Thirty-Four, Going on EighteenbyPorlock©
"You can't be serious!"
They're just teasing, I concluded, and laughed at the joke I didn't quite understand yet. Melissa, by best friend's daughter, and her boyfriend David were playfully pulling my wrist as if to drag me with them to some undisclosed destination.
"They must have some kind of age limit!"
"Eighteen. You have to be at least eighteen to get in," Melissa said with a girlish giggle.
"No, I mean, what age to you have to be under?"
"You're way too self-conscious," David continued. "I can assure you--I'll lay good money on it--every male in the club will be bug-eyed and tongue-tied when they see you."
"A thirty-four year old suburban wife in a club built for 18-pluses—meaning, plus just a little?"
"Sandy, just Sandy. It's not like we've just been introduced or something."
"Sandy, I can tell you; it's the absolute truth," David chimed in. "I swear--I know a dozen guys from our senior class last year who have the hots, big-time, for Mrs. Carey. I'm not sure you'd care to know just exactly how they expressed that, but I mean it, guaranteed: you're...ah..." He paused, unsure if he should speak the number, despite the fact that I had said it just moment's before. "You're...well...thirty-four, going on eighteen!"
Melissa giggled again, charmingly.
I must admit, I did feel quite a glow. A married woman of my age, even one with an adorable, if too-often absent husband like mine, tends to put dreams of turning the heads of young men at large aside. Dean and I had no complaints in the sex department; he was considerate, patient and plenty hot when the steam built up; and, unless he's putting on a great act, he makes me feel like I'm pretty hot and special, too. But he's my husband, and he loves me. And he's not eighteen any more either.
Now, here were a couple of kids, nineteen and twenty, trying to drag me to a club for teens and early-twentysomethings. They'll think I'm a chaperone.
"Look...why not just give it a try? Just come down, check it out for--let's say, half an hour. If you still aren't cool about it, we'll just come home. Deal?"
The unexpected compliments, their insistence and now a thirty-minute escape hatch combined to break my resistance.
"All right, all right. But I'm warning you: I'll hold you to that half-hour if I want to."
They cheered a moment and then started playfully dragging me again.
This is nuts, played the mental message in an endless loop. Lisa, Melissa's mom, had halfway talked me into this; that's the only reason I'd gotten into the discussion at all. She claimed that she'd gone there from time to time and had a hell of a lot of fun. And she's even older than I am, if only by three years. I wished she had come with me, but some other obligation had scotched that. She promised that if I liked it enough to go again, she would accompany me.
At the door I could see the insanely dense array of swirling lights and hear sound suitable for building demolition. I got cold feet again, but they patiently--well, no, shall we say, enthusiastically--encouraged my continued progress until we were inside.
There were several distinct yet intertwined themes to the place and its occupants. They were, in no particular order: deafening music, sex, lascivious body movement, sex, too-tight and too-revealing clothing, sex, teasing, flirting, and also, sex. I don't think what I was seeing was even legal when I was their age.
"Earth to Sandy, earth to Sandy," Melissa said to me, breaking my reverie, her sweet, mellow voice at approximately jackhammer volume, as required to penetrate the wall of noise in which we were immersed. I didn't realize I'd become so bemused by the sights. I shook my head to clear it and we found a place to sit as David returned with soft drinks. A club catering to this age group, of course, did not serve booze.
"What do you think?" asked David, matching the volume of Melissa's earlier comment.
"It's...nice," I replied, unable to come up with anything remotely sensible.
"I hope you find it getting...nicer...after a while."
I still expected that we wouldn't even be here "after a while," but I had to admit, I didn't feel quite so out of place now. The nightmare visions of kids huddling together to guffaw at the geriatric crone in the corner which had plagued me before didn't materialize. I relaxed a little.
Right about then, a small knot of young men passed and I saw them looking at me a bit furtively, as if to check me out without alarming me. I couldn't make out their comments as they passed by; but I was almost sure the word "hot" was among them, and I know they didn't mean the ambient temperature. My own temperature seemed to rise a bit. They were certainly four fine specimens of young manhood and even a vague suspicion that they might find me, well, interesting, sent some quite pleasant chills through my body.
