Three weeks later…
As I park my car I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach building, a sure sign of nervousness from what I am about to do. Although it is nothing to be ashamed of…I am an adult, the men will be adults, and we are all very willing. Then why did I feel the need to lie when making the booking? ‘I’m doing research for a book’…I had lied. Yet if the truth was to be told, I really should have ‘fessed up and said that I wanted to have sex with multiple partners, all men, and all in one day. Add to this, the fact I have not had sex in weeks and I am in need of some carnal relief.
But sometimes it’s easier and kinder, to tell a little white lie. Especially with society being what it is, everyone guided by a plethora of beliefs and thinking you should be too. What happens when the only belief one has is in oneself? When I tell people I am areligious, or apolitical, they automatically assume I was a neglected child with no caring parent to guide me. Not at all. I grew up observing the world around me and being allowed to make up my own mind. I quickly learned that sometimes it’s just easier, and more comfortable for those around me, to lie.
Taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts, I check over my reflection in my rear view mirror. I like what I see. Unlike most of the women I know, I am happy with who I am. In fact, I like myself. Whilst I have never been called beautiful by a lover, I have been described as cute, pretty, gorgeous, and sexy, depending on what I’m wearing. Or not wearing. Should I ever marry one day, it will definitely be to a man who wakes everyday whispering Good morning, Beautiful to me. Damn you Keith Urban and your song!
I close my eyes and take in another deep breath, there's no turning back now. Not that I want to. I have dreamt of moments like these since I was a horny teenager and discovered how nice it felt to touch myself. And touch I did. Willfully encouraged by a myriad of fantasies concocted in the saucy depths of my mind. Although it was a long time ago now, it was those first few gentle touches that help launch me towards exploring my sexuality. They remain always fresh in my mind, and are akin to my first kiss.
The first person, and girl, I ever kissed was my best friend, Sara. We were thirteen, and having a sleepover at my house and had camped out in my old cubby after a rom-com movie marathon. Giggly and lightheaded from the effects of our first alcoholic drink, consisting of vodka - snuck from my parents bar - and orange juice, we laid on our sleeping bags, staring through the window at the stars, talking about our crushes.
I had been crushing on Jake Collins for half my life, ever since he was the new kid who walked into our grade two class. I had never seen a boy who looked so beautiful, almost angelic looking, and he smelled so good. What seven year old boy smells good? I stared at him so much that day that I earned myself a detention for not concentrating on the math work scrawled across the blackboard.
Sara’s crush had been Billy Winters. Annoying little Billy Willy, who flashed his cock at us after sneaking into the girls toilets one day when we were in kindergarten, hence the nickname. Even then, he was rough as guts and ready to take on anything, and anyone. He teased the girls all the time, but when he teased Sara he would always smile and wink at her. She thought it was true love. Little did we know then that Billy would grow up to prefer the company of other males.
Side by side as we laid in our semi-drunken girly stupor, we discussed how we could make the boys kiss us. Just one little kiss was all we believed we needed to show them that we were the only girls for them. We needed a plan.
My plan was to corner Jake in the library during lunch time on a Friday when Mrs. Adams, our librarian, had playground duty and only allowed a few select students to remain inside. Jake was one of those students. He usually worked in the back corner of the library where few kids bothered to go, hidden behind tall shelves filled with reference books.
Sara, who was far more creative and daring than I was, decided she would lure Billy in to the bush and pretend to get lost, she would then shed a few tears and have Billy comfort her.
We had planned to kiss them both on the following Friday, and then have a sleep over at my place, where we could compare kisses.
With our plans all set, we started to talk about how we would kiss Jake and Billy. This was the trickiest part, as neither of us had kissed a boy before, and we didn’t really know what to do. Sure, we had practiced on the backs of our hand, and in my case, a pillow, but that certainly didn’t count. We did find a porn movie that had been left in the lounge room dvd player the week before, and thought that it would show us how to kiss. But after watching 10 minutes decided that it was too gross…and left us thinking that surely no one kisses, or has sex, like that!
All was not lost though. Spurred on by the endless hours already spent watching our favourite movie - The Notebook, together with a dog-eared copy of The Joy of Sex, discreetly borrowed from Sara’s parents, and a tattered old Mills & Boon we picked up at the Op shop, we had enough information to teach us how to kiss.
