WARNINGS: This story includes explicit descriptions of sexual acts.  If reading
this might involve you or another person in an illegal act, or you are offended by
the exploration of adult themes in literature or on the Internet, do not read further.

Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart.  The author is a member of the Net Authors
and Creators Union (NACU), which defends the rights of Internet authors and
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Specific permission is granted for publication in the news groups Alt.Sex.Stories
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permission from the author.
 

JANEY'S SEPTEMBER   (small, friendly orgy)
 

by Janey
 

     "Son of a bitch is from California," Nicole said in a conversational tone.  "I
should have expected this when I married him." Then she crossed her arms and
pulled her T-shirt over her head, exposing a lacy bra.  "Let's see just how much
'fun and games' he's prepared to put up with."

    Turning toward the trees, she shouted, "Hey, Bob! Hurry up! Time for my
peaches!" Bob picked up the basket and headed toward her. The closer he got, the
slower he walked.  I guess the basket was heavy.  Or maybe he was afraid he'd
trip, since he was staring at Nicole's nice bra.  He finally set down the basket.

    I just took those paragraphs right out of the middle of this story and stuck them
up there so you'd have some idea what you're getting into.

                                                          * * *

    "So what are you reading these days?"

    I can't think of anything more innocuous to ask than that.  It was just one of
those lunches where everybody is kind of tired and people have already finished
trashing their bosses or their employees and stopped complaining because it's
raining and generally haven't got much to say.  So I threw it out.

    Nicole looked at me with a funny little smile. "You really want to know?"

    Well, maybe not before I asked, but I sure did after she said that.

    "Yeah, Nicole," I said.  "Tell us what the modern Franco-American artists'
community is reading."

    "Nancy Friday.  You ever heard of her?"

    Well, well.  "I may have." These are my best friends, but I am a careful person.
"Some kind of feminist stuff, right?"

    "Women's fuck fantasies," Beth helpfully supplied.  Beth is not a careful
person.  "I read 'em years ago."

    Nicole, who is pretty dark, managed to blush anyhow.

    "She's written some other things since, you know," she said accusingly.

    "Yeah, but you wouldn't look like that if you were reading the book about her
mother." Beth may not be careful, but she's not stupid.  "My question is, where do
you hide them?"

    "Hide them?" Nicole asked.  "Uh, yes, I see what you mean.  I don't exactly
hide them, I just keep them in my desk at work.  The kids aren't going in there."

    "No." Beth shook her head.  "I mean from your husband."  We all knew each
other's husbands well.  We did all sorts of things together, and we women hung
out with each other when the guys went off to do guy things.

     "He doesn't go in there, either." Nicole managed to blush again.

    "I figured," said Beth.  "I read the good ones out loud to Steve, but I'm the only
woman I ever heard of who didn't hide them from her husband."

    "I wasn't married yet when I read them," I answered.  No use trying to look
innocent in this crowd.  They knew me too well.

    "Bet you didn't keep them around," Beth observed, spearing a piece of
pineapple off her plate with a toothpick.  "Might frighten Bob." She daintily put
the pineapple in her mouth.

    "I guess I do hide them from Ken." Nicole looked at Beth.  "Why do I do that?"

    "What I said.  Might frighten the old man.  If you read fantasies, you probably
have them.  Ergo, you're a crazed nymphomaniac he can't possibly satisfy ever
and you're probably going to go down to the Combat Zone and pick up three
sailors any day now."

    "But I'm not!" Nicole looked shocked.  "I've been faithful all these years; I have
three kids; I'm thirty-two years old.  Why would he think that?"

    "He wouldn't," Beth said, "but that's what you're afraid of."

    Nicole thought about that.  You could practically hear all those little gears
grinding away.  Then she looked at me.

    "Do you hide things from your husband?"

    "Not lately. Well, not much, anyhow." My turn to skewer pineapple off Beth's
plate.  I'd already eaten up all of mine.  "But I used to.  And Beth's right.  We're all
afraid to shock the poor dears.  Even now, when he knows I write sex stories, I'm
a little careful with some things.  I'm a good editor--I edit."

    "Bob knows you write those stories?"

    "Sure," I said.  "I spent so much time at the computer I had to tell him.  Also, I
was so proud of the first one I had to show it to him.  Especially since it was
about the time we went to the opera with Beth and Steve.  He laughed like hell.  I
was afraid he'd blow a gasket, but he didn't.  I think he's kind of pleased I'm so
literary." I smiled.

    "Bet you didn't show him the Sandman one," Beth said.

    "I did, too! He thought it was--I quote--'kind of cute.'  Warmed him up a bit, I
recall." Remembering, I found myself smiling again.

    "So I'm the only coward around," Nicole said.

    "No, you're not." Beth looked up at me fiercely.  "Janey, if you eat that last
piece of pineapple I'll jab you with this toothpick." She turned back to Nicole.
"We're all cowards.  See, we've got these guys.  Really fine husbands.  We're
wives.  If we fuck up and they leave, who are we then? Single mothers? Gay
divorcees? Yuck.  So we're careful.  Janey and I are noted for being 'liberated,' but
we're not.  Not really.  I haven't told Steve about the little orgy I attended when I
was in B School.  No way.  I'm supposed to make him happy, not shake him up."

    "I don't think Bob ever knew about that football poster I had over my bed in
college, and I don't really see any need to tell him I have a thing for linebackers,
do you?" I took the pineapple anyhow and she didn't strike.  But I hollered at the
waiter and made him bring us another plate of fruit along with the check.  You
never can tell.  "Haven't told him about the tight end I had this little arrangement
with senior year, either.  Never did score a linebacker, though.  Pity."

    "You have a thing about linebackers and you married that string bean?" Nicole
laughed.

    "I don't want to be married to one, but I could find some other uses for them," I
said.

    "Why not quarterbacks? They're supposed to have brains."

    "Not required, and they're too little." This time I used my fork on a chunk of
honeydew.  "Brains I wanted to be married to.  Different thing."

    "Don't mind little sawed-off oil men, either, do you, dear?" Beth has a
wonderful smile.  She was referring to her husband, our hard man, who, despite
his short stature, is the toughest business man and general hardass I ever have had
the pleasure of, uh, meeting.

    "If I can't get a linebacker," I said with extreme nonchalance.

    Nicole was mystified.

    "What the *hell* are you two taking about?"

    "Tell us about your fantasies, Nicole," I said, picking up the subject bodily and
throwing it as far as I could.

    "Well, they aren't linebackers." She started to blush again, but not quite so
much.  "All right, I'll tell you.  I dream of orgies.  Just little orgies.  With my
friends." Then she did blush.

