The Relative Advantages of Sight

She guides him back in, with her on top and both sitting up. He cradles her ass under his arms as she rides his cock, her legs so tight around his ribs; he tries his best to please her, pressing her down as he thrusts upward as best as he can. They're both releasing guttural noises, from deep in their bellies, as their naked thighs slap into each other and their lovemaking intensifies. In this position her clitoris is mercilessly, wonderfully abused, an unlimited current of power charged right into her legs and tummy. She crushes his ribs like a vice and bites onto his hair and pulls as she feels her power release. Her orgasm is felt far up in her stomach and down to her lower thighs, her pussy a star, radiating her body. She shrieks swift, sudden yelps; they'd be funny if Gary wasn't so mad with pleasure. He can feel her juice running down, tickling his pelvis, cumming so much, like a boy. That thought is more than enough, and Gary's penis explodes with fire and syrup, splashing upward into her body ocean. They grind against each other for several seconds more, then slow down, easing up. They're exhausted, dripping with sweat. She pulls herself up; his penis feels cold in the air.

She whips his blindfold off. He removes hers. The sudden restoration of sight shocks them with physical proof of how drunk they really are. Everything moves too quick, like film skipping frames as the camera pans around.

"Don't... don't worry... I'm on the... pill."

Silence. He makes out her smiling face, shakily.

"You... you win!" she says.

They flop down onto the soaking, sweaty bed, and surrender consciousness instantly.

***

His head pounds as he claws his way back to consciousness. He decides that he needs a drink of water fast. He scans the room: cups they knocked over last night are still on the floor, with green poison spilled out. The thought of those drinks is not comforting. There is a aberration among the pattern of tipped cups and crushed plastic on the bedside table, however. A loose-leaf note. He plucks it up, and squints to read it:

"Come to practice at five today. I worked really hard on this, so BE THERE!!!"

He manages a smile. He can remember feelings from the night before; no images, but motion and smell and taste, like music did to persons' minds before film and television handicapped us.

Her skin. His skin. Their nudity together. Blind, but there.

He's at the gym at ten to five, punctual as always. The steel side doors are closed, which is odd. He opens the portal and enters the gym, closing himself in.

"Gary!"

She's standing in front of her army of 33, wearing shoes, oddly. Their eyes follow hers as she stares at him and beams.

She hurries over to him as he crosses the buffed floor and leaps into his arms. He twirls her around a bit, and she smooches his brow.

"This," she says, still elevated in his arms, "Is my new boyfriend."

He stops. Puts her down.

"Really, Krista?"

"Fucker," she sniffs, "You were my boyfriend since you got my snot all over your face. I just didn't feel like telling."

She turns to her cabal.

"And now... since you won the game, I'm gonna make up for you not seeing me. Watch our practice!"

And then, not waiting for Gary to react, she pulls her navy blue tank-top over her head, revealing only a very small, very lacy cream colored bra. She yanks on her gym shorts, also navy blue, and they fall to her sneakers, revealing a matching, lacy pair of panties. It's not really that much more flesh than Gary could see before she undressed, but it was what clothes she was now wearing that makes all the difference. Such sensual nighttime apparel matched with the atmosphere of practice, with all of these girls watching! Gary is driven wild.

And half a second later, he is driven to outright dementia as all of the other girls present, acting as a single unit, throw off their own shirts and shorts, revealing every skimpy possibility. They giggle as they stand in mismatching white cotton panties and black bras, or flawlessly attuned purple strapless tops and high cut bottoms. At least half are in thongs. Many had ample cleavage proudly displayed. A smile on every face, so many blushing. They turned around to begin practice, and Gary is overwhelmed by the sea of flesh in front of him.

They go through several routines. Their clothing is not intended for this practice, and their breasts bounce around freely as they hop and spin. Even the less ample girls look gorgeous, their chests heaving as they suck in fresh air. The larger girls look fantastic, the wisps of fabric separating their rear cheeks, vanishing and peeking out as their asses quiver with every move.

