Fraternity Housewife Ch. 22

Wednesday night with Annette and Thursday with Arlene were pretty much a replay of how it had gone with Paula. They would come into the restaurant, see Aaron, wave a greeting, pause, make a decision, when they saw me, and then join us.

Both were divorcees, both middle 40s, and both frustrated with the dating scene. Beyond that, they could not have been more different.

Annette was truly an apple-shaped woman. She was short, about Paula's 5'2" or so, and had to be pushing 200 pounds. She was cute rather than pretty, with the round cheeks and double chins of a truly fat girl. But she didn't try to hide her size at all. She had on tight slacks, tight enough to show a distinct panty line. Her blouse was loose but the scoop neck showed a generous amount of blue-veined cleavage. Her smile was infectious, making you want to smile back, and when she got tickled her booming belly laugh drew looks, but those who looked were smiling.

In many ways, her story mirrored my own. She had been traded in on a new model, gone wild for a while, and signed into the dating site looking for that special "someone." She had beer with Aaron ("whatever's on tap") and I had a Cadillac Margarita before dinner. She listened as we explained our arrangement, and we talked through dinner (surf and turf for Aaron, ribeye for Annette, lobster for me). She listened attentively and asked reasonable questions.

When we wound down she took a drink of her beer, a bit of the chocolate volcano cake she had ordered for dessert, looked around, and said, "am I on candid camera?"

We all laughed and I reached over and covered her hand with mine.

"No Annette," I said, "it's all real. I didn't plan this," and here Aaron interrupted and added, "I didn't either," "but, well, it's pretty wonderful."

She started to say something but I held up my hand.

"I love Aaron, hell, I love all of the guys, but you CAN have too much of a good thing. And that's what we're doing here," I finished, "seeing if we think you can fit in and if you are interested in sharing in that good thing."

She raised an eyebrow at that and showed the first hint of a temper.

"So this is a job interview?" she asked.

That stopped me for a second but then I said, "in a way, it is I suppose. What we have is special. You can call my husband and me," and I patted Aaron on the hand, "the first cut. But it's mostly just to see if we like each other. It works BOTH ways."

I stopped her a second time when she started to say something.

"I can tell you this," I said, "if you decide to come to the party this weekend you will be greeted happily. EVERY one of the guys loved your profile and your pictures."

"A bunch of chubby chasers?" she asked.

I laughed at that, stood, ran my hands up and down my body, and said, "A bunch of bright young men who appreciate a woman rather than girls."

She laughed at that. "Fair enough," she said.

"Sooooooooooooooo," Aaron said, "would you like to come to a party on Friday night? Call it a mixer and bring an overnight bag. If it turns out you don't hit it off with the rest of the guys we'll put you up in a private room. We will NOT let you drive home drunk and there will be alcohol and pot."

She looked at us and turned very serious.

"This isn't a joke? You're not setting me up?" she said.

This time it was Aaron who covered her hand.

"Annette," he said, flashing The Grin, "we are serious. Look, we figured it out early on. Capacity is 33, we will have 24 back by Friday, and Becky and Paula will be stretched thin. What started as a joke was the idea of covering the four basic female body types but, well, my beloved here is clearly a tube for all that she's a legitimate D cup, Paula is the most perfect pear you'll EVER see, and we're looking for an apple and an hourglass," and here he paused, looked her up and down, and flashed The Grin again.

"And you, my sweet, ain't an hourglass," he finished.

She laughed at that but then turned serious again.

"What I mean is that the world can be pretty damn mean to fat girls," she said, "and I want you to tell me I won't be made fun of."

"You won't," we said in unison.

"Once you are accepted, and I think you will be," I said, "you'll be part of the family and nothing is held back. I can't count the number of times someone has said, 'Becky, get your hairy ass in here,' and they're starting to have fun referring to Paula's excellent and immense ass. But it's in fun and with love and I honestly believe that."

"Accepted?" she asked.

"We can't say 'yes,'" Aaron said, "all we can say is come to the party and let the guys meet you. Ultimately it will be up to them."

"Another interview?" she asked.

And I let a little anger show when I answered.

"Call it kalaka, call it an interview, or think of it as a mixer," I said, "but make up your damn mind."

She grinned at that.

"Hell yes," she said, "time and place."

