Underworld I-IV

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 03, 2005

I.

Whether they give or refuse, it delights women just the same to have been asked.
-Ovid

“Izzat your girlfriend?” the lithe blonde asks.

“Yup,” I answer, nodding in Leslie’s direction. I skip my usual disclaimer: I don’t feel like launching into Non-Monogamy 101 tonight. The sexy little Columbia student screws up her face in an exaggerated pout and flits away, melting into the crowd of costumed revelers, the Mardi Gras beads around her neck clicking. The preferred female costume this year appears to be Generic Slut #69.

The deejay’s mixing demonic laughter into the blaring house tracks, an effect which makes my skin crawl. I rest my arm upon a rubber zombie head perched atop a bowl full of limes and turn to Sara, the psychologist. “What’s with all these horny Columbia students tonight?”

“It’s lake Columbia garls gone wild in here,” she responds. Her Scottish accent makes all her statements sound a bit like questions. I decide that I find this charming.

This is perhaps not the best environment for a date but we make do, jostling for space at the bar and straining to be heard over the music. Somehow Sara and Les end up on the subject of exes. I’ve heard you’re not supposed to discuss exes on a date, at least not on an early date, but I find it tells me a lot about the person doing the talking.

“May eggs wus hung lake a horse,” Sara says, “so we had to be a lil creative about seggs. Too bad he wus afraid of me handcuffs.” I’m not certain, exactly, what this tells me about Sara—except that she just may be as perverted as I am.

“You oughta get a load of this,” I say, pretending to pull down my zipper.

“Oh, I’m more of an ass-garl anyway.” She grabs at my rump. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close, towering over her and getting a bosomy eyeful. She beams up at me and then winks at Les.

The Mardi Gras girl returns and offers beads to Les in exchange for a flash. My girlfriend promptly obliges. “What about me?” I ask, eyeing her glittery treasure.

Miss Mardi Gras shrugs. “Go ahead and flash me then.” I lift my shirt. “Ooooh,” she purrs, but she’s reluctant to hand over the goods.

“Come on, now. It’s only fair.” I step into her personal space and begin to run my fingers lightly over the beads.

She removes a string of purple globes and places them around my neck, then maneuvers her hands under my shirt and squeezes my midsection. “Nice abs,” she coos. Her fingers feel like little spiders and I start to quiver. “Oh, you’re ticklish too!” I wriggle out of her grasp and pull down my shirt.

A tall girl in a black outfit, a friend of the Mardi Gras babe, joins us. The blonde still feigns distress over the loss of her beads so I make her an offer. “If you and your friend here flash me I’ll give ‘em back.” They agree readily and, much to my delight, two pairs of perky coed breasts appear before my eyes.

The tall girl tells me her name is Kate. “So how come you let my friend touch you? She told me you have a girlfriend.”

I chuckle. I suppose school is in session after all. “Well, we’re on a date with that young woman over there.”

“Oh. Oh!”

“Aren’t the two of you a little young for me?”

“But I’m a senior!”

Chuckling again. “Like I said…”

Kate shows me her Nixon mask and asks why I’m not wearing a costume. I explain that we’re just getting warmed up tonight, that tomorrow we’ll be Mark Antony and Cleopatra. “I’m studying Latin!” she declares, wearing a goofy grin. “So, are you going anywhere special?”

“A sex party.” I’m aware that I’m dropping a thought bomb, that she’ll either run for cover or pull a Major Kong and hop on for a nihilistic last ride.

The sparkle in her eyes tells me she opted for the latter. “I’ve always wanted to go to a sex party. Think I can tag along sometime?” I explain that we’re pretty selective and there’s an interview process. This doesn’t deter her in the least. “Let me give you my number then,” she insists.

Les asks me, tongue-in-cheek, whether I had fun with my new girlfriends. I tell her I’m in love. As if to remind me why we came out tonight, she backs Sara into a corner and they start snogging. Blonde and Brunette. Alabaster and Cinnamon. Lovely. Forgetting where I am, I join in and now it’s a three-way session. When I come up for air I notice we’ve attracted an audience. I am again reminded that what I see as normal, ordinary even, is a source of great entertainment for civilians. Even here, in New York, on Halloween weekend, among oversexed Columbia students. It’s 2005, damn it, and if I cannot have a hover-car or cybernetic legs I’m going to have newfangled relationships.

