Confessions of a Rust Belt Swinger 13

*Note - This stand alone story is part of our continuing (mostly true) adventures in the world of swinging.

Chapter 13: House Party!

For all of the adventures that Anne and I had experienced so far in the wild world of swinging, meeting with couples at hotels, going to clubs, having dudes sweat profusely on my wife, we had never had the opportunity to attend a house party.

What is a house party you ask? Well, it's a party. At a house.

What're you, retarded?

Seriously. It's a swinger party at someone's house.

Somewhere, out in the burbs, at this very minute, is a house full of naked sweaty people.

Fucking.

Now, I can think of all sorts of reasons why I'd never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever want to have a swinger party at my house.

Did I say ever?

I can only imagine some of the fucked up results of hosting a party like that.

You know, like, having the neighbors asking what's going on.

"Hey Eric."

"Oh, hey there Bob."

"I see you have some balloons on your mailbox that say Let's Party Naked!"

"Uh, yeah."

"Huh. Well, just what kind of party are you having there?"

"uhhhhhhhhhh."

I mean, how do you answer that question? 'Oh, you know Bob, it's just a few of my friends coming over to, uh, get naked and fuck.'

No?

How about, 'Oh, well Bob, it's just a few couples getting together, dressed like whores and pimps, here to have a good time. If you know what I mean!' *wink* ' And I think you do!'

There's just no good way to explain the whole swinging situation to the neighbors if they ask. Unless you invite them. And how fucking weird would that be? I mean, how many of your neighbors would you even want to see naked? Ick.

But that's only one reason out of, say, hmmmm, a kajillion, that I wouldn't want to have a house party at my own house. All those people, naked, having sex on my bed? On my sheets? Using my towels to, um, clean up???

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Excuse me while I go gargle some bleach.

Ok, so the odds that Anne and I ever hosting a swinger party at our house are somewhere between winning the Power Ball lottery and being named the new king and queen of England.

Just not gonna happen.

But that didn't stop us from going to a house party. You see, there are people who are wired differently from us. People who want to have other people in their homes. And by in their homes I mean really, really, in their homes.

Naked.

Fucking.

Fucking naked.

Are they just stupid? I don't think so. Just, um, different. But in a good way! No really.

So, we were invited to a house party by a couple that we met through a swinger site. We had met the couple for dinner a few weeks before the party. We both thought they were just your every day regular swingers. We didn't know that they were:

SUPER SWINGERS

No really. I think they'd played with roughly a thousand different people. And by play I mean fuck. I mean they fucked a lot of people. A LOT OF PEOPLE.

Anyway.

We met them. They were very nice. The wife had a nice super big set of very fake tits. The husband was nice. A little smarmy. Creepy almost. But in a nice way. Like a used car dealer. But a nice used car dealer.

Who likes to fuck other women.

While his fake big-boobied wife is getting slammed right there in the bed next to him.

So, after we met them for dinner, they later invited us to this party. An evite and everything. All very professional. We decided to give it a try. However, it took a little convincing to get Anne to go.

Ok, maybe a lot of convincing.

While the couple, Cindy and Greg were nice, they didn't overwhelm Anne. And by not overwhelm, I mean she didn't really see us getting together with them.

Ever.

So I had to use a little persuasion.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase can we go to the house party?!?!"

Yeah, I begged a little bit.

I told her that we didn't have to 'do anything' at the party. That if it was bad we could leave. That I would buy her a new car.

Ok, not the new car part. But I did cajole. And beg. And plead. I stated my case, and I guess the judge saw the validity of my argument, because Anne ultimately relented and agreed to go.

Wooooooo!!! House party!!!

Naked women!!! Lots of naked women!!!!

In a house.

Partying!

Anyway.

The theme for this little soiree was St. Patty's Day. Because, well, it was on St. Patty's day.

Duh.

We needed to wear green.

And bring something to eat.

Oh, did I fail to mention that part? It seems that at a house party you eat a little dinner, mingle, and then go fuck a bunch of strangers. While your spouse does the same thing. Well both, actually. Eat dinner and, um fuck. Strangers.

As we were newbies to this whole new area of the swinger world, Anne and I were a bit perplexed as to what we should bring. Should we go fancy with some kind of hot dish like canapés or chateaubriand or go with something a little less formal like, um, gum?