He's blinded. Blinded again. He can see them all, and everyone is luscious. Brown bobbed hair. Cinnamon red hair. Full and thin lips. Pieced navels and pierced tongues. Freckles and sweat. The pink of newly shaven legs. The stray pubic hairs visible as they land from a delicious leap. Their flesh. Their flesh.

And.

They.

Stop.

He can't tell how long it's been; he was lost in their skin. Krista approaches him, dripping with sweat, her lace soaked through and clinging to body; she's licking perspiration off her lips.

"Get naked for my girls."

He has to obey. His own body is exposed instantly. The girls whistle at his proud organ, seven point five inches, reaching for his chest. They are now overdressed.

Krista begins to embrace him, but pauses to let him drink her body in. Her speckles extend right down to her ankles, and probably her feet. She's breathing heavily from the workout. She puts her leg up, and he backs away to grasp her sneaker, and pulls it right off. Same with the next, and same with her socks. Yes, her feet have freckles, which is flawless. He unclasps her bra, and her breasts tumble out, red from bouncing, sweat beading on her hard nipples, very pink and tiny. Her panties are drenched with sweat, and he must peel them down her hips; she growls as the lace comes free of her lotus. He gazes at her unveiled form: her pussy is extremely red, much deeper then the trimmed pubic hair accentuating it. He kisses her, probing her mouth with his tongue swiftly. She pulls away.

"Now," she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation, "I love my girls so much, and you have to love them too. So go."

She pushes him toward the first glistening varsity girl. A ravishing Hispanic with blue highlighted hair from his Philosophy class. He's never thought of her sexually before. But he slowly unties the green laces of her high-tops, smooches her tasty brown feet as they slide out of her gray tube-socks, groans a bit at her tiny, knobby, but pert tits, and grins at her relatively large, open vagina, clear fluid glistening around the lips and mixing with salty sweat. She smells great, that heavenly mix of fruit in body spray as he kisses her. She sucks on the bottom of his lip as he pulls away.

He unveils every one of them. The gym floor is soon generously littered with abandoned shoes and underpants. An English major he danced with once at a social. She's got the most darling mole on her hip, an island of brown on silky white skin. She hums madly as she kisses and keeps her eyes open. A girl from the floor below him, engaged to be wed in only two months. She kicks her white panties, decorated with red lip patterns, right off her leg as he lowers them. She wiggles her bare ass under his hands and darts her tongue in and out of his mouth; her future husband has treated her well, no doubt. The Senior class treasurer, a soft and fleshy black girl, is easily the best kisser, slow and steady; her tongue is enormous, and she nestles his prick against her totally unshaven bush. He can't help but enjoy her for several excruciating minutes.

As he slides the last stitch off of the last girl in the room, her long brown braids slapping against her back, her fingertips stroking his butt, he can hear them crowding by. He can smell their girl sweat, their perfume, their breath, a steam room around him. He finishes the final kiss, and they are all around him, a chamber of skin of every gentle color, every texture, all hot and wet. He is the same, and he falls to his knees. Krista is in front of him. He breathes deep, catching a bit of every girl's essence, all boobs and air and smiles.

Krista strokes his penis slowly, and he instantly ejaculates for what seems like minutes. He clenches his eyes shut in this paradise of nakedness. His arms thrash around and he feels bodies, all inviting, and dozens of fingers stroking his ribs and back and stomach and face.

He opens his eyes. His semen is all over Krista's breasts and neck. She whispers:

"There. Now you saw. Go to your clubs or whatever. I've got homework to catch up on. See you tonight."

He can barely reach over, he is so overwhelmed. She's like a blur, a chameleon vanishing into the forest of women. He lurches forward and they kiss lightly.

Almost chaste.

Almost chaste.

Copyright 2005, Alex Finch. All rights reserved.