Dinner Party Pt. 02

I approached the door with Virginia in tow, but I didn't have to knock. It opened as we were mounting the steps to their porch, and there was Nate, which was short for Natalie, who was Nick's, our host's, wife.

Nate was a striking woman in peculiar ways, a theme you'll find that will be continued in our other companions for the evening. Objectively, you might not have considered her an exceptional beauty, as none of them on a casual glance might have stood out from a crowd. She was tall, maybe five seven-ish, and her build was rubinesque and a bit more generous around her hips than chest. In, I guess, her early fifties, her hair was silvery in curly waves around a face that was round and fleshy and not without her years' lines, but handsomely formed. But she had this slow, smooth style and a canny, knowing humor, a vivacious light to her pale blue eyes that flashed the color of lightning and electric sparks. Something in her manner always thoroughly charmed me and she had a warmth that washed over you like the sun breaking through cold winter clouds.

She flashed white teeth in a bright smile as she went to her toes to shamelessly hug me in towards her bosom and kiss both my cheeks as I gave her a brief but fond squeeze around her waist in return. When she hugged Virginia I noticed my girl was unusually compliant, leaning their chests in and taking her time to return the cheek-kisses. When I met her eye, Virginia's cheek blossomed a bit of pink blush, and I sensed Nate was already playing on that subby nature I'd brought near the surface before we arrived.

I think Nate sensed the same thing, reading the angle of Virginia's eyes and angling of her posture not to mention the blush, as when I found her gaze, again, it danced, communicative of private bemusement hidden from Virginia.

She lead us in, asking us about the our trip there and such greeting small-talk. There was a small sitting room just inside before the dining room, and beyond that a kitchen, where most of the present activity seemed to be buzzing. But presently there in the front were two of the others; Roger and Miles, both greeting me, rising briefly from their seats to offer me handshakes and Virginia brief hugs as Nate took our coats.

Roger was tall and, frankly, skinny. Genuinely rail thin, or, as he himself had described himself, cadaverously so. His hair was black, but he was balding on top, though he was too dignified to attempt to hide it. This was frankly one of the fiercest intellects I've ever known. Honestly he had to have the highest verbal IQ I've ever conversed with, particularly without having any of those odd social deficiencies that seems to commonly accompany such gifts. He simply seemed, often, to know everything, and in conversation it always seemed impossible to mention any obscure topic that he couldn't comment intelligently on. But for all that he was charming, charismatic, measured and imminently tactful in conversation, always elegant and entertaining in his speech, and I found myself exuberant at having his company for the evening.

Miles matched Roger's social facility in a subdued sort of way. Average in height and build, though clearly fit, with sandy colored hair on that cusp between blond and brown, he seemed almost perfectly average in most physical descriptors, save his complexion. He was tanned ruddy and dark in a way that made his green eyes and the sun kissed highlights of his conservatively short hair flash more brightly in contrast. He had that salty look, his face etched and weathered by the elements in a way that reminded me of a sailor or some old west ranger. If Roger was the pre-eminent thinker and intellectual of our group, then Miles was the man-of-action; a former special operations officer, professional athlete, and world traveler. If Roger knew something about every topic, then Miles probably had some personal anecdote about it. But what made him stand out immediately in casual company was his utterly unflappable James Bond-like cool. When you meet most people's gaze, when you watch them, you can see how much their behavior was regulated by anxiety when they fidget or look away. Miles always seemed totally lacking in that sort of anxiety or self-consciousness, those vulpine, calculating eyes always seeming wholly unaffected, indifferent to any sort of social pressure.

As they retook their seats Roger informed me, crossing his legs with an easy slouch and refilling his pipe from a tobacco pouch, that I'd be welcome to join them only once I was properly attired with a drink from the kitchen. Nate was leading me that way to see the others, anyway, so I promised I'd be back.

Nate lead us past the dining room where the table had already been set into the kitchen, and resumed the activity I assumed she'd been doing before coming to greet us, which involved fiddling with foodstuffs, like the others there, besides Nick. They paused what they were doing to greet us with more hugs and handshakes.

Nick stood there in the middle, directing the others in the dinner preparation, big arms folded over a big chest. That was kind of Nick in a nutshell. He reminded me of this great, placid silverback gorilla in the middle of the troupe; protective, wise, steady and watchful of the antics of the rest of us, at once engaged and aloof. But he really wasn't what one might picture when they imagine someone with leadership qualities. He was a great beast of a man; I was six three and he stood at least three or four inches over me. And while I was also pretty stocky and robustly built, he was even more so, with big, broad shoulders, strong limbs, a deep barrel of a chest, and yes, a bit of a gut. His hair was graying blond, and he wore it long and straight, with a matching long beard, reminding me a bit of a southern rock band singer. It was ironic given that he was a professional musician by trade. He was the sort of man who created a space, set the tone around him, centered and buddhalike, with a calm that belied a passion that I'd only seen glimpses of when turns in conversation particularly struck his fancy.

He gave me a little jerk of his head and motioned me in as the girls were splitting off, his conspiratorial sort of smile more visible in the corners of his eyes than his lips, never being a man given to vast emotiveness. He pulled open his fridge and pulled out a bottle, offering it. One of the great many topics we'd discussed several times was beer. I started drinking at seventeen, in the army, in Europe, and so I cut my teeth on weissens which I always preferred over the pilsners that pretty much ubiquitous at home in the states. So, we had an on going quest, finding beers that were closer to the proper Bavarian heffeweissens we loved.