      "Us? You mean us? Must be--you don't have any other friends." I sort of
giggled.  I do not giggle.  Except sometimes, and then only sort of. .

    "I have plenty of other friends." She threatened to throw a strawberry at me.
"But sometimes, yeah, I have little orgies in my head with you guys.  More with
your husbands."  Back to blush city.  "I never, ever, thought I'd tell that to
anybody at all, ever."

    "Not even Ken?" I asked innocently. .

    "Especially not Ken.  You think I 'm crazy?"

    "See? That's what I mean," said Beth.  "How do you know he's not just itching
to get his hands on Janey's left boob?"

    "You can leave my boobs out of this, " I said.

    "OK, I have a left boob, too." Beth stood up, the organ in question modestly
covered by her dress-for-success suit.  "Think he'd like a little taste? He does look,
you know.  They all look.  I have to go, anyhow.  You dear people may be ladies
of leisure, but I have a company to run. Maybe we can continue this on the
weekend."

    We both stood and gave her little cheek kisses and Beth hurried off, her heels
clacking on the tiled floor.  The Trident isn't exactly an upscale restaurant.  When
she'd gone, we sat down again and Nicole turned to me.

    "I am simply amazed at her.  OK, she looks like the sexpot of the century, but
she's always so, so together.  Sure, she jokes all the time and throws out
innuendoes, but I never realized she analyzed behavior like that."

    "She is indeed the sexpot of the century," I said, "and she makes money by
knowing how people operate.  She wouldn't know Shakespeare from Adam's off
ox, but she reads all kinds of stuff to keep informed.  She probably knows more
practical psychology than I do, and I studied the stuff in school."

    "Well, she made me think."

    "Ah, Nicole." I sort of gazed off into the distance.  "These orgies.  Have you
always had that kind of fantasy? Or is it something recent?"

    Nicole thought for a minute.  "No, they're fairly recent.  That's odd, now that
you mention it--ten years ago I'd have thought an orgy was disgusting.  Just
sex--no romance.  I wonder what's changed?"

    "Well, I'm not sure, but I think it's age." I speared another piece of pineapple
and poured the last of my tea out of the darling little china pot.  "I'm not sure, but
I think women get more interested in sex for the sake of sex as they get older.  I
wish I knew some other people to ask about that.  But I'm exactly like you.  I still
like romance, but now that I'm older the idea of an orgy doesn't exactly turn me
off."

    "So I'm not a pervert?"

    "Either you're not, or we both are," I said.  "Nice to have company."

    "Well, it's all fantasy anyhow, so I guess it doesn't matter." Nicole took the last
strawberry and ate it, then started reaching for her bag.  "We have to go, too,
we've both got kids to pick up.  So let's get out of here.  I'm going to think some
more as soon as I get the chance.  They really aren't that fragile, are they?  I mean
our husbands.  Are they?"

    "Nobody's done a study as far as I know, but that's the way they get treated.
We're supposed to be icons of purity, and we're just part of the grand conspiracy.
Can't rock the boat.  Women are mostly wimps.  Good combat soldiers, I hear, but
frightened to death if they think something might threaten a relationship." I got up
and we headed down Newbury Street for our cars.

                                                              * * *

    That weekend all six of us were up at my in-laws' camp in Maine.  Beth and
Steve, Bob and I, and Nicole and Ken.  On Friday afternoon, after we got there
and unpacked, we sat around in the shade in what we call the back yard, just
relaxing after a hard week.  It was hot.  Not like Texas in July, but pretty warm.  In
New England, you never know what the weather's going to be like, and
sometimes we get warm spells in mid-September.  We'd already been swimming
in the dinky little pool to cool off.  My kids and Nicole's were running around
doing kid things.

    Beth and Steve had just bought this place way to hellangone off in southern
New Hampshire.  We talked about their new acquisition, and decided to go take a
look at it.  She runs an accounting firm, and she had just stolen this eighty-acre
farm, which included a rundown, beat up old house with a lot of worn-out
furniture in it, from a client who was having a tiny cash flow problem.  She
relieved him of this albatross at a very reasonable price.  The client had intended
to make a showplace out of it, but the market made a showplace out of him first.
Options are like that, I understand.

    "Hey, Alan!" I shouted.  This raggedy-looking kid I inadvertently produced
eleven years ago was running by, chasing one of Nicole's boys.  He skidded to a
stop.  They toe the line around my house.

    "Huh?" he said.  He was looking at me as if I were a Spanish Inquisitor.  "What
you want, Mom?"

    "We've all decided to go over to New Hampshire tomorrow to look at the farm
Beth and Steve just got," I said.  "You guys can come along, or you can stay here
with the parents, OK? How about you find out what the rest of 'em want to do and
let me know?"

    "OK," he said, obviously considering the possibilities.  "Lemme talk to
Gramma first."

    "Sure," I said, "Just let me know.  We're going to take picnic gear, and we'll
probably be gone all day."

    By nine o'clock the next morning all three couples were in our old minivan,
heading toward Portsmouth.  I'll tell you about that place sometime, too, but not
now.  The five kids had decided to stay at the camp with the old folks, largely, I
expect, because Gramma had promised them a trip to the beach, complete with all
the gooey trimmings.  Nicole and Ken were delighted--they hardly ever got off
anywhere without their three kids.  Nicole's folks still lived in Fort Kent, and
Ken's were way out west.  I'm one of those lucky people with wonderful in-laws
quite nearby.  Of course, they make us take the kids back after only a day or so,
but by then we're usually glad to see the dear things again.

    Taking the back roads, we made the trip in about an hour.  Bob was driving;
Beth, sitting next to him, was the navigator.

    "We're getting close.  Turn at the house where the white dog barks." That's
how you give directions in New Hampshire.

    Bob saw the dog and turned, and about a hundred feet later Beth directed him
through a broken gate.  She made me promise not to tell you where the place is,
but you probably couldn't find it even if I did.  Lots of white dogs in New
Hampshire.

    We drove up this rutted road through a broad field of grass that came up to the
car windows.  Beth said she'd hired somebody to hack down the brush for thirty or
forty yards around the house, and she'd had the electricity and the water pump
turned on. .

    "We've only been here a couple of times, so it's still a total mess," she warned
us.  When we finally got to the house, we were pleasantly surprised to find that it
hadn't actually fallen down.  The paint was pretty shot, but the big wrap-around
porch was only sagging in a few places.

