Strange Days Pt. 01

Indeed, none showed much hesitation. I guess they had already dipped their toes in the water, so to speak, by stripping down to their underwear. Maybe the alcohol acted as a lubricant, although no one was drinking heavily. The females understandably wanted to maintain their self-control, and the males didn't want to spoil the scenery by viewing it through a booze-induced blur — or worse, by misbehaving and ruining everything.

Some of the girls were quite nonchalant about being topless. Others appeared shy and timid, avoiding eye contact and keeping their hands strategically positioned. Laura was in between. Once again she handed me her glass and drew in a lungful of air. She exhaled a half dozen soft, rapid puffs before reaching behind her back. She fiddled with the clasp for a moment and it only just occurred to me how difficult it is to unhitch a brassiere in situ. I was tempted to offer assistance, but none of the women in the room needed or wanted a helping hand. This was something they had to do by themselves. So Laura unfastened the little hook and allowed the bra to dangle by its halter. Finally, with a resolute firming of her jaws, she grasped the strap and lifted it over her head, pulling it off her body with an extravagant flourish that caused her breasts to quiver slightly. She held onto it for a moment, caressing the fabric, before handing it to me. She blushed, again, when I casually shoved it into my pocket. That was an absent-minded gesture, but it must have looked as if I was stashing a trophy.

I'm sure this was not the first time that Laura had bared her chest in public. In fact, before that night I had seen her topless, albeit by accident in a poolside mishap. She's not prudish, nor especially bashful, and she doesn't mind displaying her assets. However, the differences here were the setting, the deliberate and methodical way in which she and the other women went about their stripping, and the fact that it was a one-sided display, with male partners and friends still fully clothed and keenly scrutinizing. Yet I had to laugh, sympathetically, of course, at normally unflappable Laura holding her drink in such a position that her hand and glass concealed one nipple, her forearm the other. Fortunately she saw the humor in her situation and smiled back. She gradually lowered her arm until her breasts were revealed in all their glory.

I'm ashamed to say that I got rather fixated on her nipples. I expected them to be erect — as erect as... well, I'm sure you'll get my meaning when I confess that I was glad I'd had the forethought to wear baggy trousers. But it really didn't come as a shock that they were still soft. Although she and the other girls were obviously aroused, there was enough residual discomfiture that many were not feeling especially turned on... unlike their partners. Anyway, Charlotte's perspicacity in turning up the thermostat was not just about goosebumps.

I glanced about furtively to see what was happening elsewhere, and relaxed when I saw that the other guys were doing the same, and no one seemed to mind. Nevertheless, I quickly averted my eyes if any of the women reacted with a twinge or a cringe, or otherwise looked embarrassed. However, they all seemed either comfortable with or reconciled to their state of undress, or too preoccupied with trying to appear at ease to be concerned about anyone staring.

Naturally I had to see Rachel. She had delayed removing her top until she was one of the last to do so, and now realized this was a mistake. Even with a dozen pairs of naked breasts already on display, the attention kept shifting to those holding out. (It's interesting how the act of undressing tends to be even more provocative and stimulating than the end product.) Then, staring at something across the room, she crossed her arms to slide the straps off her shoulders. I thought her hands were going to linger there, but she pulled down the bra in a single smooth movement, freeing her arms and then bringing the rear part of the band round to the front to unhook it. The cups clung to her torso for a few tantalizing seconds, until she wiggled her body and the bra fell free. She caught it before it drifted all the way to the carpet. As she stood up straight again, her boobs jiggled nicely.

Like Laura, Rachel was not stupendously endowed but made up for the lack of dimension with elegance of design. She made no attempt to cover herself, but kept her arms unnaturally tensed, her hands clasped at waist level or planted awkwardly on her hips. She was resisting the urge to raise them to her chest.

Yet after a while, as we got used to the bare bosoms — the sight or the feeling, depending on gender — we all became conditioned to it. I guess semi-nudity is not such a taboo that you dwell on it for long. And once again, I would have been more than satisfied if things had progressed no further. But more delights lay ahead. The party's purpose had yet to be fulfilled. And when I think back on it, I don't know if stretching out the undressing ritual over an hour or so was a help or a hindrance for the girls. Certainly it gave them time to adjust. On the other hand, at each stage just as they found their new comfort zone, they were moved out of it. This had the effect of maximizing and intensifying the experience, and Charlotte orchestrated this like a symphony.