David stepped in as interpreter. "See? What did I tell you?"
"What did you tell me?"
"Hey, now, look at those four guys."
"I did. What about them?"
"I don't know if you heard them or not, but I did, and I know guys. Every one of them's got it bad for you already."
"Come on! You're sweet to say that, but really..."
David was insistent. "I'm not just saying it. Trust me. It's a fact."
My incredulity was crumbling fast. Is it possible? Is it even conceivable that, awash in this sea of hormone-drenched youth, half of it female and making the most of it, this soccer-mom-ish lady is turning heads? Doubt still reigned, but I was getting to the point that I could accept the possibility just enough to indulge it as fantasy. I could feel a very strong surge of excitement hit me and my nipples suddenly hardened, I could tell. I tried to find some way to turn or shift my position to hide the evidence, and found none. I could see David mightily trying to pretend he hadn't noticed, but Melissa had no such inhibitions.
"San-dee, " she said, drawing out the syllables in that familiar "gotcha" style, "I do believe you're starting to get the idea." She was looking from my breasts to my eyes and winking. No way to get out of it.
They had tried to get me gussied up somewhat like the prevalent style of ladies' wear in this throng while I insisted on wearing something much more conservative. I don't know how they did it, but they managed to maneuver me into a compromise, which, to me seemed more like a surrender.
My outfit was a skin-tight stretchy blouse with my sheerest and thinnest bra beneath it. The glossy stretch pants I wore I had bought primarily for getting Dean's blood boiling, and they worked well for that purpose. Never in a hundred years did I ever think I'd wear them in public, much less in a sex-saturated place like this. Melissa is fairly close to my size and dimensions, believe it or not, and we sometimes borrow clothes from each other, so it's not really a surprise that she had found them and set them aside for me. The only surprise is that I'd been talked into wearing them here at all.
I was a little worried about Dean. Not that there was any reason; he didn't have a jealous cell in his brain; in fact, he frequently urged me to cut loose a little and strut my stuff. Having no real faith that my stuff was still struttable, I declined. Still, I was here while he was traveling, apparently contributing my share to the atmosphere of sexual decadence, and he hadn't had the chance to say anything about it. I concentrated on his encouragements and hoped this might actually be to his liking, even if he could only experience it by my descriptions after the fact, presuming he wanted to hear them.
My mind was settling down a bit and the incessant beat from the sound system had started to take on a primal force, sneaking around some of my inhibitions and triggering some pretty wild sensations. I was starting to pay more attention to the place and its occupants, and several times I caught myself bemused by some young man or other, and by the swirling, swaying mass of tightly-packed bodies on the floor engaged in something called dancing but which looked to me more like mass foreplay.
It was in one of these little reveries that I felt David's grip on my wrist as he asked me, such as one asks anyone here, to dance. This certainly was no Renaissance party with gentlemen approaching ladies with bows and strict formalities. I decided that if I was going to spend time here at all, I should at least make an effort to dip my toes in the water. I then realized with a start that this attitude was a complete reversal of the one I had come in with, and I was starting to like it.
There was no attempt whatsoever to do any recognizable dance steps. The goal seems to be to keep everything moving in whatever way looks most interesting to the opposite sex, and whenever possible, advance from looking to actual contact. David had actually brought both Melissa and me onto the floor and Melissa was dividing her time between the energetic thrashing and little encouragements and reassurances whispered, as much as any can whisper anything, into my ear.
I did a double-take when I saw a young couple, the girl grinding her ass into the groin of her delighted partner, and doubled that when the girl giggled and pulled her top down to grace all present with a clear display of her young breasts. It was a pretty short flash, but not all that short. I was rather shocked, but the primal swirling and swaying of the place was starting to dull those reactions. I knew what was replacing them. I was discovering the same inner wild-child in myself that all around me had, and liking it.
"Melissa! How often does that happen?"
"Just keep watching, Sandy. Don't be too shocked."
"I'll try, but no promises!" I replied with a nervous laugh.
I was not about to tell her that I was rapidly getting beyond shock and close to putting in my own share of the craziness. Simmer down, girl, I told myself. You're here to observe. But myself wasn't too interested in listening any more.