    We all piled out of the car and started wandering.  Rusty parts of old tractors
were half buried here and there, but on the whole the place was kind of pleasant.
It was very quiet--you could hear a nuthatch going "quick-quick" in a huge old
maple tree not far from the house, and now and then a little breeze made the grass
rustle.  The sun shone, the air smelled fresh. It had been cool that morning, but it
was warming up fast.  Not your typical New England day.

    "Come on around back," Beth said.  "I want to show you the orchard.  It's just
a lot of old sad-looking little trees, but it's got possibilities, I'm told." Her voice
sounded loud in the silence.

    So we traipsed around to the back of the house and found the shade.  An old
wooden picnic table stood there waiting for us.  The orchard started around a
hundred feet from the back door; maybe ten rows of ten trees, all about fifteen to
twenty feet tall and thickly covered with leaves.  You could see the odd fruit here
and there.  Ken and Steve went ahead.  Just inside the trees they stopped.

    "Hey, Beth," Ken said, raising his voice.  "You've got a real orchard here!"

    Coming up to him, Beth said, "What do you mean? Of course it's an orchard."

    "No, look." He waved an arm at the trees.  "Look at those--on this side they're
covered with peaches, and on that side there are at least three kinds of apples!"

    We all gawked.  Sure enough, there was fruit everywhere.  None of the trees
was exactly loaded, but most of them had a few branches sporting medium-size
peaches or apples, and fruit flies were working on the windfalls.

    Beth reached up and picked a peach off a low branch and took a big bite out of
it.  Everybody stood and watched.  You get fruit at a supermarket, right? Not off a
tree.

    "It's good!" she said, looking startled.  Then she took another big bite.  Juice
ran down her chin and dripped on her chest.  She wasn't wearing a shirt, just a red
bandanna tied around her breasts, so the juice had a clear field, so to speak.  A
little river started running down into the valley.

     Ken stood there, doing a topographical survey.  He glanced over at Nicole and
looked back at Beth.  Then he put a hand on Beth's shoulder, leaned down, and
licked a wide swath right across the top of one breast.

    "Yummy!" he said.

    "You bastard!" Nicole said, smiling.

    "You didn't want me to let that nice juice go to waste, did you?" said Ken
defensively, eyeing his wife.  Beth started laughing.

    "Better corral this guy, Nicole," she said.  "I'm for sure going to eat the rest of
this peach!"

    "Here, have one, Janey," said Steve, pulling a couple of peaches off the tree.
"You, too, Nicole." He handed one to each of us.  "Eat up!" He winked at Beth.
Bob, on the other hand, was studying his peach carefully.  I could tell he wasn't at
all sure this whole scene was quite what it should be.  Me, I go with the flow.
Mostly.

    I looked at Nicole.  She looked at me.  Both of us smiled at the same time.

    "If you think I'm going to take off my shirt to eat this, you're crazy!" she said.
Like me, she had on a designer T-shirt.  Hers said Kennebunk Lumber. Mine
said Maine Diner.

    "Heck," said Steve.  "It's warm enough I'd think you'd want to shed as much as
you can." He started struggling out of  his own T-shirt.  It was just plain white.
The crisis apparently over, Bob and Ken immediately followed suit.  Everybody
was wearing shorts, so there was an awful lot of untrammeled male on view.  I
really like that kind of view a lot.

    Nicole came over close to me.  "I never saw Beth like this before," she said in a
near-whisper.  "I mean, we've known all of you for years, but she asked for that.
She talks a good game, sometimes, but still."

    "Vintage Beth," I said.  "You know she's an accountant.  For months she has
enough numbers in her head to start a calculator factory, then, once in a while, not
often, she turns into Beth Bonks Baltimore or something.  We're used to it.  I'm
surprised you never noticed.  Don't let it bug you."

    All four of us had been hanging around with Beth and Steve since they moved
to Boston a couple of years ago.  I'd known Beth since we were freshmen in
college.  Nicole and Ken owned three frame shops, one for the summer people in
Kennebunk and two that were open year-round in Boston, so we were able to
spend a lot of time together.  Ken, the laid-back California artist, and my
husband, the uptight history prof from New England, had mysteriously found each
other fascinating some years back, and they both thought Steve was something
from outer space and admired him at the same time.  I was the only one who
knew the real Beth, though, and I saw an enthralling day beginning to develop.
Except I wasn't sure "enthralling" was the right word.  Alarming, maybe?

    Beth continued to eat the peach.  The juice continued to drip.  When she finished
the first one she grabbed another.  She managed to contort herself so that her whole
chest was soaked in peach juice.  Bob and Steve apparently decided to get in the
game, so pretty soon she had three guys lapping like Cocker Spaniel puppies at
the water bowl, pushing each other away to get in a lick, hollering, carrying on.

    "Hey, guys," Beth yelled, "Take it easy!" She dodged away and tugged at her
bandanna, which was beginning to slip.  Her husband shoved my husband out of
the way and got in a big lick.

    "More!" shouted Ken, moving in like a bulldozer.

    Nicole stood there open-mouthed and watched.  She forgot to eat her peach.
Then she turned to me again with a nasty grin on her face.

    "I'll bet she's already got at least one bedroom in this old place fixed up with
mirrors on the ceiling.  And by the way, those are our husbands over there
making spectacles of themselves."

    "I did notice that," I said.  I took a bite of my peach, carefully leaning forward
to avoid unseemly drips.  Then, gesturing at Nicole's quite respectable chest, I
said to her, "You could compete fairly effectively, I expect, if you wanted to get
them away from her."

    "I think I'll start hauling the picnic baskets around here instead," she said.
"Dam' fools!" Then she stalked off around the corner of the house, heading for the
car.  I followed, finishing my peach on the way--carefully.

    We'd barely gotten the lid lifted on the back end of the van when Beth skipped
up, still tugging her bandanna back into place.  She was carrying a wet towel, and
looked perfectly normal.

    "Thought I'd help," she said.  "There's a lot of this stuff."

    "What'd you do with all the tongues?" I asked.

    "I think they're still hanging out," she said.  "But I have some things I want you
two to help me with.  The attic is full of old quilts and things, and I want to get
them out to air."

    "Funny," Nicole said.  "The guys were acting like they were looking forward to
an early lunch."

    Beth laughed.  "Relax, Nicole," she said.  "The orgy doesn't start until later."

    "Hmpf," said Nicole, heading back toward the puppy pound, carrying a laundry
basket full of food.

    "Kind of uptight, isn't she?" said Beth.  "It's the fucking weekend.  Time to let
down our hair."

    "Uh, well," I said, "I think maybe she hasn't had your advantages.  Some things
take a little getting used to."

    "Sure," said Beth.  As it happens, Beth does a lovely number in wicked smiles.
"But she does have fantasies.  I shall personally arrange for her to get a crash
course in weekend fun."

