surprise and yet not really surprising either. The thing was, neither one of us had ever harbored any doubts about our sexual orientation. We were hetero to a fault. Or so we told ourselves until that fateful night.

The only time I had strayed after two decades of marriage was with a co-worker we'll call Jane—even though her real name is Yvonne Faye Hobbs, dob 12/19/59. Yvonne was and still is married to an asshole named Mickey Hobbs, who sells luxury cars at a local dealership. Mickey must have been giving Yvonne a more-than-ordinary hard time because when opportunity presented itself she went for it and took me with her. It happened like this: our boss has a condo across town, the rich bastard. He uses it for his little flings with secretaries, waitresses, dirty legs he picks up at Hardee's, whatever. Anyway, Yvonne had a job-training DVD we were supposed to review and write a report on, and time had gotten away from us, so the boss lent her his condo keys. Since I had to see the DVD too, Yvonne drove herself and me to the boss's condo in her Explorer. I wondered why she was driving so fast—we had an hour for lunch and the boss knew it would be a working lunch—but soon I realized the reason for her hurry.

Yvonne locked the Explorer and I followed her up the walk to the condo. It was a new development, well landscaped and designed to please the eye. So was Yvonne, I couldn't help noticing as I admired her trim ass and shapely legs going up the stairs. She fumbled a bit unlocking the door, muttering, "Fucking keys," which was unusual. I don't know what she did with Mickey at home, but Yvonne never swore at the office, let alone letting go with the "f-bomb" in another man's hearing.

The condo was stuffy, so Yvonne flipped on the air and found some scented candles. "Funny if we burn the place down," I said, trying to make her laugh.

"If you're thinking of starting any fires, include me in your plans," she said, looking me right in the eye.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Yvonne finally broke eye contact, shrugged and led the way into the living room, saying, "I guess we better get started." She sat down on one sumptuous white couch, beckoning for me to join her. Then, taking the DVD out of her purse, she handed it to me and said, "Do the honors?"

I walked over to the boss's LCD big-screen, trying to figure out how to turn it on. Yvonne said, "The player's built-in. See that slot toward the bottom?"

I tried to insert the training disc but there was already a disc in there. I ejected it but then clumsily allowed it to re-insert. The TV came on, spontaneously I thought but later realized Yvonne must have used the remote. At any rate, the DVD in the player set the bar to a whole new level for hard-core porn.

Like every guy my age, in my early years I saw Linda Lovelace, Seka, Jody Maxwell and the women of their generation getting it on onscreen. I still wasn't prepared for what I was seeing: a grand cavalcade of the boss's favorites, including maybe twenty women in a wrestling ring taking bukkake shots from men of all ages, sizes and shapes, women gagging and then asking for more, women puking from taking too much cock in their mouths or having it forced on them, naked elderly women in their late seventies sucking young mens' cocks, and men casually sucking each other off in public with the angry disgusted public reaction painstakingly recorded so you knew it had to be a candid shot.

I must have stared at the screen for ten solid minutes without turning around. When I finally did, Yvonne was seated on the couch completely nude.

Yvonne's breasts were heavy and pendulous even for a woman in her early forties. Her nipples were big as my wide-open mouth must have been, and her expression left no doubt as to her intent. Without a word, I shuffled over to her, heart pounding, and knelt between her legs. First she offered me her breasts. I sucked them, slavering over them greedily before, remembering my manners, I politely teased each nipple in turn with the tip of my tongue. With gentle pressure against the back of my head, Yvonne soon directed me downward to the silken treasure that lay between her legs like a rare jewel hidden in layers of downy softness. I gave the edge of her pussy lips a slow, generous lap that made her sigh and ask for more. Her pussy was musky and moist, and as I licked rhythmically I brought out the intimate slickening that is every woman's telltale prelude to climax. Yvonne's fingers tightened in my hair, pulling it with a sensation that was painful but not distracting. I plunged my tongue into the crevice of her, encountering her "pearl of great price," swirled my tongue tip around the slick firmness I found there, and realized with satisfaction that Yvonne was experiencing a clitoral erection.

Trying to remember what I'd read about a woman's g-spot, I pressed a broader expanse of my tongue against her now exquisitely sensitive clit, at the same time plunging a probing index and middle finger as far as I could up her vagina. She moaned, then gave forth with a startled whoop as my wayward fingers explored her. Slightly curling my fingers upward, I found what I was looking for: a round bump that in Yvonne's case was at least an inch in diameter, while my own wife's is more the size of a mosquito bite. Still licking, I circled her g-spot with the gentlest of tickling motions until she gasped, "Harder!" Always willing to oblige, I pressed and massaged the spot, bearing down each time she demanded, "Harder!"

Suddenly Yvonne seemed to struggle against my lewd embrace. "I gotta pee," she whispered urgently. "You're making me have to go pee!"