Perhaps some cocktail weenies? HA! Weenies.

Well, there certainly would be enough of THOSE at this party!

ZING!

But I get ahead of myself.

First we needed green clothing. Anne pulled out a dress that had some green in it. Was it her favorite dress? No. Was it typical slut wear? Well, uh, no again. But it would do. It was a nice summer dress with little fringe thingies at the bottom. It showed off her nice big breasts and made me want to slide those little fringes up her legs, bend her over and shove my cock into her from behind.

But I could do that anytime. At home. Without all of those extra weenies.

So I controlled myself as she dressed in the green fringy dress. With matching green thong and bra. Well, actually, those were purple. But they did match each other. Look, let's not get fucking psycho about this whole green thing, ok?

As for me?

A green button down oxford shirt. And jeans. Cause if the party didn't work out, I could always go out and start fixing some broken copiers. Seriously, I looked like a dude from office services delivering the mail and believing that he was gonna be like Michael J. Fox in the Secret to My Success. Just call me Carlton Whitfield.

C'mon. Am I the only one that ever saw that fucking movie? No way. It's a classic.

CLASS. IC.

Carlton Whitfield rules!

I think Anne called me that when she said it was time to go.

'Whitfield! Time to go fuck some people!'

Not really.

I don't think Anne's ever seen the movie.

But, all greened and up and ready to par-tay, we headed out.

Without a dish.

Fortunately, we did stop at a store to buy a bottle of wine and a bag of chips.

Nice and classy.

Cheap cabernet and ruffles.

But it would do. Look, its not like we were planning to see these people in various social settings around town. This was a group of men and women that wanted to FUCK. I mean, I think they would have been happy eating paste and drinking bug juice if that would get them to the cock and pussy just a little bit faster.

After loading up on our party goodies, we headed over to Cindy and Greg's house. They didn't live to far from us. In fact, they lived kinda close to some other friends of ours. In fact, as we drove onto their street, we realized that they lived almost in the backyard of the people we knew.

Non-swinger people.

Hmmmm. AWKWARD.

'Eric? Anne? What are you guys doing in our neck of the woods? And why are you wearing green? Anyway, Eric can you help me set up a wi-fi zone for my new internet router?'

But, we sucked it up, parked, gathered up our stuff and headed towards the house. Which was a bit far away from where we parked because there were a SHIT load of people already there.

Who knew that there were all these people swinging in the burbs ready to party down at the neighbor's house?

As we walked up to the place, we noticed that all of the windows were covered up. Wow, not too conspicuous.

Nope. Nothin' going on here. Especially not hot and heavy fucking by a bunch of middle aged swinger folk. Nothing to see. Move along. Nice tits!

So, we walked up the steps and rang the bell at the front door. And?

Nothing.

'Everyone too busy deep throating cock to answer the goddamned door?'

I said on the inside.

Not good to piss off the hosts before we even get in the door.

Wait, was this even the right house? Had to be, right? I mean, who else would tape up the fucking windows? Maybe an ax-murdering psycho, but what were the odds that we stumbled upon that house?

After waiting a bit, we decided to just open the door and walk in.

To a television showing porn.

Aimed right at the door.

And not some of that namby-pamby Showtime softcore stuff. Oh no, this was full on penetration by some dude with a huge cock slamming it in and out of some bimbo with big hair, big tits and frosted lips.

Big tits and frosted lips.

I like that. Maybe on a hallmark card?

'When you care enough to send the very best. Give 'em some big tits and frosted lips!'

After walking in past PornTV we immediately saw a woman standing in the foyer in a low cut top. With her tits spilling out.

Hmmm. Porn? Check. Slutting looking housewife woman? Check.

Yep. This was definitely the right house!

It was a nice house.

To the right was the dining room. The table was covered with food. Quite the spread. Our chips would fit in and mingle quite nicely thank you! Lots of people were standing around talking. The women were dressed very scantily. And by scantily I mean asses and tits were hanging out. And the guys in the house were looking at them like starving men staring at a prime rib dinner.

Ready to eat.

I think Anne felt a bit overdressed. You know, wearing a dress and all.

Someone asked me to clear a paper jam out of the printer.

Ha!

Funny.