I continued to undulate in some fashion while I studied the assembled throng. I saw many more flashes, grinds, symbolic sexual acts and lots of laughing and teasing. Often it was the girls' male partners who would do the flashes, but even more often, one girl would lift another's shirt or some other means. Many times two or more girls seemed to be in I'll-do-it-if-you-do-it-too mode. Unbeknownst to me, Melissa was carefully studying my reactions, gauging the effect all this was having on me, calculating the best cycles of encouragement and relaxation to break down my fears.
Finally I begged for a reprieve and we returned to the table to sit down. I had intended to invoke my half-hour-and-then-leave option, but now I no longer wanted to. I'm just checking it out, I told myself, nothing more. It was nonsense now and I knew it.
Then, unable to believe my own actions, I discovered that I had risen and grabbed David's hand, asking him to dance! He smiled widely and Melissa clapped and cheered me on. I was increasingly in a daze, lost in a surreal dream far distant from the life I knew. I was detached, some other being entirely, and the inhibited housewife seemed no longer present. I was eighteen again, in any sense that mattered. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, and utterly destructive to any sensibilities.
As time passed it seemed the bodies were grinding ever closer, the touches less and less subtle, the anatomical displays longer and more frequent, and the sexual simulations less and less like simulations at all. Two girls, apparently having dared each other, quickly unzipped their skin-tight pants and bared it all for the little throng surrounding them. I saw that both the girls and the boys were applauding. Unreal, utterly unreal.
We had returned to our little perch for another breather when I saw huge tubes dumping frothy fluid all over the floor.
"What the hell is that?" I shouted to Melissa.
"Foam party!" she replied.
Now, I didn't know much about foam parties, but I was not so ignorant as to know nothing about them at all. Some kind of sudsy stuff is poured all over and the throng dives into it, saturating themselves and frolicking in the mess. Much of the point seemed to be getting away with even more daring capers by using the suds to hide in, somewhat.
"You gonna try this out, Mrs... er, Sandy?" David asked, with what I could almost swear was a pleading look in his eye.
I took a moment to consider my clothing and firmly replied, "No way!"
Once again it was Melissa who put on the pressure.
"You'll love it, I swear! Don't worry, you can hide everything in that stuff."
I knew better and insisted on sitting that out. Curiosity did assert itself, though, and I did locate a place to sit much closer to the action so I could check it out while remaining dry.
The daring and baring was definitely accelerating, though more of it was obscured by the suds. I was waiting to see some male flesh at the fore, but it seems that's not on the agenda. I'd have to be content with their lascivious gyrations, and those were plentiful.
From the incessant parade of lifted tops and opened blouses on the girls I did notice one interesting fact: the girls who were not wearing swim wear nearly all had bras on, and not the sheer kind, like mine. Not that modesty was the goal; what they lacked in transparency they more than made up for in brevity and style. Victoria's Secret style, definitely.
Nonetheless, the wet stuff quickly made every garment cling tightly and reveal every bit of the underlying topography, on male and female alike. This seemed to pump up the craziness. As before, as time passed, it seemed less and less shocking and more and more exciting. I caught myself mentally reviewing the state of my clothes to see if maybe I could get away with saturating them in public view, and, of course, deciding in the negative every time.
David and Melissa broke from the frothy mess to sit beside me.
"Like what you see, Sandy?" David asked, a bit out of breath.
"It's really...interesting," I replied.
"C'mon, we're not gonna let you get away with that any more!" cried Melissa. "Might as well admit it; you're getting into the scenery, aren't 'cha?"
She looked at me with a penetrating merriment; she had discovered my secret. I broke down, laughed and told them that it was pretty sexy and I was enjoying watching it.
"Ok, now Sandy," Melissa leaned close to my ear and asked in a tone of serious confidentiality, "tell me the truth. What do you think of all these people, especially the ones showing off? I mean, do you think badly of them, like the girls are hussies or somesuch?"
"Melissa, I'm not sure what I might have thought before we came here. But now I can tell you honestly, that I think nothing of the kind. If anything I think they're pretty courageous letting it hang out like that."