So when Kate backs into me I think nothing of slipping my hand down her pants and grasping those firm coed buttocks. I don’t know how long this goes on, but eventually Les and Sara decide it’s time to take the party home. I find myself in front of Kate, my hands on her hips. “We shared a special moment back there, didn’t we?”

“Yes we did, Marcus Antonius.”

“I’ll see you around, babe.”

II.

No one dances sober, unless he is insane.
-Cicero

They say Cleopatra was the most beautiful woman in the world. I don’t doubt them. Cleopatra, however, would have had nothing on Leslie, a woman whose charms few men, or women, can resist. She of the beautiful curls and the large, almond eyes. She of the aquiline nose and the soft lips. She of the graceful, cat-like movements. She of the callipygian buttocks. What might Plutarch have written?

She stands here now, the Queen of my Nile, wearing a sheer, flowing gown, a body-hugging dress that extends to her ankles, a crown of golden beads that twist through her curly locks and cascade over her shoulders. She begins to dance. Sara watches her adoringly, as do I.

I slip into my outfit, a simple warrior’s tunic and velvet cape, the midsection tied off with a leather belt into which I sheath my ersatz dagger. What the costume lacks in protection from the cold it compensates for in the ready-access-to-my-cock department. Tonight it shall be put to good use, along with the second-hand Ikea chair in our living room. Sara takes a seat and I straddle her, straining my fingers through her straight blonde hair and bringing my hands to rest against her tits, whereupon she reaches up under my tunic and brings Mr. Penis into the light. The girl always appears to have a naughty look on her face.

Sara uses the straps on Leslie’s dress to tie my queen’s arms behind her back. “Nooooo!” Les protests, but she’s also giggling. Somehow our date manages to maneuver Les to the living room floor and gets to work between her legs. As I watch, smiling, Les struggles against her restraints. Without breaking contact, Sara reaches back and unclasps her denim skirt, revealing an ass that’s ample for a little white girl. Taking this as an invitation, I collapse to the floor behind her and tease her with my fingers.

Les has freed herself and pranced off to the bathroom. I straddle Sara again as she kneels on the floor. She scoots backward a bit and lowers her head into my lap. I lie back and close my eyes, laughing, thinking about how she told me earlier that she just started to do sex therapy. My cock exits her mouth with a pop. “Are you enjoying it, then?” she asks, trilling the r.

“Oh yes. Please do continue, doctor.”

In the bedroom the three of us probe and lick and fondle. I have to go easy—Sara’s small and she thinks I’m big. I have my queen from behind as she bends over, perpendicular to our date’s body, and her cunt works its magic the way it always does. If I stretch a little I can just barely bring my mouth to our playmate’s parted lips and shapely breasts. My knee bumps her head and I apologize. When I orgasm I close my eyes and wonder what she thinks of all this.

III.

There are no dreams tonight, thank God. No unspeakable horrors torn from the pages of Lovecraft; no logical Gordian knots to untie; no police states and panopticons; no attacked ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Why don’t I ever dream about sex, the way other people do?

IV.

I awake with a start and look around, squinting in the light. Forgot to draw the blinds last night. Leslie is by my side. I rise to my elbows and rub my face. “Where’s our girl?”

Leslie does not stir. “Sleeping in the living room. She got hot.”

Later on the girls run out and get us breakfast. I put on a mix. Sara informs me she used to be a deejay and we talk about the world of electronic music.

Before she leaves, Sara kisses Leslie for a long time. It’s not my intent to hover there watching them; it’s just that there’s nowhere else to go. I wouldn’t mind if Les met someone she wanted to spend time with alone.

“See you Monday, then?” Sara says on her way out. I am not sure whether this is a question or just another manifestation of her accent.

“Yes,” Les answers.

More: Halloween | Threesome | Sex Party | Sara

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