Other than that, we were pretty much ignored at first. So we wandered into the family room and then further into the kitchen. We finally met up with Cindy and Greg. She was wearing a tight satin green top thing and he was, uh, how the fuck should I know what he was wearing? I was too busy staring at Cindy's tits. They proceeded to introduce us to a few people.

No, not the tits. Cindy and Greg. They introduced us to other people at the party.

Friends of theirs. People who had come to parties at their house before. Do I remember their names? Fuck no. There was dude with wife dressed like a slutty pirate. Dude with wife who was pulling up her shirt to show everyone her tits. Black dude with skinny white wife.

You get the picture.

Somehow, Anne and I ended up in the kitchen. Isn't that where most parties tend to gravitate? The kitchen? Well, regular parties. I couldn't see a swinger party gravitating to the kitchen. Fucking on a stove just can't be comfortable.

Cindy gave me some green plastic beads to wear.

Uhhhh, ok.

Beads?

It seemed that there was a whole 'ice-breaker' part of the evening where the women at the party tried to do stuff to earn the strands of beads from the men. Then, at some set time, the woman with the most beads would win a prize.

Like a free VD test.

Ha!

I kid.

So, the party instantly morphed from the St. Patty's day theme to some kind of weird Mardi Gras bead-sex thing. Not that I was complaining. I mean, there were women bending over showing their asses, women pulling up their shirts, women letting men grab their boobies and all that kind of stuff.

And there was Anne and me. In the kitchen. By the stove.

And you know what? It was hot by the stove.

Because someone was making cocktail weenies.

No seriously.

Why?

Who the fuck knows why?!?

You think I have any idea what normal conduct is at one of these things? For all I knew, next would be the quilting bee and a lively game of pictionary.

And the hot, sexy fucking and sucking?

No idea.

Instead, I'm in the corner, drinking cheap red wine and sweating right through my green OfficeMax button down.

Anne of course, saved the day. How? Well, how else? She began to actually talk to people.

God bless that woman. I would have stood there all evening until I was either thrown out or told to go fax the TPS reports.

. . .

Office Space? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Damn, do you people ever watch ANY movies?

Whatever.

So, Anne had no qualms meeting people and finding out about their quirks and kinks.

She began chatting with some guy in the kitchen. His wife was wandering around and at one point stopped to say hi. He was a professor and also hosted parties. "How come you've never been to one of ours?" he asked.

Hmmmmm. Must have misplaced the invitation sport!

'Douche.'

Well, that's what I said.

On the inside.

Actually I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Besides, the guy was obviously interested in Anne's large breasts and could really have given a shit about what the Geek Patrol dude had to say. About anything.

From what I gathered, parties with Professor Porn were quite well attended and, like this one, also had themes. Like some kind of fucked up adults only prom.

'So, the prom committee has spent a lot of time coming up with the perfect theme for this year. And you know what you guys? It's not so easy to do. But me, Buffy, Meagan and Courtney thought about it real hard, and our theme for this year is Under the Sea and Getting Rammed from Behind on a Sand Bar. Any questions? Great cuz we know that this is gonna be the best prom ever!! Right guys!! Now let's go fuck!'

We also talked to Pirate lady. Well, I think she was a pirate. Or some kind of Scottish uh, peasant woman, uh, fuck, I don't know. She had nice hooters and was one of these artsy fartsy actress types. So she over-emoted everything.

Seriously. It was like watching a badly acted performance of community theater as she explained all about how she made the costume, how she loved acting and how she seemed to think that she was the most interesting and important person in the entire house. She also batted her eyes and talked about how she would do anything for my beads.

Blah, blah, blah.

Ok, sure, did I want to lean her over the hot stove and let her sample my love sausage? Well, yeah, of COURSE I did, but, um, hmmm, wait, where was I?

Oh yeah, the kitchen. With Patty Pirate and Professor Porn. It was quite a scene. There was also tall lady with foreign accent husband. Fat old lady with huge boobies and grey bald guy. Amazing. He was both grey and bald.

I think.

Whatever.

I really wasn't paying attention to the guys. Just the number of new women spilling into the kitchen. They kept on coming in. In fact, the house was fucking packed.

Some of the women were really attractive. Some were, well, not.

And the guys? None were really doing it for Anne. She wasn't staring at any of the guys with drool coming out of the side of her mouth. Well, at least not that I could see.

I mean, she didn't elbow me in the stomach and say,

"I'd love to ride that stud's fuck stick."