"You're sure, Sandy?"
I wondered why the pointed questions as David and Melissa returned to the froth. It wasn't long before I got my answer. They had joined a small throng of people who, I later learned, were good friends of theirs from their high-school days. A few of them I distantly recognized. I watched, fascinated, as their movements took on an especially urgent sexuality. I knew that they were getting more or less into the same grinding sex that I'd seen before, but it being my friend's daughter and her boyfriend brought it closer, more personal.
I knew what was coming, and why the questions. In a moment, I saw Melissa move beside another girl I recognized from somewhere and another one I didn't, and then, after some girly-giggly teasing, I saw three tops rise and three pairs of breasts bravely address the world. It happened a couple of times and then some more teasing and two of the girls, Melissa and the one I half-recognized, peeled off their tops altogether and then the bras.
Is this legal? I was rather incredulous. The group was artfully using mounds of foam to form an alcove to limit their visibility, and it was only a few seconds before the bras and tops went back on. But they had done it: not just flashed, but stripped briefly. Wide-eyed, I was still pondering the sight when David and Melissa returned, breathless to the seats.
"Now tell me, Sandy. Am I a terrible, nasty girl or what?"
"Melissa, I am surprised, but by now, I can't say it was anything but good clean...fun. Well clean, anyway; the lot of you are a big pile of human laundry."
"One thing. I just can't help wondering what your mother and father might think. I know you're adults now, but still..."
Melissa found her purse and drew something from it, so quickly that I thought it might have been planted there deliberately for quick access. It was a photograph of another foam party just like this one, and Melissa was there with two other women, all gleefully flashing their goodies. I noticed with some surprise that one of the other women was a young lady whose wedding I had helped prepare a few months earlier. Her beaming husband, or now-husband anyway, was the one flipping his bride's top and bra aside to reveal her breasts to the world.
Melissa had slyly covered the faced of the third girl with her thumb. Now she slid it aside and I did a complete double-take. The third girl was my best friend, Lisa, Melissa's mom!
"See, you're not the first old lady..." she dragged the last two words out for comic effect, "we've managed to drag down here. She was just like you, fighting all the way. Until right about..." pointing to the picture "...then."
She saw my quizzical expression and somehow read my mind again.
"Oh, don't worry. Dad loved it! He said he wants her to do it again. He's not sure he'll come here because he thinks he'll intimidate her. But no doubt, he dug it, big-time."
David and Melissa then sat on either side of me, now silent, watching the parade of erotic exuberance. After a while, Melissa rose to rejoin the frenzy and David did as well, then stopped. Once again he grasped my wrist to signal me to join in, but very gently, making it a quiet hint, an invitation. He paused, waiting to see from my reaction if he should let go or lead me onward.
I had not a drop of alcohol in my system, no artificial mind-altering substances to blame. It was just me and that primal, inner girl yearning to break free. Giddy, as if in a trance, I rose to follow him.
The wet foam did jar my thoughts back to reality a bit, but it didn't matter. Quickly my blouse was soaked and the bra beneath it, and I felt those glossy, skin-tight pants getting glossier and tighter. I felt unbelievably wicked and free. Knowing, feeling that my breasts had become open secrets, I no longer fretted over their exposure, and as the last traces of apprehension faded I found myself thrusting and gyrating with the best of them, deliberately setting them into motion, willing them to force the attention of every young man toward them.
Whatever I did, it worked. The young men in that group of Melissa and David's friends seemed frozen in awe. I watched them as they bravely struggled between the compulsion to stare and the fear that I would take offense. David himself seemed only slightly less bemused. The sight drove me entirely over the line. I felt tingles flowing through me, concentrating on my somehow arresting breasts. I wanted them to gaze, at least for now, and I looked for a way.
Melissa was gyrating beside me, incredibly gleeful as she did her own dance.
"Sandy!" she shouted?
"I'm kinda jealous!"
"What in the world do you mean, Melissa?"
She again began to speak more quietly into my ear.
"Look what you're doing to that bunch of guys over there. I'm not sure I've been able to get that kind of rise out of them. I don't want to scare you off, but honestly; you are the sexiest woman here, of any age. I mean it."