As he watched me pop it and open it, he, directing the dinner preparation labor rather than contributing directly to it himself, complained to the others that the mashed potatoes weren't whipped enough, at which point Nate, giggling, began to shove us out of the kitchen to sit 'with the boys' and let them finish.

While it was all in good humor, that's sort of how it was. The women generally deferred to the men being in charge in the decision making sort of way and in return the men attentively took the women's wants and needs into thoughtful account. You may notice that certain attitude that we all seemed to hold tacitly in common. I've come to think of it like a kind of enlightened chauvinism. I never recall any of us seriously applying any 'shoulds' to the matter in regards to others. It's simply that the aesthetic of traditional, 'old fashioned' gender roles appealed to all of us, on multiple levels, as you'll come to see. We all enjoyed acting them out, enjoyed others acting them out around us, and much of our little group seemed in open celebration of that which has become peculiarly taboo in outside society.

So, before us 'boys' are ushered out of the kitchen, the last member of our group for the evening, was Gretchen, Miles' wife. Now Gretchen was a proper stunner, genuinely gorgeous. She had that long, slender yet statuesque barby-doll build that, regardless of what they'll admit, most women would happily kill for. She had slightly wavy chestnut hair and warm brown eyes, one of those cute little upturned but pointy noses, Nordic cheekbones and a delicate jaw line, and along with a properly cultivated elegant manner, all went to making her very memorable beauty. It might be easy to stop there, but, as one might expect , her qualities didn't stop being remarkable with the physical. On the contrary, at times it almost felt like her self development was driven by the need to be more than the simple pretty face that could have taken her far on its own. She as bright, charming, witty, well educated and well traveled, both sophisticated and worldly, and frankly, had a mind that could more than hold its own in the group's most intense metaphysical and philosophical conversations, which is a pretty rare distinction.

Gretchen had taken Virginia in hand, directing an impromptu class in just how certain veggies needed to be cut. Before exiting the kitchen I had to admire the view from behind them. Gretchen wore a dress much like Virginia's, though hers was creamy colored with coppery bits and bobs, lower cut, and where Virginias skirt was snug, Gretchen's was poofy, billowing out a bit from her hips down. Also where I'd put stockings on Virginia, Gretchen's legs were bare. I usually might prefer the stockings, but in this case her legs were prefect enough to display on their own, those slender, athletic curves of flawless skin smooth enough and tanned to a silky glossiness. I usually prefer pale skin to tans, but, as always, she was the exception. Also, like Virginia, she wore suicidally high heels, strappy shoes that showed off cute, painted toes and feet.

Nate was far more modest. She wore an intricate black knit sweater, one of those slightly baggy ones with the over sized turtle neck. Along with it her skirt was silk, slit to show a bit of leg now and then though, down to her ankles, her wedge heels a bit lower than the others, but still nice.

In the sitting room conversation was easy, as it always was. We never started out contriving lofty intellectual talks. We'd chat, make small talk about nothing in particular, letting topics lead any which way until out interests shaped them organically into something more thoughtful. I'd love to relate some of it to you, except, first, they tended to get a bit out there, and second, I know that's not why you're here and this is running far longer than I planned already. So, we'll skip ahead a bit.

It wasn't long until the three ladies, Roger being the only one who was there stag, called us in to the table they'd set. Conversation over dinner flowed with beer and wine much the same as before, and a bit to my surprise at the time, the men didn't seem to edit themselves much in the presence of the ladies. Of course neither was the opposite true, and a few times there were some admissions about various events and experiences and reactions that I'd have expected to illicit more reaction than the bemused interest it did.

For example, taking about the workplace at one point, Nate mentioned quite casually, "Oh, I

let my boss feel me up and touch my butt all the time." It was so cute how she could address the racy topic so casually, but primly preferred to use 'butt' over 'ass'. She added, "It usually makes me wet until I can come home and tell Nick."

Nick snorted around a deep swallow from his beer glass. Smirking, he prompted. "Until you -can- tell me?" with emphasis on 'can'.

I watch people. It's always been one of the things I do. So I noted how Nate's breath caught and deepened, her skin flushed just minutely, eyes darkened, nostrils flared with just a bit of sucked in breath. It was something of a conditioned response, I suspected, and further, that it was part of a game that Nick and Nate had not so different from those of Virginia's and mine.

"Well," admitted Nate wryly, setting down her wine glass and swabbing her lip delicately with a napkin, "That's like a game we play. I hint to Nick when I've been a naughty girl. But I refuse to tell him how until he tortures it out of me."

I personally didn't feel like I knew them quite well enough to pry deeper into admissions that personal. Fortunately Virginia, who was quite flushed next to me, I'll add, seemed stimulated beyond her normal level of discretion, and she blurted, "He tortures it out of you?" apparently without thinking, as she seemed to blush more after it left her lips. I smiled sidelong to her, to reassure her, and beneath the table, where my hand was resting, I gave her thigh a comforting little squeeze.

Nate looked at Nick as though confirming he wanted her to go into it, before nodding and looking back at us. "Well, yeah. You know, he binds me, spanks me, flogs me. Does all sorts of wicked things... usually with some sort of vibrator to stimulate... the bastard..." She looked at Nick, who only smirked and winked mutely, "... and he denies me orgasms until I confess every slutty thought or act." She shrugged a little. "Though sometimes, rarely, he goes the opposite way and does the overestimation thing, forcing me to cum over and over until, god, if I don't tell him I'll go crazy or have a heart attack. That gets intense."

Nick just pressed a mute, smug looking smirk towards the rest of us and I laughed.