Actually, I'm pretty sure that Anne has never used the term fuck stick.

Me? I use it all the time. In fact, my nickname at work is fuck stick.

"What's happening fuck stick?"

"Hey fuck stick! Wanna grab some lunch next week?"

"Fuck stick?!? Those goddamned papers aren't gonna turn themselves into a pdf document. C'mon! Get a move on it!"

No, not really.

But it would be a cool nickname.

As the conversation eventually petered out in the kitchen and I actually began to imagine getting the words 'fuck stick' tattooed on my shoulder, Anne suggested that we go and wander around the house. Which was a good idea. Because there were now waaaaay too many people in the kitchen and between the thousand degree stove chock full of weenies and all those sweaty bodies, I needed to get some air.

So, we wandered to the dining room, where all the food was laid out. Here we were, at least an hour into the party, and the amount of food was actually growing on the table. Seriously, people kept bringing more in and dropping it off on the table. And no one was eating it. What's the deal with swinger house parties and the rediculous amount of food on the table?

'Can we get naked yet?' 'Nope, not enough roast beef and turkey on the buffet table.' 'How about now?' 'Wait for the four pounds of potato salad to arrive and we'll talk about it.' 'This party blows.'

Anyway, Anne grabbed a chip.

Way to dig in to that mound of sustenance honey!

Of course, that was one more chip than I ate.

I was a little nervous. Why? I'm not sure why. I was really out of my normal comfort zone. I mean, I was chatting with Professor Porn for God's sakes. And pirate lady wanted my, uh, beads.

Speaking of which, as I watched, women continued to do various things in order to get the beads. Bumping and grinding and touching and smacking. Lifting up shirts, bending over and showing asses, re-grouting shower stalls.

You know. The usual stuff.

Some women had lots of beads. Other women had none.

But baby bears' beads were juuuuuust right.

Anyway.

After strolling around the house for a while, we ended up on the back patio.

'Ok,' I thought to myself. 'This is it. This is where all the action is. This is where the rubber meets the road. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Time to shape up or ship out. Uh, where the salt gets it on with um, pepper.'

ok.

'Time for some serious making out and groping! Wooo! Backyard fun in the hood! Lookout bitches!!!'

The reality? A few people sitting around drinking wine and a couple of folks smoking cigarettes.

Wow. Now that's what I'm calling some action!

*sigh*

So, we were out back. Chatting. No action. Nice people though.

I think.

I kept looking around. In the house. In the backyard. Hoping to catch sight of all of the house party fun that I've heard so much about. A glimpse of naked female flesh perhaps? Hell, any flesh at that point would have been exciting. But sadly there was just chatting.

And mixed nuts.

Hello, what? NUTS?

On the table I mean. There were some mixed nuts to snack on while people drank and smoked. I mean, it would be kind of fucking bizarre if some guy actually had his testicles laid out on the fucking table, wouldn't it?

Anyway, just as I was about to nod off to sleep and have my face crash down into the cashews and almonds and those nasty giant nuts that I never know the name of, Cindy came out and said that it was time for the prizes.

THANK GOD!!! PRIZES!!!

I really didn't know how much more of this fucking fun that I could take.

As we headed in, Anne, who was behind me, turned to one of the guys who was out on the patio with us and calmly asked him what she needed to do for a string of his beads.

Excuse me? Um, did I hear that correctly? I turned to look and found myself staring at some guy's head now firmly buried in my wife's breasts.

Really?

Can I get a ticket for that motor boat ride too?

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!!!!!!!!

Mmmmmmmm, titties.

Except I was imagining my face plastered into some breast meat while some other dude was actually partaking of my wife's fleshy globes.

I stood there with my mouth open as said fellow proceeded to extract his noggin from my wife's sweater mounds and then handed her a set of his precious beads. Anne smiled and walked by me into the house. With her newly won beads proudly draped around her neck.

So now she's getting crazy? Now she's going nuts? Right when they're awarding prizes for the most beads???

Perfect.

Oh, and she then proceeded to take ALL of my strands of beads and put them around her neck.

Wait a minute. I had beads.

I HAD BEADS!!

And I didn't do a fucking thing with them.

Didn't ask a woman to lift up her shirt, let me drown myself in her tit flesh or bend her over and spank her bare bottom.