Arlene was similar in her story but almost opposite in her demeanor. She was beyond buxom with breasts that seemed to enter the room a minute or so before the rest of her and a bubble butt that took an extra few seconds to clear the door. She wasn't wasp-waisted but she was as close to an hourglass as any 40-something could ever be. After her hesitation, she joined us and listened.

Her voice was so soft it was hard to hear even over the light hubbub of the relatively high-end restaurant.

She was pretty in that big, blonde, mom-next-door way. She had a mass of blonde hair, a strong nose, slightly crooked front teeth, big brown eyes, and a generous mouth. In her knee-length skirt and bright yellow blouse showing a fairly modest cleavage, she looked like a mom on a date night. She was bright, funny, like me kind of over-educated with a master's degree although hers was in a "real" science (mine is in history).

Hell, I was in love with her. She was a kindred spirit. After the divorce, she had, as she put it, "fucked everything that stood still long enough," for six months. Then she had settled down for almost five years and was now, and she used the same term as Annette had, looking for that "special someone." She went on that she found herself most comfortable with the young men she met in her classes, she was still taking more-or-less random classes because she was a natural student.

We invited her to the Friday party and told her to bring an overnight bag.

When we got back to the house that evening I grabbed Paula and called out, "girl huddle, leave us alone for 30 minutes." We went upstairs to the loud moaning behind us making us both giggle.

We talked for a few minutes and agreed that with 24 men we would just throw an all-out orgy. So I called both Annette and Arlene and we told them the plan. In a nutshell, the women would dress in their sexiest lingerie, we would present ourselves together, and let things develop. Annette's response was a booming "HELLLLL YESSSSSSSS." Arlene was a softer, "okay." We told them to get to the house by 6:00 for a 7:00 unveiling.

Exactly 30 minutes after we had said we needed 30 minutes for a "girl huddle," the door opened and Mark gave a Roman salute. "The President Sends These Words," he said, his eyes fixed on the wall behind us and his voice making those capitalizations clear, "QUOTE," dramatic pause, "clothes off, legs spread, and accompany my minion FORTHWITH."

We giggled and each took an arm, doing the two-hands-on-the-arm thing ALL women learn with their first training bra. "Can't we distract you, handsome," we both said, our best simper on our faces as we looked up at him under our lashes?

"I live to serve the master," he said, but he was starting to giggle then.

"Please," I said, my fingers busy at his belt while Paula pulled him, gently but firmly, into the room.

Within three minutes we had him on the bed, Paula astraddle him cowgirl style, me astraddle his shoulders with his face covered by my pussy, the two of us kissing while we rode him.

The door opened with a bang and Timothy came in.

"WHAT in the world is going on here!" he demanded.

Mark said, "mpfffffffffff" because I had leaned back pressing down.

"Join us," Paula said, holding her hand out while her hips picked up a faster rhythm.

"Join us," I said, turning slightly, lifting my breasts, and working my nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

"Please," we said in unison, and then got the giggles. We really hadn't practiced it but I thought maybe we should.

Mark made a soft groan as he came. As soon as he relaxed Paula lifted off of him, leaving him still erect but rapidly softening, and went to Timothy. I couldn't help but notice how spectacular her ass was as she walked across the room, the semen running down her thighs making her even sexier. She didn't say anything, just dropped gracefully to her knees (I made a mental note to have her show me how she did that so gracefully) and started on his belt.

She had him in her mouth when Daniel came in.

We never made it out of my bedroom that night.

I was being spit-roasted, me on all fours, Roger's oversize cock in my ass, Daniel's oversize cock, in my mouth, when someone hollered "bukkake on Paula."

I watched as she did the slip-gracefully-to-her-knees thing and was surrounded by naked men with waving cocks.

Roger finished, leaving me stretched out and leaking and slick, and someone took his place about the time Paula accepted the first ejaculation on her face and in her hair.

I woke as someone, it turned out to be Fred, entered me vaginally. It wasn't much fun for me if we're being honest here. I had to concentrate so hard on not peeing that not much else mattered. When he finished, and I did say "thank you, I love you," I rolled out of bed, damn near falling over Paula who was asleep on the floor, and made it to the bathroom.

I had to pee so badly that it took a while to get started but then I sat there feeling that wonderful relief you get when you REALLY have to go, and thinking.

Oddly, I was thinking, "how does one organize an orgy?"