Questions involving tongues, hands and eyes, created the biggest debate. What if we opened our mouths and stuck our tongues out, but they didn’t? What if they tried to move away, should we grab onto their shoulders? Should we close our eyes like they do in the movies? So, with our new found knowledge, discussed endlessly and our agreed upon answers embedded in our brains, there was only one thing left to do…practice.
After a few chaste closed mouth kisses, and then one with our mouths open and tongues sticking out, which felt wet and slimy, Sara and I decided it would be best to keep our mouths closed, as well as our eyes, and to hold lightly on to Jake and Billy’s shoulders.
Well, as they say…the best laid plans of mice and men…or in our case… girls and annoying boys…our kisses didn’t quite go to plan.
When I cornered Jake in the library, having spent extra time that morning brushing my hair and putting a ribbon in it, he looked at me like a rabbit caught in a shooter’s spotlight. As I was foolishly explaining to him that I wanted him to kiss me, he got so nervous that he had an asthma attack. I was left to get help from a teacher and explain what happened, although I did leave out the part of wanting him to kiss me.
Sara’s first kiss went a little better. As she had planned, she took Billy into the bush and pretended to get lost. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he called her out on her lie. Sara had never been lost a day in her life. When Billy asked her what they were really doing out there, she confessed, much to his delight. So they kissed. That night Sara described it as feeling like her face was being swallowed by a groper with bad breath. Needless to say she never kissed him again.
I remember back when Sara and I were fifteen and we would discuss what we found arousing, and how we thought sex would be. Although we were both only interested in boys at that age, life soon taught us that physical attraction and sex, was not only to be had with males. And wow, were they enjoyable life lessons to discover.
Having both already been masturbating for a couple of years at that stage, we discovered that when we finally lost our virginity, both at the tender age 16, it was disappointing. Talk about an anticlimax. Even as virgins, we were much more sexually aware of our wants and needs than our male friends were. So we began to learn all that we could about sex, through books, movies, music and, as we watched the males around us more closely, we quickly learned how to tell if a guy was sexually adept or not. The ones that were, had a certain confidence about them, and we liked that!
For Sara and I, what had started innocently enough with a kiss at the age of thirteen, developed into a friendship that allowed us to occasionally explore our sexual wants and needs together, up until we both moved away to attend separate universities.
Kissing Sara had been delightful. The softness of her mouth was almost indescribable. Like being touched by the fluffiest white cloud, surrounded by sunlight. So soft and gentle. No rushing, no unwanted pressure, and no aggression. Just a slow inviting caress of each other’s lips…a tango of the mouth.
Those moments spent with Sara are some of my most favourite memories, and are a corner stone of the person I am today.
So here I am some ten years later, ready to take my first step towards achieving a sexual fantasy of the most delightfully wicked nature – an orgy. Now, it won’t be just your average orgy. It will however, be me and several male lovers all at once…and while the details are still in the planning stage, the more I discover about sex, and how different it is around the world, the more I want to explore those differences.
Maybe my orgy will last a weekend, or a week. Maybe I’ll need more than one. Who knows? But what I do know is that the possibilities are limitless. Perhaps I’ll have a masquerade ball, selecting my lovers with a discreet tap on the shoulder. Or maybe visit the club in England rumoured to offer up an authentic Hellfire experience. Now wouldn’t that be something.
Just the thought of it ignites a warm tingle that spreads its way through my body, dancing along my skin. It makes my blood pool between my inner thighs, throbbing its way through my pussy, and I love it. I crave it. I need it.
Ignoring the temptation to knock the edge off of my arousal, I take a refreshing sip of water, swish it around, cooling my mouth, cooling my arousal, apply my berry and lemonade flavoured lip balm and leave my car.
I enter the lift and select the ground button, holding in the D on the panel, ensuring an express ride all the way down to the lower level. As I step out onto the busy street a cool breeze surrounds me, and in its embrace my nipples become aroused beneath my summer dress. Oh yes, my nipples…those traitors! Always surrendering to the slightest stimulation, hard and erect they become in a nanosecond.