I moved to withdraw but she said, "Don't stop!" I bent again to lick her clit and pressed one final time on her g-spot like ringing the doorbell. She quivered, cried out and came instantly, in waves. Moments later, she started her stream.

I don't know if you've ever been pissed on or tasted piss, but when you're sexually excited already, it's a not altogether unpleasant experience. As son as she was through, Yvonne apologized even more profusely than she'd pissed, running through the condo nude, frantically searching for paper towels. After she found some I helped her soak up her pee before it permeated the couch, which, lucky for us, had been scotch-guarded. She sprayed a liberal quantity of Febreze all over the wet spot and then started picking up her clothes to get dressed. Noticing my disappointed expression she said, "I'm sorry, Gary, but I just can't do it to Barb. I just couldn't live with myself if, you know, you'd cheated with me. At least now you can honestly tell yourself we never technically had intercourse and you never once had an orgasm while you were with me. Trust me, you'll be glad we didn't, once you come to your senses. Now let's get down to business. Mind putting in that DVD, Sweets?"

I blew out the scented candles and abandoned any burning sensual fantasies involving Yvonne. She and I never spoke of the experience again, even though we see each other every day at the office.

Getting back to the JO party invite, Dave ran into me in the corridor and asked me if I could keep something under my hat. I said sure. He said, "you ever hear of something called a 'circle jerk'?"

"Not since the seventh grade," I replied.

"This whole divorce bummer has got me logy. Time to kick out the cobwebs, but everybody says don't get hung up with a new woman for at least two or three years."

"Sounds like good advice," I offered.

"Still, two or three years is a brutal amount of time to go without getting any, know what I mean?"

"Impossible. My heart goes out to you, buddy," I joked.

"So here's the idea: Now that I own the fucking house AND the fucking payments, I was thinking about throwing a new kind of party." Dave looked kind of sheepish, but I knew him well enough that it was clear to me he was leading up to something he was shy about. He looked down, cupped his hand and seemed to study his fingernails.

"What kind of party?" I asked quietly.

Whispering barely enough to be heard, Dave said, "A jackoff party. Men only. Well, that's not strictly correct: Janis Stauder will be there with Scott. The two of them already RSVP'd."

"Janis and Scott Stauder agreed to come to a jackoff party?"

I most have raised my voice because Dave shushed me angrily and said, "Hey, man, cool it. You know, some guys would consider it a privilege to even be considered for an invitation to a deal like this."

"Sorry, Dave," I said, looking around, but nobody had heard us. "So when are you thinking of having your party, anyway?"

This Thursday night, starting about eight. Everybody but Scott tells his old lady they have to cheer me up, I'm so broke up over the divorce, they're meeting at my place to play some cards and lift a few brews. Instead of cards, we'll have a few drinks to loosen up, shoot the shit, and then at nine the bell rings and a very special card game begins. Technically nobody's lying to his wife; it's just that you're not giving her the whole truth."

"What do you mean about a bell? A special card game?"

"No way. You have to accept my invitation to find that out. See, I've read on the Internet all about putting on one of these things. Thursday at eight: can you make it? I gotta have an answer now, Gar."

So I said yes.

Getting out of the house was not an easy proposition by any means, but I bullshitted Barb just like Dave told me and by God, it worked! By 7:45 PM that Thursday I had driven the few miles to Dave's house, parked three blocks away at a strip mall and hiked the rest of the way. I couldn't help noticing that for a closed strip mall, there were quite a few cars parked there before mine, hoods still warm, and men walking furtively ahead of me toward Dave's house on the darkened street in East Peoria. I arrived at Dave's front porch alongside one of them. We avoided each other's glances. I rang the doorbell for both of us.

Dave answered the door. "Look what the cat drug in. Gary, glad you could come, man—no pun intended. Gary, meet Mark. Mark, Gary." Mark uncertainly offered me a firm handshake. Knowing what other uses that hand might be put to later in the evening, I shook it.

"You guys are in for a special treat tonight. We'll hang this night on the wall, trust me."

"Mind if we come inside?" I said. "Worried what the neighbors might think."

"Fuck the neighbors," Dave said too loudly. That's when I realized he'd already had a few. When your host has had a few, you have a few to catch up. So I did, jack and cokes poured strong at the wet bar in Dave's basement rumpus room.

There were at least twenty men, maybe twenty-five, already mingling and drinking downstairs, and one woman: Janis Stauder, all five-feet eleven inches of her, long lithe legs leading up to a big ass, if you like such things. Janis's was a big ass but well proportioned and attractive. Bloody Mary in hand, she was engaged in lively flirtatious conversation with a small group of men, none of whom was her husband. Now and then she gave forth with her characteristic loopy horselaugh, which made the men laugh even louder. Spotting me, she shook her finger at me as if to say naughty, naughty, along with a smirking, knowing smile meant only for me. Now I had to worry about Janis and Barb making girl talk and the subject of the JO party coming up. I told myself Janis wasn't the kind of woman to betray that sensitive a confidence.