    "Don't you dare pull anything, you little creep!" I said.  "Nicole is a fine
upstanding citizen and she's a good friend of yours and mine both."

    "Her husband's upstanding, too," said Beth.  "Did you notice?"

    "Please pick up that bowl of potato salad and proceed to the back yard, would
you, dear?" Arguing with Beth is not one of the things I do well.  I'm an artist at
ignoring her, however.

    The gentlemen got sent back to the car to bring around the coolers full of
assorted drinks.  Beth eyed the orchard for a moment, then remembered she had
work to get done.

    "Want to look around inside?" she asked. "Some of the furniture is fairly good.
And the old wallpaper is still hanging on in some of the rooms.  Then we can haul
down the quilts." She turned to Steve, who was just coming around the corner of
the house with an icebox.

    "We're going inside for a minute," she said to him.  "Why don't you guys get out
some of those lovely K-Mart lawn chairs we bought last week?" Then she and
Nicole and I walked up the rickety wooden steps to the back door.

    Nicole was mistaken--no mirrors in the master bedroom.  It was clean, though,
and there was a double bed along with two night tables and a couple of slightly
uncomfortable looking antique rockers.

    "I got this fixed up last weekend," Beth said.  "We have to take off work and
camp up here for a few days until we figure out what to do next.  The telephone is
supposed to be here soon, so Steve can do business while I sort out the
contractors."

    Two other bedrooms were empty, and the bath was old, but the water and the
lights worked.  The old flowered wallpaper was pretty.  Beth and Steve wouldn't
suffer too much, I figured.      Each of us took two or three of the old quilts and a
pillow or two and trudged back down the stairs into the back yard.  Bob and Steve
were tossing around a softball somebody found in the car, which tends to be full
of kiddie droppings.  Ken had whipped out the ever-present sketchbook and was
sitting in a lawn chair, drawing away.

    Beth took us over to one side of the "yard"--that is, the more or less cleared
ground--and we spread the quilts out.

    "These probably aren't worth saving," she said, "but a dealer wants to look at
them.  They're way too heavy to sleep under any time we're likely to be here."

    All laid out they looked inviting, colorful and soft, even though some of them
were tattered and torn.  Some were in the sun, some in the shade.  Beth went over
to a sunny spot and plopped herself down.

    "Probably the last sunny day until next June," she said.  "I'm just going to lie
here and get fried."

    Nicole and I carried over lawn chairs and sat down beside her.  It was glorious,
just sitting there in the sun, nothing to do, nobody screaming for Mommy and
nothing to clean up.  I'd just about relaxed when Ken came wandering over, his
sketch book left in his chair.

    "Hey, Beth, wouldn't you like another peach?" he said, grinning. "Bob said he
was going to bring over a basket full."  Bob was headed for the orchard, all right,
carrying one of the laundry baskets.  He'd emptied its contents--most of our
lunch--onto the table.

    Beth just lay there with her eyes closed.  Then she opened one eye and looked
at Ken.  .

    "If I'm going to be somebody's peachsicle again, I'm going to have company,"
she said.  "Hey, Jane, want to eat peaches?"

    "I'm beginning to have the odd feeling that she has something more than eating
peaches in mind," Nicole said to me.  "Tell me I'm wrong."

    "Uh, I think you might be right," I said.  "She does seem to have, uh, something
in mind.  Do you have something in mind, Beth?"

    "Me?" Beth said.  "I just like to eat peaches.  And these are good ones."

    "Juicy, I noticed," Nicole said.

    "Yes," said Beth.  "That can pose a problem.  Or maybe it can pose an
opportunity.  We could have a peach feast."

    "I'll go help Bob," Ken said, then he wandered off.  My husband is your typical
workaholic; naturally he'd found a job to do.  Ken seemed to be wondering what
he'd started.  He hadn't started it, but I don't think he knew that.

    "This feast she's talking about," Nicole said.  "You don't mind your husband
sharing in this little feast?" She seemed to have stopped smiling.

    "Well . . . .  Strange things sometimes happen when we're with Beth and Steve."

    "Yeah," said Nicole.  "Strange." She rose and marched up to her husband, who
was standing a few yards away watching Bob pick peaches.

    "Hey," she said, getting just a little too close and looking right up into his face.
"Have you noticed anything odd going on here?"

    "I suppose you could say that," he answered with a little smile. "Why?"

    "Why?" she said.  "Why?" Then she took a deep breath.  "What I think is that
we are about to be treated to a strip tease.  Maybe two strips tease.  At the very
least.  Doesn't that bother you at least a little?"

    "Oh, hell, Nick," he said. "Don't be so uptight.  It's all just fun and games.
Nothing to get in a stew about." Nicole stood there staring at him for a long
minute. Then she turned away and came back to where I was standing.

    "Son of a bitch is from California," she said in a conversational tone.  "I should
have expected this when I married him." Then she crossed her arms and pulled
her T-shirt over her head, exposing a lacy bra.  "Let's see just how much 'fun and
games' he's prepared to put up with."

    Turning toward the trees, she shouted, "Hey, Bob! Hurry up! Time for my
peaches!" Bob picked up the basket and headed toward her.  The closer he got,
the slower he walked.  I guess the basket was heavy.  Or maybe he was afraid he'd
trip, since he was staring at Nicole's nice bra.  He finally set down the basket.

    "Here you go," he said, continuing the examination with interest.  I didn't blame
him; most women don't wear lacy bras under their T-shirts.  As a matter of fact,
some of us don't wear any bra at all under our T-shirts when it's hot.  Like me, for
instance.  I thought I'd wait and see a couple more cards before I joined this
peach-eating contest.

    Nicole reached down into the basket and picked out a nice peach with a red
blotch on it.  Everybody stood still and watched.  She leaned forward and took a
bite.  Then she straightened up and took another bite.  That juice sure knew where
to fall.  My husband looked at me with a little grin.  Then he put a hand on each
of Nicole's shoulders, leaned over, and licked, as expected.  He straightened up
smiling.

    "Yummy!" he said.  Then he leaned over again, his hands still on her shoulders,
and gave Nicole a big kiss.  She put up with it for a second then jumped
backward, slapping a hand off her shoulder.

    "Hey!" she said. "I thought we were eating peaches!"

    "You're a peach, Sweetie!" Steve said, elbowing Bob aside.  "I'll eat you any
time!"

    My, my.

    I knew already that Steve liked tiny little accountants and great big hulks with
messy hair, but that persuaded me that he had really catholic tastes.

    About this time Ken came over and stood next to me.