The final act was once more kicked off by our hostess. She picked exactly the right moment, when there was a lull in the conversation and the music had stopped, and some people were becoming restless — the guys impatient, the girls just wanting to get it done. Yet many of the latter were clearly ambivalent. Laura silently rolled her eyes when she realized the time had come. Rachel muttered something inaudible to everyone but herself. One girl groaned softly, one rocked back and forth on the heels and balls of her feet while another swayed gently from side to side, as if slightly woozy. Most, however, laughed or just shrugged it off, although I suspected that was mainly façade.

Wearing nothing but her g-string, Charlotte was almost unbearably sexy. Tall and curvy, with golden brown hair, olive skin, the body of a showgirl and a chorine's legs, she was not classically beautiful but radiated a self-assured sensuality. And while I feel a tad sleazy describing her this way, the fact is that she was spectacular. Her breasts were magnificent orbs. Unlike many of the others in the room, her rose-hued nipples were raised and hard. She basked in the attention she drew; but she never struck a pose, didn't flaunt. She had no need for that.

The mood in the room changed when Charlotte reached to her hips and pushed her thong down her thighs. Everyone stopped to watch. I heard a couple of gasps. She was relaxed and unembarrassed. She conveyed a playful innocence that was almost childlike as she daintily handed the last of her clothing to James. Suddenly she seemed so fragile and vulnerable, with all of her glorious body exposed, nothing hidden, that little bit of her which had remained privately hers, and her man's, now public property.

Almost all the women followed in unison. Laura looked up into my eyes, then lowered her gaze, perhaps starting to feel a few qualms. At this stage, any of the girls could have backed away from the final revelation, and no one would have disparaged her for doing so. Certainly none of us males was in a position to pass judgement. On the other hand Rachel, who had been hesitant about taking off her bra, all but leapt out of her panties. I think she was bursting to get it over with.

Indeed, it's funny how a small piece of fabric can make such a difference. A minute earlier, half the bodies in the room were concealed by nothing more; and yet it's that last, forbidden one per cent of skin which, when revealed, transforms a woman. Whether she acts like a slut or a saint, prances and cavorts to show herself off or timidly shrinks from the spotlight, is strong or feeble, tough as nails or tender as a flower petal, is irrelevant. When she is naked, and all the women about her are nude, and all the men are fully clothed, she is defined in full, first and last, by her womanhood.

I took a lingering look at Laura. I didn't try to be coy or even subtle, because I thought that would be hypocritical. She showed a little discomposure but stood there stoically, heroically, with her feet and knees slightly apart, her hands defiantly by her side, not hiding anything but (the impression was) poised to provide cover. The soft pink cleft between her legs was smooth, either shaven or waxed, as were most of the girls'.

I turned to Rachel. She was still wearing her cutie-pie knee-socks and buckle-shoes — so charmingly incongruous, since she was completely naked above them. They were the first to catch the eye, and then my line of sight was drawn upwards, along her silken thighs to the velvet folds at the entrance to her body. The wisps of hair evoked a sense of a pristine simplicity and guileless lack of pretension that her impudent nakedness served to enhance rather than debase. Her pose was more submissive, or modest, than Laura's — hands behind her back, feet together but with one knee bent to position that leg slightly forward of the other, head erect but eyes downcast.

Everyone tried to act casual; in fact, perhaps we tried too hard. Charlotte, the attentive hostess, proffered a glass of wine and Rachel took it, loosening out of her uneasy posture. Indeed, the mood all round turned effervescent once again. Perhaps it was the effects of the alcohol, but more likely, since Rachel didn't even sip her drink, it was the adrenaline, but the girls began to circulate, breaking away from their partners to mingle more freely than they had done with their clothes on.

Except for the naked flesh, it was almost ludicrously banal. At one stage I found myself in conversation with four of the bare-skinned lovelies, exchanging advice on, of all things, bus routes and fares. I have no recollection of how the conversation got started, but in hindsight it was so marvelously trite, given the situation.