I finished in the bathroom, tiptoed back into the bedroom, and bent down and patted Paula lightly on the foot, waking her. I put my finger to my lips, the universal shushing motion, and whispered, "pee and meet me in the dining room."

As an afterthought, I added, "and do not wash your face."

I started coffee, heard her come in, turned, and laughed.

She looked like someone had taken a bucket of yogurt and poured it over her head. Her hair was soaked, her face was a mask, and it ran down her boobs and belly and her back and ass.

She stood there in that sort of helpless posture that suggested - "how did this happen." I went to her, kissed her, and said, "they'll want to see you like this. Trust me, I know. So don't wash."

She just sort of giggled weakly.

So she sipped her coffee and just said, "thank you, Becky."

I laughed and said, "No, thank YOU. If you weren't here, hell, I'd still be getting fucked raw."

She giggled and raised her glass in a toast.

"Now," I said, savoring the aroma of the coffee and still waking up, "What in the hell is involved in preparing for an orgy?"

She giggled again, looked up at me, touched her cheek, and said, "ScotchGuard by the gallon."

Which made me snort my coffee but I realized she was right.

"I'm thinking two kegs, as many joints as we can roll, a couple of dozen party subs, chips, veggies, and what?" I said, sipping coffee and thinking hard.

"Music," she said, "you'll need to make a mix of your sultriest torch songs and put it on a loop through the stereo."

I giggled and said, "a mud wrestling pit in the back yard, kind of the adult's answer to a bouncy house?"

She snorted coffee at that.

About that time Kevin walked in, holding my phone between two fingers, his arm outstretched, as if it was a dirty diaper or something.

"This devil device woke me," he said, laying it in front of me and giving a stage shiver. Then he leaned over and kissed Paula, saying, "good morning beautiful." Then he kissed me, saying, "good morning bride-o-mine."

He was acting like it was awful how early the phone had rung. Hell, it was 9:22 a.m. by my phone. I didn't recognize the phone number when I looked at my "recents," so I hit the "call" button.

"Becky?" she answered and I recognized Annette's voice.

"And good morning to you, Annette," I said.

"Jesus, did I wake you?" she asked, and then added, "layabout."

I laughed and said, "no, I was drinking coffee but the phone was in the other room. So what's up?"

"Hey," she said, "I was thinking, any chance you guys have a pole in the house?"

"Huh?" I said, demonstrating that I really am NOT a morning person.

She laughed, that booming belly laugh, and said, "you never seen a pole dance?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I said, "no, we don't have a pole."

"Too bad," she said, "if you can get one I'll give the boys a show and teach you how."

I laughed and said, "I'll see what I can do. Now I need to get back to planning an orgy."

She laughed again and said, "my big ass will be there with bells on."

When I hit "end," I noticed Kevin working diligently on his phone.

"Whatcha doin'?" I asked in my best little girl voice.

"Who knew?" he said, "there is actually an industry standard for pole dancing poles."

Annette had been on speaker.

"Seriously?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Yep," he said, showing me the screen, "45 millimeters, an inch and three-quarters diameter close enough. hmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

I watched, kind of fascinated, as this pre-engineering student got busy at something he was good at. Inside ten minutes he had it all budgeted out. "Under $200," he announced, "and I'll have you guys swinging from a pole."

"A pole?" Greg said from behind me, laying his hands on my shoulders, kissing the top of my head, and then doing the same to Paula before pouring us all fresh coffee and sitting down.

"Yeah," Kevin said, "with our brides being the entertainment for a change."

I laughed and threw my napkin at him. "You thought we were pretty fucking entertaining last night," I said, "now see if you get that tonight."

He laughed and said, "don't make threats you don't intend to keep my round-heeled bride, and we all know you are genetically incapable of saying 'no.'"

"Touche'," I said, giggling.

By 10:00 Paula and I were helping Daniel, the real chef in the group, prepare a good breakfast. I was making and buttering toast as fast as our two, four-slice toasters would pop up, Paula was turning bacon in the oversized frying pay, wearing an old-fashioned apron (bacon pops), and Daniel was working his magic with eggs.

Toast buttered and on a plate, I poured glasses full of orange juice and started ferrying breakfast out to the table.

Aaron had managed to sit beside Paula and I heard him telling her, "good sex, and what we had last night was damn sure good sex, is often messy but it is NEVER dirty."

The table erupted with "hear hear," and I joined in.