    "I'm beginning to think you guys have been engaging in various practices we
weren't told about."

    "You started it," I said.  "Beth was just innocently eating her peach, and you
started it!"

    "Yeah," he said, smirking.  "But Beth has never done anything innocently in her
whole life."

    "You better check with Nicole," I said.  "I'm not sure how she's liking this."

    "Oh, don't worry," he said.  "She just got kissed, and she didn't kill him--that's a
good sign."

    "She's your wife, but she looks like your typical Maine Franco babe to
me--black hair, fierce eyes, and tough as nails.  I watch out for that kind.  We've
known you a long time, but I don't think we've ever been in quite these
circumstances."

    "Circumstances," he said.  "I like that word.  What kind of circumstances
would it take to get that T-shirt off of you?"

    "Me? Uh, well . . . ." I really had to give that question some thought.  Obviously
it wasn't impossible that I'd lose the shirt, but I thought I'd wait a little longer and
see how the game was progressing.  How can you go with the flow if you don't
know how the flow is going?

    Bob was standing next to Beth, who was, of course, still lying on her quilts.
Then she sat up and took a peach from his hand.  She brought it to her beautiful
ruby lips.  Bob was rapt as he watched her progress.  She stuffed half the peach
into her mouth, which is not tiny, before she bit down.  When she did the juice
squirted everywhere, but most of it seemed to find its way to the place juice
seemed to be going that day.

    So Bob squatted down this time for his little sip.  Having gotten it, he then put
his hands on Beth's waist and simply lifted her up high enough for him to kiss her
without bending over.  It seemed practical.  The kiss was quite prolonged and
seemed to involve considerable exploration.  Beth put her arms around his
shoulders to help, keeping a good hold on the remaining half of her peach while
she was doing it.  Then Bob slipped one arm under her knees and gently laid her
on her back on the ground.  By this time everybody was watching this little scene,
of course.

    "Janey," said Nicole, "take off your shirt.  It's not fair.  You have clothes on and
we don't."

    "I don't know, Nicole," I said.  "If I in particular take my shirt off, I have a
feeling things might get quite a bit more interesting pretty fast.  I'm not wearing a
bra." Three male heads snapped in my direction.

    "Oh," she said.  "I see your point."

    "I haven't seen her point yet," Ken said.  "Neither one of 'em." He looked at Bob
and Steve.  "You guys think we ought to consider her points?"

    "You might get hurt if you pressed her too hard on this," Bob observed.  "But
they're definitely worth considering."

    "Personally, my point is that I've gone about as far as I'm prepared to go, and I
don't blame her a bit," said Nicole. .

    I just stood there.  It was like watching a tennis match as the comments began
to flow back and forth.  I did think it was nice of Bob to give me that testimonial.
Boobs are not my big thing.  Things.  They're more like my little things.

    "But, honey," said Ken, "we sat around on that Italian beach last summer with
hundreds of women who weren't wearing brassieres, including you."

    "Nobody was licking peach juice off them, though, and this is New Hampshire.
There's probably a law." Nicole said.

    "The peaches probably weren't ripe yet," Bob said helpfully.  My husband can
be very helpful.

    "If we took them on one at a time, we could probably persuade all three of
them to be peachsicles," Steve said.

    I was quite interested in what Nicole would say to that, because, you know, I
had finally concluded that it would be really nice to take my shirt off and get
licked by those three big wet tongues.  Not to mention just parading around
getting ogled.  I think maybe I'm a little strange that way, but that's how I am.  I
just don't get many chances to do it, that's all.  Like none.

    "Take it off, Janey," said Beth helpfully.  Bob leaned down, reached around
her, and untied the knot in her bandanna, then whipped it away.  Beth still had
half a peach in her hand.  She took a bite out of it and didn't say a thing, just sat
there in her bare bazooms.  The juice was finding new places to run.

    "Oh, shit," said Nicole. "My mother warned me about big city girls." Then she
twisted her bra around, unsnapped it, and let it fall to the ground.  Ogling
proceeded, slowly.

    "Janey?" Heads turned toward me as Ken spoke.

    Taking a deep breath, I took hold of the hem of the shirt and slipped it off over
my head.      "Wow!" said Ken.  "Nice!" Then he looked at Beth, who smiled at
him, then at his wife.  "See, Nicole," he said, "that wasn't so bad!"

    Nicole was clearly of two minds about this whole situation.

    "So we're on the beach in Italy, OK?" she said.  "Now we just do a little
sunbathing, right? That's what we did there."

    "I've got a better idea," said Beth.  "These guys want peachsicles.  Let's make
the guys sunbathe first, then maybe we'll eat peaches." All the guys were looking
at her, wondering what she had in mind.  They were also looking at what she had
on her chest, which was a little more spectacular than the usual equipment.  She
appeared to be inspecting her peach with great interest.

    Nicole turned to me again.  She took my arm and pulled me over about ten feet,
then she spoke quietly. "Janey.  I can see where this is going, and I've never been
there. I'm not sure I want to go there, either."

    "Well, I think maybe I have, and it has a good deal to recommend it, but I'm
with you--whatever feels comfortable to you is where I'm going, too."

    "I told you I've thought about this kind of thing," she confessed. "I've thought
about things that would shock my husband so much he'd pass out.  But thinking
about and doing are two different things."

    "You're quite right," I said.  "I've done a lot of thinking, too.  But I doubt that
Ken would shock all that easily."

    "You've thought," she said, "and I gather you've more than thought.  When?
Where?"

    "Well, last February Beth and Steve and Bob and I went to Florida for a quick
getaway and some odd things happened."

    "I remember when you went.  Odd?"

    "Yeah.  We all ended up in the same bedroom doing interesting things."

    "And now we're going to do interesting things out here in the sunshine?"

    "Could happen," I said, taking a bite out of a peach.  The juice felt kind of cool
when it hit my left boob.

    "But this might spoil everything!" Nicole said.  "We've been friends for so long!
If we go on with this, we'll all be fucking each other right and left and next time
we get together we won't even be able to flirt without somebody thinking it's
going to be another orgy.  That is, if somebody doesn't get jealous and just break
us all up.  I just don't know if it's wise."

    It looked as if Nicole was having the problem I usually have--she started to
think, and that always gets people in trouble.  I felt so sad for her--she had a lot of
courage, but she was scared to death.

    Just then Steve wandered over and joined us.  Bob and Ken were out by the
trees.

    "Got a problem?"

    "Nicole's a little spooked.  I don't blame her."

    "Am I the only one that's afraid?" she asked.