The women now appeared completely at ease, although that could have been bravado. To be honest, I had been a little intimidated by the company — all these swashbuckling adventurers, fearless daredevils and intrepid thrill-seekers. But it does wonders for the male ego when you're casually chatting to a pretty girl when you're fully clothed and she's stark naked... let alone when there's four of them and just you, and everyone's trying to act like there's nothing out of the ordinary in the fact that you're the only one with clothes on, because you're the one with a penis.

Of course, not everybody was so coy, but I didn't see any groping or other bad conduct. In fact, most of the unrestrained behaviour came from the females. After quickly getting over the initial, inevitable discomfiture, they were enjoying themselves as much as the guys, maybe even more so because they were able to let go of their inhibitions altogether, whereas we males felt obliged to keep a check on our impulses. There was no shame or humiliation; but at the same time there was no blatant exhibitionism or overt immodesty.

That sounds odd, under the circumstances, but it's the difference between sexy and sleazy.

One of those in our little conversation circle was a slender, dark-eyed brunette named Katrina — "Kat, with a K," she insisted. But she did have a quality that was undeniably feline — slinky, exotic and aloof. Her skin was a glossy sheen except for three healed but revealing scars, a small one on her left breast just below the nipple, a more ragged mark on her right hip, and a patch where the light sprinkling of pubic hair did not grow at all. (It amused me than even the briefest bikini would have hidden two of these from view.) These were the unmistakable signature of a devil-may-care lifestyle. She was standing beside me, and whenever she directed a comment at me she turned towards me and her bare breast brushed against my shirt sleeve. Then she'd emphasize a point and her firm nipple pressed into my arm. I don't know if she was doing it deliberately, or even if she was aware she was doing it at all. If she hadn't been nude I likely wouldn't have noticed.

After a while, with some reluctance I detached myself from the group, when I saw that Rachel was standing alone. It was the first time I had a chance to share more than a couple of words since the party started. I couldn't resist a close-up inspection. She didn't seem to mind, or at least was becoming used to being looked over. She waited patiently till I was finished, with just the hint of a wry smile. She had taken off her shoes and socks and wasn't wearing jewellery or make-up. She was as bare as nature had provided, and nature had done a very good job. As I've mentioned, like Laura she's not stacked but her body is neatly and nicely proportioned.

We talked for about five minutes, mainly about our tute group sessions. Then we were interrupted by Jake, who asked Rachel if she wanted a refill. She declined, with a raised eyebrow, as her wine was untouched, and to my relief he withdrew; but she turned and beckoned me to follow her into the kitchen. There was Charlotte, with a couple of the other girls and one of the guys, preparing snacks. And I have to say that familiarity was definitely not breeding contempt. The sight of the women busy at the bench, the succulent flesh of their bare backsides wiggling slightly as they worked, certainly piqued my appetite. Rachel started to assist, so I pitched in as well, cutting up salami and cheese.

Charlotte offered me an apron, and I couldn't resist laughing out loud, which earned me some quizzical stares. I guess my sense of irony was not shared.

As we carried out the plates of snacks, Charlotte declared that Laura had a few things to say. I realized then that she was the president of the adventure club; and I felt a sudden surge of self-importance, bathing in the reflected glory of being her escort. She said a few things, of which I don't remember much because I wasn't really listening. She thanked Charlotte and James for hosting the event, assured us that the fun was just getting started, made some announcements regarding the club. The party now moved into the next phase — indeed, as Laura promised, shifted into a higher gear. I think Charlotte and James had observed the sexual tension rising and decided this was the time to dissipate the energy by organizing some games. It surprised me not at all that the nudity was the centrepiece of every one we played.

We started with a form of musical chairs, using plastic garden seats. The guys sat in a circle facing outwards. (It was a little more complicated, as I shall explain shortly.) The girls skipped around the outside, their breasts bobbing and swaying in a most agreeable manner, until "Sit!" was called. The music didn't stop. Instead, the girls perched on our knees, with their backs to us, and performed a lap dance. A not very salacious one, I must add. Then "Spin!" was called again and they leapt up and repeated the circuit; but this time when the girls descended upon our laps we were face to face.