"So can I take a shower now?" she asked.

"What do we think?" Aaron asked the table.

It's that kind of a group.

Later dressed, well, Paula in one of those ass-peeking T-shirts and me in a light housedress, we started making assignments. Lance, who owned a pickup truck, was put in charge of beer. Fred, who could roll a joint that looked for all the world like it had just come out of a Pall Mall package was put to work using that skill. George was made the grocery czar and worked with Aaron, Paula, and me to develop a list of what we needed for a proper orgy. Kevin and Roger were huddled over a computer.

By 2:00 we were pretty much ready. It's not like we hadn't thrown a party before and when you get down to it, what's an orgy but a party without clothes.

I walked around the great room, an odd mixture of scents in the air, ScotchGuard, sawdust, marijuana, and a whiff of chemicals, paint, and oil.

The pole was installed about five feet off of the far corner. Kevin had found some specifications and that would allow legs to swing freely. It was shiny chrome and when I gripped it my hand fit nicely. I leaned back, putting my weight on it and it felt absolutely solid.

Aaron put his hands on my hips and said, "you have WAY too many clothes on for that." I laughed and said, "later."

Annette and Arlene arrived within a minute of each other, 6:00 p.m. sharp. Annette, surprising me not at all, rolled in in a full-size GMC Yukon in bright red. Arlene in a much more demure Toyota Camry, beige. Both had small bags.

"Get the door," I said to Paula and then turned to the great room.

"Eyes SHUT!" I called out in what I hoped was a good Drill Instructor's voice.

It looked to me like they all complied although I regularly accused them of peeking afterward.

We hustled them upstairs to my room, giggling like schoolgirls.

"First thing first," I said, and we exchanged kisses all around.

"You'll learn there's no modesty around here," I said and Paula chimed in with, "amen."

I bent down, grabbed the hem of the housedress, and peeled it up and off.

Paula peeled off her T-shirt.

"Get the picture?" I asked.

Annette laughed and said, "I love it already," unbuttoning and unzipping the jeans she had on, and pushing them down.

Paula giggled and said, "now them's some granny panties."

And they were.

"Hell," Annette said, "with an ass like mine I've spent a lifetime trying to keep my panties out of the crack of it. These work."

While this was going on, Arlene had been slowly unbuttoning her blouse, not reluctant but just a bit slower.

"A nursing bra?" I asked and she actually blushed.

She unhooked the nursing flap and when she pulled it down a small drop of milk formed.

"Oh shit," Paula said, "now I'm fucking JEALOUS."

"How?" I asked, letting the rest of the question ask itself.

"While I was going wild a young man I spent a month with wanted my milk and, well," and she blushed a bit again, "I just never let them go dry. I like it too much."

"Oh honey," I said, "you are going to have some SORE nipples by tomorrow."

Naked they turned out to be perfect to complete our quest for the four basic female body types. Annette was definitely an apple. She had a big belly, hell, she almost looked pregnant, but it wasn't flabby like some fat girls get. It was round and oddly firm. An ass to match. Thich thighs tapered down to ridiculously small ankles and feet.

Arlene was a, well, a "mature" hourglass. She had those immense boobs, I later found out her bras were 44HH and a big, round, bubble butt. She wasn't wasp-waisted, but she wasn't 18 either. She had those delightfully soft arms with big pads of fat on the backs, a bit of soft belly, and interesting stretch marks.

Our, well, our "introductions" had used about a half-hour and so we started getting ready. We used the bathroom mirror and my little makeup desk. Annette was, as I learned she was in everything, full-on. Arlene was no shrinking violet nor, as I had learned, was Paula. But Annette just rolled over everything else.

It had overtones of a high school sleepover, an adult girl's night out, with anticipation of knowing none of us was going to say "no" all night. We giggled as we did each other's hair, checked each other's makeup, and in Arlene's case, made sure the seams in her nylons were straight.

In the end, here's how we looked as we started downstairs.

I had on a black peignoir, almost modest actually if it wasn't so sheer you could read a newspaper through it. Paula had that red teddy with a red overwrap, again so sheer nothing was left to the imagination. Arlene was in a baby doll nighty with a garter belt holding up her sheer nylons, with the seams carefully straightened. A single bow held it closed over those immense boobs. And Annette was in a fishnet body stocking that covered her from her throat to her toes, but hid absolutely nothing.