    "I think we're all a little afraid," Steve said.  "That's part of the game.  That
woman over there, she doesn't need me for money." He nodded toward Beth, who
was listening to the conversation.  "I don't think she really needs me for anything.
If she wanted to, she could dump me like one of those peach pits.  She's
tough--she'd do OK.  But she keeps me around, anyhow."  He smiled.

    "I need you," Beth said quietly, looking down at her peach.

    "It's like a test, I guess," Steve continued.  "You ever ski a dangerous slope? Big
thrill.  Lots of adrenaline.  I like that kind of thing."

    "I used to ski like that," Nicole said.  "Not since the kids were born, though.  I'm
afraid I'll break a leg."

    "I'll guarantee you won't break a leg here today," Steve said, smiling.  He
reached out and took Nicole's hand.  I listened in amazement.  This was our friend
in the oil bidness--our hard man.  Yet here he was being so gentle I hardly
recognized him.  It was a really nice try, but I thought the orgy was over before it
got started.

    Nicole pondered.  "What about after it's all over? What about next
week? Things will be different with us all.  It scares me."

    "We still hang around with Beth and Steve," I said.  "If anything, it's better.  But
you still have to be comfortable.  If you're not, the hell with it."

    "Fuck it," she said, "I think I'm game.  If he is." She looked over at her husband.

    "I think maybe he might be," I said.  This was an understatement.

    "OK.  Here we go." She raised her voice a bit.  "Beth, how do you plan to arrange
this male sunbathing contest?"

    "Not a contest," said Beth, tossing her peach seed back under the trees and
pushing herself upright.  "Everybody wins.  OK, you guys, come on back here!
Take off those shorts and lie down.  All in a row."

    Bob looked at me.  Ken looked at Nicole.  Steve started unbuttoning his shorts.
I just motioned with my peach hand, and Bob got the message.

     Ken started to say something, stopped, and started again.  "This isn't quite what I had in mind.  It's like we're a lot of meat or something."

    "Tough," said Nicole.  "You want peachsicles, you sunbathe." She smiled
beautifully at her husband.

    Very shortly thereafter three male bodies were laid out as if they had fainted on
parade, all in a nice, neat row.  Beth put her hands on her hips and walked slowly
down the line, inspecting.  Nicole and I followed, all of us topless.

    "They are kind of like a lot of meat, aren't they?" said Nicole.  "Choice cuts,
though."

    "You'll pay for that remark," Bob said.

    "You know," said Beth, "I can't remember doing anything like this before.
We're usually the ones getting inspected." She turned to the two of us.  "I think
I like it!"

    Well, I liked it, too.  Nicely shaped guys, all told.  Not as young as they might
be, and not one of them anything like the linebackers I pine for, but, basically, not
bad at all.  Good, in fact.  We inspectors weren't all that young, either.

    "Think we ought to touch them?" asked Beth.  She didn't wait for an answer.
Instead, she took the peach in her hand and rubbed it over her left nipple and went
down on her knees next to Bob, who happened to be nearest.  Then she dangled
her impressive breast under his nose.  "Peachsicle," she said.  "Want some?"
Bob snapped like a large-mouthed bass after a worm and the nipple disappeared
into his mouth.  His arms went around her bare back and he pulled her down.  But
she raised herself just enough to let the bait dangle enticingly before him, just out
of range.

    "Oh, my!" said Nicole, glancing at me.

    "That's my line," I said, eyes glued on the performance art.  "Gimme a peach."
Nicole took two steps to the big basket and brought one for each of us.  I was
beginning to feel a serious need to become a peachsicle.  You know that funny
feeling you get right down there in your private parts sometimes? Yeah, that one.
That's the one I was getting.  So I bit into my peach.  It tasted good, I think.  I was
looking down at the two remaining sunbathers, who were themselves sitting up
and carefully overseeing the Beth and Bob show.  Both of them were displaying
the international symbol for male sexual arousal.  I liked that.

    Then Ken jumped up and stepped over to me.  Nicole turned to watch him.
She turned back to glance at Steve, who was still looking at her, holding her hand,
and smiling gently.  Then she turned back to watch her husband and me.

    Ken was looking at me kind of funny.  I ignored him, but I carefully anointed
my entire left breast with peach juice.  I looked up.  He wasn't drooling, and he
wasn't talking, but his lips were moving.  All at once I found myself falling--he
had put his leg behind mine and tripped me! I did the only possible thing to avoid
crashing down like a mighty forest giant--I bent my knees and sprawled on the
quilt.

    "Hey!" I think I was looking a mite cross.

    "Hey, hell!" he said.  "Lie down! I want my peachsicle in comfort!"

    Just as I was about to comply, Nicole yelled.  "Hey, look!"  Then she stood and
started unzipping the side of her shorts, while nodding her head at Beth and Bob.
Bob was no longer passively enjoying his peach juice.  He was sitting up, Beth
was lying down, and he was earnestly removing her shorts.  She was arched up to
help. When Nicole yelled, Beth turned her head toward us and smiled.  Steve put
his arms around Nicole.  Ken sat down with me and we were dead still, just
watching.  Then I turned to see Ken's face as Nicole kicked her remaining
garments to one side, grabbed Steve around his neck and threw her legs around
his waist.  Ken's expression was hard to read, but I did get the feeling that might
be the first time he'd ever seen his wife enthusiastically embracing another man
without any clothes on.  Then he turned back to me, smiling.

    "Uh, where were we?" he said.

    "I don't know.  I'm just along for the ride.  But I am a little sticky here and
there."

    "There?" he said, pointing at my left boob, the one I had peached up carefully a
few minutes before and the very one that had been discussed at lunch on the day
of Nicole's confession.

    "Yeah, there."

    He put his hands on my sides and began using his tongue to clean my breast.
He was really a gentleman--he licked each side, then carefully raised it up so he
could get at the bottom and worked on that.  Only after he had also left the top
squeaky clean did he move in on the nipple.  By that time I had achieved a new
level of general satisfaction.  I found it necessary to hold his head and make sure
he didn't go up in smoke or something.  Then I found my other hand sneakily
moving up his bare leg.

     You know, when stuff like this is going on it's really difficult to keep an eye
on what other people are doing, but I managed.  I'm a very curious person.

    Over in the sun, Bob was on his knees gently rubbing Beth's stomach.  She was
just lying there, her eyes closed, soaking up sensations.

    Nicole's feet were on the ground again, but she was still locked in Steve's arms.
Since they were about the same height, his pelvis was grinding up against hers.
They were rocking gently.

    Suddenly Ken took my hand, pulled me up, and started tugging me over toward
the sunny spot occupied by Bob and Beth.