One of the girls, Gianna, sat out the game to act as the caller. She had a broken leg sustained, unsurprisingly, during one of the club's hazardous escapades. It hadn't occurred to me until then, but there is nothing cuter than a pretty girl who's naked but for a leg in plaster. To carry out her task impartially she was blindfolded. Talk about your fetish fantasy!

It was a variation on the orthodox game, with no eliminations, scrambling for places or winners (except that we all were). It was pure gratuitous fun. And after a dozen rounds, more guys than just myself were in danger of wearing their enthusiasm on the front of their trousers. I got Rachel twice, facing both ways, which was pleasant, but not Laura. The most proficient at the game was — again, no big revelation — Charlotte. I was lucky to get her on the Spin, and she was brilliant. She clasped her hands behind her head, while I kept mine rigidly by my side, gripping the sides of my seat in fact, as she gyrated on my thighs. She was either very light or held up some of her weight on her legs, which would have been difficult with her knees bent and splayed. She pushed her face close to mine, her breathing wafting gentle puffs over my eyes and forehead, and she unabashedly rubbed her breasts against my chest. The tender abrasion of her nipples against the fabric of my shirt aroused her. I felt her breath quickening, and even her racing heartbeat through her breasts. She purred and licked her lips. She put on a performance like this with each guy she danced for, and by the end of the game she was flushed and panting. She's quite a woman.

The game was exhausting for the dancers, so we had a break before beginning the next game. The girls relaxed on cushions or on the carpet while their menfolk brought drinks, and some towels to mop up the perspiration. They made an entrancing tableau, like haremgirls reclining in the seraglio.

Before the energy ebbed too far, Charlotte clapped her hands and called us to the next game. This involved us forming circles, male-female with arms behind the back, to pass various objects, such as a shuttlecock, tennis ball and so on — unsubtle double entendres — from one to the next. Of course, in keeping with the party theme each object was lodged in the girls' cleavage. Those not so curvaceous had to hunch their shoulders forward to squeeze together their assets. And to make it more difficult, and thus more interesting, we guys had to tuck the object under our chin. So there was a lot of twisting and contorting and plenty of breast-to-chest-and-chin contact. The girls shuffled along the line to each guy in turn. Once the circuit had been completed, we males then had to transfer the objects to the females' thighs. Believe me, pressing your face into a nude girl's bosom and crotch is an experience not to be missed.

None of the girls opted out of any game, which took a lot of pluck. If the roles had been reversed, I'm not sure how many of us of the "stronger sex" would have been so unflinching. And considering how risqué some of the goings-on were, it was probably a wise thing that only half the group were sans attire!

There was another game that entailed emblazoning numbers and letters on the girls' buttocks with lipstick; I don't recall the reason. Nevertheless, we did push the boundaries of propriety a couple of times, most notably when the ice came out. The girls stared at the sparkling cubes with trepidation, but once the fun started none wavered. And what followed was remarkably, even profoundly intimate. I must admit that I was a little shocked at how far we went.

The coffee table was used. Charlotte and James also moved the console and side tables into the middle of the room. Two guys were assigned to each, and we had two girls apiece on whom to work our frosty magic. Adam and I were among those who got the first go, to play with Laura and Kat. The girls took turns; and to make the experience more intense they were blindfolded. Laura was first. To my horror she recoiled as I tied the sash in place. For a couple of demoralizing seconds I thought it was my touch that repelled her; but she giggled and ran her fingertips over the black satin. Her loss of sight had made her feel more exposed and accessible. She liked that.

Charlotte and James were another of the first couples, and they took the coffee table. Unlike the other, wooden, furniture it had a marble top and was obviously cold, because when Charlotte lay down she released a loud gasp. She and James could observe us newbies, offering advice and tips, and she did so while blindfolded, which was impressive, and between exclamations and exudations of pleasure, which was also impressive. They told us to be alert to signs of distress on the girls' skin, such as burning sensations, excessive redness, pins and needles; but they never mentioned the word "frostbite".