Janis, her husband Scott, and Dave were the only people I knew who were in attendance; the others were strangers. I wondered what Janis was expected to do when the time came for the evening's festivities to get underway. The idea intrigued me.

It was nearly nine when I was just buzzed enough to go over and ask her. Before three words were out of my mouth, though, Dave rang a loud bell like ringside at a boxing match to get everybody's attention.

He was talking like it was a pep rally. "All right, everybody fuckin' listen up! We all know why we're here tonight, so let's fuckin' strip and put your clothes where you can find them again later, 'cause I'm not responsible for lost or misplaced articles of clothing, like it says at the health club. This ain't the fuckin' health club, by the way. I got only one shower, and the invite specified you'd be already showered and clean enough to eat off before coming here tonight. I ain't you fuckers's mother, but I got a big jug of cocoa butter lotion here on the table for you guys that need it, and a large economy size Kleenex box and a dozen rolls of the quicker picker-upper paper towels for, shall we say, spills? So c'mon, guys, let's hustle. Time's a wastin'. Last one naked is a fuckin' rotten egg!"

We all stripped inside of three minutes. Janis deliberately waited until last, then provided us with a stimulating strip tease. The men roared when she peeled off her bra to release her 44DDD tits and expose them to everyone in the room. It was almost an anticlimax when she stepped out of her panties to reveal a most generous thickness of black wiry bush. Seeming stung by the mens' rowdy cheering at his wife's full frontal nudity, Scott pursed his lips and shifted from one foot to the other, his cock hanging out. I for one had never known that Scott was uncut, or that he was so well hung.

"All of you fuckers jaybird naked?" Dave shouted, then added, "Sorry, Janis, I didn't mean to call you a fucker."

"I am one, though; right, Scott?" Janis retorted to an even more raucous cheer.

When the noise subsided to a low roar, Dave called out the rules: "All right. Here's the fuckin' card game you lyin' fucks all told your old ladies about. I'm gonna shuffle a cut-down deck of only two suits: hearts and spades. I'm gonna deal each one of you one card. Just the men, I mean. Sorry again, Janis." Janis pretended to be disappointed; maybe she really was, I thought at the time.

"With me so far?" Dave continued. "When each of you's got a card, I'm gonna draw one card from another cut-down deck that's got only the spades suit and call that card out, get it? Whosever's got spade card to match's gotta call it out. Then we pair up the guy holding that card with whoever's been dealt the same face or number card in the hearts suit. Got it?"

"This game ain't in Hoyles, is it, Dave?" an older red-faced balding man with a short thick cock asked to nervous laughter from some of the men.

"You're fucking A this game ain't in Hoyles, Artie. This here game's According to Dave. So, everybody ready? Anybody wanna cut the cards?"

"Cut the bullshit instead," some guy hollered out from the back. Everybody laughed again. It looked and sounded like a Super Bowl party except everybody was naked.

"Here goes nothing," Dave said. He began circulation throughout the room dealing off cards to the men one by one. When he was out of cards he asked, "Everybody got one? This shit don't work right unless everybody's got one."

Four or so guys said they didn't have a card. "That's okay," Dave said, "you'll be floaters in case anybody chickens out. We all know what we're here for, don't we guys? We know what happens next, right? So if anybody's having any second thoughts or wants to pussy out before the action gets going, now's the time. Last call before the games begin."

A few men shamefacedly collected their clothes and made their way up the stairs. Several boos rang out. Dave shouted them down. "Shut the fuck up. These guys are my guests; I respect their decisions. Thanks for coming, guys, I mean it. Maybe next time," he called out after them.

"You gonna throw these parties on a regular basis, Dave?" Mark inquired.

"Let's see how it goes. Maybe, maybe not. So, we all ready for the first pair-up of the evening? Here goes." Dave held up another quarter-deck of cards, drew one off the top and announced, "Jack of spades. Hey, how 'bout that, jack of spades is number one? You can't make shit like this up. Which of you fuckers drew the jack of spades."

One guess. I was holding the jack of spades in my hand. I held my arm up high and displayed the card to whoops and cheers. Janis clapped and hollered, "Yay, Gar."

"Okay. C'mon up here, Gar. Get ready to bust your cherry, man." Naked and nervous, the fight or flight reflex rattling around my rib cage, I made my way to the front of the room where Dave had covered a ratty couch with furniture-preserving plastic like at your grandmother's house.

"Now, who's gonna be this man's partner in crime? Who's the lucky fucker that drew the jack of hearts? C'mon, I know somebody's gotta have the jack of hearts."

An arm extended above the crowd holding up the card. "We have a winner," Dave yelled. Janis's horselaugh could be heard above the din. As soon as the crowd parted, I understood why.

Scott, my co-worker, had drawn the crucial card. In moments, Scott and I would mutually masturbate in full view and for the entertainment of his wife and a roomful of strange men.

TO BE CONTINUED...