    "Come on.  We need company."

    Oh, my.  This was getting very interesting.  Nicole was right--there's something
about these guys from California, and I was about to find out what it was.

    Bob looked at us as we sank down beside them, and Beth, suddenly shadowed
for a moment, opened her eyes.

    "How nice of you to join us," she said, smiling.  "I thought for a minute there
we were going to be the main attraction."

    Ken gently pushed me back until I was lying right next to Beth and smiling at
my husband, who was on Beth's other side, looking down at me.  Then Ken
started stroking the inside of my thigh.  That is something I find quite pleasant.
Bob mirrored Ken and began to run his hand gently over Beth's tender skin.

    "What do you think we ought to do now, Bob?" Ken asked.

    "I'll be back in a second," Bob said.  He jumped up, took two steps to the basket
and came back with a peach in each hand.  "Here." He handed one of them to
Ken, then bit into the one he still held and started using it to anoint Beth's thigh.  I
felt warm, slick fruit moving over my leg, then up between my legs, which
seemed to open wide to accommodate this fascinating phenomenon.  I knew Bob
liked peaches, but I hadn't realized he was quite so inventive.  All this was
causing some of my natural juices to begin to run down to mix with those of the
peach, and I was getting warmer; strong feelings of pleasure suffused my brain.  I
heard Beth gasp and for once knew exactly how she was feeling.

     Bob threw his peach over on the grass; Ken did the same thing.  Then Ken's
head disappeared from view and I felt a tongue carefully licking away the juices
from the inside of my thigh, then up higher, then all around my labia, and then--oh,
my!  I still had enough curiosity to note that the same thing was happening to Beth.
When I took a quick look the other way I saw that Nicole and Steve had elected a
different option--she was on her knees straddling him, her head thrown back, her
body moving slowly up and down.  But by the time I took that in I had so much
electricity coursing through my veins that I lost interest in everything but the
things I was feeling.  I do remember thinking that California had more going for it
than I had realized in the past, but mostly I was just finding life really pleasant
and trying to hold still while the tongue explored my nether regions.

    Then I heard Bob speak.

    "Hey, Ken! I've tasted that one before, but not with peach flavoring.  You want
to try this one?"

    The lovely licking stopped, a quick change of position took place, then it
started up again.  This time my hand was on hair I'd have recognized in my sleep.
I surely did recognize the technique.  But the feeling was identical.  That is to say,
positively ecstatic.  And then Bob slid up and I was getting fucked by my own
husband right out there on a quilt behind Beth's new house with everybody
watching except I doubted they noticed they were all so busy and I felt great
shock waves beginning and I grabbed Bob and crushed him to me and then it all
stopped as I heard Ken say, "Switch?"

    There I was on fire and nothing was putting it out and all of a sudden the fire
was roaring even higher and before Ken had managed more than a stroke or two I
was writhing and twitching and holding him tight and making little whining
sounds and losing it all together.  Oh, my goodness me! The man was an artist
indeed! And very soon he was pressing down on me and moaning and I could
hear Bob's familiar cries right next to me.

     I found my hand in Beth's, getting a squeeze, and looked at her.  She was
grinning and pointing over my head.  I looked over there and saw a messy looking
pile of exhausted flesh ten feet away.  But Steve staggered upright just then and
gave Nicole a hand and they came over and joined us.  They both squeezed in
between Beth and me and I found myself hugging Nicole and stroking Steve's
back while hands were all over me, moving up and down, touching me everywhere
at once.

     Now sex is good in almost any form I can think of, but never in my life had I
felt so much skin at one time and it was almost better than the sex.  I carefully
made sure I touched and stroked each of the five other bodies lying there, while
I myself was being caressed by more hands than I could count.  Oh, all that skin!
Then things quieted down, slowly, and we were all tangled together, breathing
quietly and enjoying the sun and silence--and the touching.

    "The skin!" said Nicole, finally.  "That's what I dreamed of.  And hard angles
and soft curves."

    "You dreamed of this?" Ken said lazily.  "You never told me that!"

    "Maybe I should have," she said.  "But then maybe it was just as well I
didn't--we're here now."

    I don't know how he did it under the circumstances, but somehow Ken found
her mouth and kissed her, then lowered his head back into the pile of bodies.
There was no mouth near me, but I did find a small, warm sticky piece of flesh at
hand, so I took it and gently began to see what would happen if I fondled it a
little.  After a couple of minutes it began to grow.  I smiled.  It was still very
quiet, and nobody else seemed to be moving.  A couple of chickadees had joined
the nuthatch somewhere.  Who knows what they were doing? But they made
lovely sounds. .

    "Uh, something is happening here," Ken said.  "Somebody is disturbing the
peace."

    Four voices spoke denials, almost in unison.  I kept quiet.

    "Janey, what are you doing to Ken?" said Beth.

    "Oh, is it Ken?" I said, carefully sounding puzzled.  "Imagine that! I'm just,
uh, sort of . . . ."

    "Getting him ready, is it?" Nicole sounded interested.

     "You could get me ready, Nicole." Bob was always looking for something to
do.  Or somebody, in this case.

    Nicole struggled up to her knees and surveyed the lot of us.  Then she reached
over and picked up a discarded half-peach.  Holding it in one hand, she sorted
Bob's shrunken penis from the flesh collection and took it in hand.  She squeezed
juice over it while I was thinking how sticky her hand must be getting--that didn't
seem to bother her at all.  Something bothered Bob, because he began to wriggle
slightly, causing a ripple in the body pile.  By then everybody had to sit up
anyhow to see what was going on.  I still had Ken's growing appendage in my
right hand, quietly giving it a little squeeze now and then while I watched Nicole
at work.  Bob was rising to the occasion.

    "There! Peachsicle!" Nicole sounded terribly pleased with herself.  "Anybody
want some? But first, Bob, somebody's got to lick my hand clean." She held it up
to see if there were any takers.  Beth grabbed the waving hand and started licking.
By the time she got around to Nicole's thumb, Nicole, still on her knees, was
bending over to take Bob into her mouth.  Ken slipped his warmed-up penis out
of my hand and lurched over behind her, then aimed carefully and slipped it right
into Nicole's very wet vagina.

    Nicole jumped, then settled back to her task while her husband gently stroked
in and out.  About that time I felt a pair of hands come from behind and close
over my breasts.  Steve fondled, and I luxuriated.

    "On your knees, please, Janey," he said.  That sounded like a good offer to me,
and soon the third dagger of the day had found its way into my very own
scabbard.  By that time I had forgotten the need for peach juice.  But I hadn't
forgotten Beth, who was lying very near me and looking on with interest as
Nicole held on to Bob's now swollen penis and licked it like the lovely confection
it was, all the while enjoying Ken's slow penetration and withdrawal.