As I walk through Circular Quay, I notice most of the people are dressed in coats, dressed much warmer than I am. So much for the weather report promising high twenties all week. But that's ok, for very shortly I will be warm in the embrace of five lovers. The erotically charged tingle that runs through my body at the thought of ten hands touching me all at once, is delightfully wicked!
Recalling the directions I have previously been given…‘from the Circular Quay end of Argyle Street, walk until you come to a red door. If you reach the Argyle Stairs you’ve gone too far,’ I continue my walk past the busy wharfs, walking through the leafy stretches of the First Fleet Park, where the breeze eagerly charms the brownish green leaves into a morning dance, waltzing the early autumn offerings to the ground. Oh how I love this place. Sydney – the city of possibilities. My city.
Soon after I reach Argyle Street and commence my search for the red door of bliss. Or that’s what I’m calling it at least. I walk pass it at first, lost in the old world charm of the streetscape. After finding myself at the archway to the stairs, with the Argyle Cut bearing down upon me, I turn and cross to the other side of the street, and begin walking back towards the quay.
It is such a pretty area, with most of the sandstone buildings constructed around the time of the First Fleet settlers. And then there it is. From this side, and walking in this direction, it is easier to see.
I dial the code I had been given into the security keypad and announce my arrival to the person on the end of the line. The husky voice is the same lyrical warmth I spoke to when making my booking, and try as I might, I cannot tell if it belongs to a man or woman. The soft vocal cadence lingers in my mind as I traverse all the way up the long staircase, towards the rear of the building, and through another red door. Finally, I have arrived for my day of delights.
I walk into a small, brightly lit, reception room. Sunlight shines through the double arched windows lining the walls that are framed by long lengths of sapphire coloured velvet. A gas log fire burns at the far end of the room, heating the area around the two elegant black winged chairs at its side. It’s a welcoming nook of cosy warmth.
“Hi, I am Rhiannon.” I am greeted warmly by the owner of the husky voice. She is standing by the fireplace wearing a black mini dress, long sheer pantyhose cover her legs that are heightened exquisitely by black glossy heels. Her hair is cascading down over her shoulders, framing her pixie like face to perfection. Her breasts are lush and full and straining to be free of her tight bodice. Her lips are plump and pouty and covered in red gloss. Her hips sway seductively as she moves towards me. I return her smile and wonder if she is aware how she epitomizes the definition of her name…nymph, Goddess, witch.
I follow Rhiannon as we walk in to the main reception room, where I reconfirm what I require of today, read the house rules, and pay for the day of sex I am about to enjoy. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous - especially if the queasiness in my belly is anything to go by.
I guess every person who finally has a dream realised must feel this way. It is as exciting, as it is scary, my heart is pounding, and my palms are sweaty. My lips are dry, and no matter how many times I lick them, they remain the same. I shiver, feeling the dampness between my legs heat, as the throbbing in my pussy is awaken from its lull, enlivened by the promise of what’s to come.
Following Rhiannon, we walk into an area which she calls The Showroom. Once again, the room is an epitome of lavish sensuality, with its beautiful mix of masculine and feminine styles. Fabrics, both bold and subtle, adorn the room. From the softness of the burgundy leather lounges, to the stark whiteness of the billowing lengths of voile, which enclose the seating areas. Creating several rooms with in the room.
My gaze is drawn to the 10, bare chested, low-slung denim jean wearing, men before me, waiting for me to choose five of them. I must admit, I feel like a kid let loose in a candy store! Excitement is bubbling away inside of me, threatening to release itself in the form of a girly giggle that is tightly lodged in my throat. So many sweet, sweet, men standing before me, waiting to oblige my every need. The bubble bursts into a smile.
For all the times I have fantasised about this moment, I have never thought through the selection process of my lovers. In my fantasy, they were there ready to go. I take a deep breath, and gather my scattered thoughts, remembering what it is I want, and how I want it.
Think, Skye! Breathe!
When I made my initial enquiries, I was assured that all of my needs would be met, and that all the men are very skilled in the art of fucking. I was so relieved when Rhiannon said fucking, and not making love. After all, I’m here to fuck - making love, is something I’ll reserve for that future husband of mine.
In the end, I choose the five men who lit the spark of desire in me. For two of them, my attraction is instant, and I feel it deep inside my belly, replacing my nervousness with arousal.