    Beth turned to watch as Steve entered my abode.

    "Hey, babe," I said, panting only slightly as I felt Steve pushing into me.
"C'mere." Normally I don't do women, but I could hardly just enjoy myself and let
her lie there and stare.  Wouldn't have been proper--after all, she's my friend.

    Beth moved closer and I lifted a hand to stroke her breast.  She slid her head
under me and I could reach her belly, then her mons.  I stroked gently, then
slipped two fingers inside her lips.  She gasped and clamped down, then relaxed
and let me move another finger inside her, where I found wetness to slip around
in and, soon, a little bump to explore.  I tried to concentrate on her and ignore
Steve's thrusts but of course I couldn't.

    Steve may be little, but he's strong.  He had a grip on my buttocks that kept me
as still as a statue, and he was playing my vagina as if it were a Stradivarius.  He
went in, slowly.  Then out, slowly.  I just felt.  Warmth.  Friendly invasion.
Stealth.  In again.  I could feel the stretch, the alternating opening and closing.
Smooth.  Gentle, yet purposeful.  The power began to flow through my veins.  But
I kept a part of my mind clear as I stroked Beth's interior, and she pushed herself
against my hand, making little sounds for all the world like a kitten demanding
milk.  All at once she raised her head and, leaning on one arm and grasping me
with the other, she took my left nipple into her mouth.

    I glanced at the other threesome as the storm built inside my body.  Still
moving, they reminded me of a Greek amphora, three bodies in perfect
communion, Nicole the center, the connecting link, her husband sliding in out
behind her while she held onto Bob's penis and licked it, made as if to swallow it,
pulled back and licked again. Bob was caressing a breast.  Nicole was beginning
to shiver.

    As was I.  Steve increased the tempo.  I felt him pounding hard into me, jolting
me as I used one hand to keep my balance and the other to stroke Beth's
membranes, her clitoris, her inner being.  I leaned over farther to let her get a
better purchase on the breast that was in her mouth.  I burned.  Then Beth
suddenly convulsed, her head falling to the quilt, her mons ramming itself into my
hand.  Steve, just then, slipped his arms around my lower body and, one last time,
pushed himself into my open quim as he moaned loudly.  And then I lost touch,
rocketing somewhere, who knew where? I felt spasms beginning back where
Steve still held me and kept his warm penis firmly embedded in its proper place;
the shocks moved through my breasts, through my neck, and then I could feel the
electricity in my teeth.  My eyes fluttered.  I collapsed on Beth.  Steve fell on me.
Skin.

    Steve rolled off onto his back.  I gently raised myself from Beth's prostrate
body and sat back on my heels, smiling at him.  He smiled at me. Beth's voice
woke up before her eyes could open.

    "I think I like this new place," she said.  "Good vibes."

    I looked over at Nicole, Bob, and Ken--it was hard to tell just what part
belonged to whom.  Like us, they were simply a pile of humanity.  Then Nicole
began to extricate herself.  She caught me looking at her and smiled.

    "You know, some of those women told Nancy the real thing wasn't as good as
the fantasy when they tried it out.  For me, it's better."

    "Hey, Steve!" I punched him on the arm and he looked up at me.  "Get over
there and help Nicole! She's still conscious!" I grinned at him.

    You have to hand it to that man.  He struggled to his feet and staggered over to
Nicole's side.

    "This was your idea, Janey, you call the shots." He looked at me as if he
actually needed some directions.

     "Well, it must be five minutes since she was getting fucked, but I don't suppose
you're up for that." I considered.  "Boobs are nice.  Suck her boobs."

    "Gotta have peach juice for that." He lurched a foot or two over to the basket
and armed himself.  Then he just squeezed the peach over Nicole's chest.  She lay
there and looked up at him, maybe just a shade fuzzily.  Her eyes closed as his
mouth covered her left nipple and she shivered. As we all watched her hips
quivered gently.  Bob pulled himself over next to her, knelt,  and reached for her
vagina.  A couple of fingers slipped in easily, and Nicole's hips began to move in
rhythm with the pressure of his hand.

    "Come on over, Sweetie." He looked at me and grinned.  "This only takes one
hand."

    After all, he is my husband, so I obeyed.  I lay down next to his knee and
awaited developments.  Then, amazingly, his mouth on my breast was bringing
back the electricity I thought had been shut off.  I lay there enjoying myself.  I
could hear Nicole beginning to gasp--again.  I also could hear Ken whispering
something to Beth, who then giggled.  I didn't have any impulse to check them out
just then--I just lay there enjoying that tongue on my nipple.  Then I felt a hand on
my thigh, creeping up.  Oh, my.

    Gentle strokes moved to the inside of my leg.  I moved to give the hand more
room.  Then the hand moved away, and a face moved in between my thighs.  A
tongue explored my labia, then the face got closer, hard up against me, and the
tongue found its way inside.  I lazily reached down to touch the head that was
between my legs as the shock waves began to build once again.  The tongue was
on my clitoris, its roughness starting enormous strands of pleasure that coursed
through my whole body.  Nipple on fire.  Vagina ready to spring up.  Nicole's
sudden loud cry set off my roman candle and I began to pulse and to cry gently.  I
went into full shock, grasping the head with both hands to push it away--it was
too much.  And then it drew back quickly and I heard Beth moan the age-old cry
of satisfaction.  Three women, at last exhausted, lay tangled together, breath
quieting, eyes closed.

    I came back slowly and glanced around, moving only my eyes.  Steve was
standing, smiling.  Bob was stretched out beside us.  Ken was on his knees,
getting up.  I saw no reason to move.

     Then Steve spoke: "Anybody want a peach?"

    "Not right now," I thought, saying nothing.  Then I began to visualize the
sandwiches piled on the old picnic table.  I managed to think some more, just a
little.  Lunch.  Yeah.  We could have lunch.  Maybe a little nap.  Then . . . .

                                                         ---THE END---

NOTE: This one took a long time, and I got a lot of help
from my friends.  I want to thank Lisa, Old Rotorhead, Shon, Spline Duck,
Vickie, and, of course, Miles, who helps me every time.

Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart.  The author is a
member of the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends the
rights of Internet authors and creators.  NACU intends to bring suit against any
person or corporation infringing copyright.

 Specific permission is granted for publication in the news groups Alt.Sex.Stories and
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive,
Deja.com, and RemarQ.com.  All other rights are reserved.  Do not repost or distribute by
any other means without express permission from the author.
 

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