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This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached. The author may be contacted at 'MyStores at normdeploom dot com'

All the characters and events in this story are fictional; any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

The Entertainment

Norm DePloom

magine, if you will, a 'Knott's Berry Farm' built at the wrong time, in the wrong place, by the wrong people; that is Forty-Niner Village. Located on what used to be the main north-south highway running the length of the state, midway between two mid-sized central California cities, Forty-Niner Village, like Gaul, was divided into three parts. The largest part was the old west Ghost Town. The Ghost Town was kept in good repair and was perpetually being prepared to be reopened for another attempt to make it successful. In front of the Ghost Town, just off the frontage road, stood the Chicken Restaurant, which made good money selling greasy fried chicken to the local gentry. Across the parking lot also facing the frontage road, with a facade intended to resemble a riverboat, resided the Paddle Wheeler Dinner Theater, where guests could enjoy their greasy chicken while watching vaudeville acts and melodramas. John, though he was currently working as a sporting goods salesman at the local branch of a national department store, had done theatrical sound and lighting work for the theater and Greg, soon to be his best man, worked almost full time as an electrician for Forty-Niner Village. So it seemed only natural when, in September 1978, John announced his plans to marry Carmen, the new sales lady in major appliances, for the Ghost Town to become the site of his bachelor party.

On the evening before John and Carmen were to tie the knot before a judge in the local county court house, John, Greg and their friends gathered to celebrate. Tim, who had only recently moved back to town after living in San Francisco for several years where he had tried to break into the porn business, brought his sixteen-millimeter projector and several porno movies. (For our younger readers this was in the days before VCR's were ubiquitous and long before samples of every possible sexual proclivity became only a mouse click away.) James, a man whose greatest accomplishment, up to that time, had been spending a $500,000 insurance settlement in less than a week then, within another week, totaling both of the cars and the motorcycle the money had purchased, none of which had he seen fit to insure. James was the last scion of James Murphy Sr. who owned Murphy's College, an institute famous for the quality of its court reporter certification program. James brought his siphon (you know, one of those metal bottles used to make home made seltzer water) and several boxes of little metal tanks, each tank filled with nitrous oxide, better known as 'laughing gas'. Neil, whose father and uncle had inherited Forty-Niner Village from their father, brought the grass along with papers, pipes and a two-foot long bong. Greg supplied the ice chest overflowing with Heineken and two large bottles of Kentucky's finest sipping whiskey. It had not occurred to any of them to bring food, but then eating was not the point of the evening. The marry makers gathered on the wood sidewalk and sat on the wood stairs leading up to the door of the Ghost Town 'bank'.

"Did you hire a stripper?" It wasn't until everyone had opened there first beers, and the bong, whisky and nitrous oxide siphon had each made at least one trip around the group that someone thought to ask.

"No," Greg answered, "I got too busy and didn't get it done." Since Greg had never in his life owned a watch, was always late for appointments, and was infamous for throwing things together at the last second (amply demonstrated by the price tag still affixed to the side of the Styrofoam ice chest), no one was surprised to hear that he had failed in this most basic of the best man's responsibilities.

"How can we have a proper bachelor party without a stripper?" James asked as he recharged the siphon from his supply of pressurized containers. It was still too light to fire up the projector and watch the pornos, so the group was concentrating on ingesting drugs.

"Wait here." Greg said (as if any of them had any intention of moving) as he stood up and headed up the street in the direction of the restaurant.

"I've got something special to help us celebrate your upcoming nuptials." Neil announced as he produced and began to unwrap a small foil package. "Some of Oregon's best shrooms." He announced as he began to pass out the smaller foil packages that had been contained in the larger package.

"Alright." (or 'All right' as some would have it) John said as he unwrapped one of the packages and began to chew slowly on the contents. Being a health conscious environmentalist John much preferred a mushroom grown on a nice organic Oregon cow pie to acid produced in god only knows what clandestine laboratory. "Better living through chemicals."

"Right." The group affirmed, then continued its single-minded pursuit of altered consciousness with such fanatical devotion that, soon, none of them were quite sure what had happened to Greg.

"Cynthia said she might be willing to do a strip for us when she finished her shift." John turned at the sound of Greg's voice. Although he could not remember him returning John discovered Greg sitting next to him.

"Great." John replied, then putting the bong to his mouth he held the lighter over the bowl and sucked while he watched the thick smoke bubbling up through the water. When the plastic column was filled with swirling smoke John removed his thumb from the hole and pulled it deeply into his lungs. "Good shit." Was all he could manage to say as his brain swirled briefly in imitation of the smoke in the bong. After his brain settled back down John passed the bong to Neil and accepted the bottle of whisky from James.

"When's that going to be?" James asked.

"From what I've heard," Neil commented as reloaded the bong, "once she gets a drink or two inside her she'll do a whole lot more than just strip for us."

"When is what going to be?" Greg asked.

"Don't you think it's dark enough to start the first movie?" Tim asked as he glanced up at the darkening sky, all three of them talking together.

"Abso-fucking-lutely" John replied.

"When in Cynthia getting off?" James asked attempting to clarify his question.

"Right before I do." John replied with a drug-augmented laugh as Tim started the projector running. "Look at the tits on that one." He finished as the image of a naked woman bouncing up and down on the cock of a reclining man appeared on the portable screen that had been set up in the middle of the street.

"She's a bitch in real life." Supplied Tim, who was always eager to remind his friends that he knew most of these women, and had actually fucked a few of them.

"Tell us again why you're not in the movie," Greg teased, "they didn't want to put the macro lens on the camera so it would show up on the screen?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I may have to," Greg continued thoughtfully, "Laura is out of town this week."

The idea that Greg, who usually had women lining up to share his bed, would resort to taking care of himself just because his girlfriend de jour was out of town struck them all as the extremely funny. John had become close friends with several of the women who had shared, if not his bed, at least Greg's body. In some cases close enough for them to share their observations with him. They unanimously agreed that, while Greg's performance was mechanically adequate, the problem was that's all it was; a mechanical performance totally devoid of any emotional content. Their mutual friend Debby Watson once revealed to John that, in her opinion Greg needed to find himself a rich old lady who was looking for a boy toy.

This situation allowed John the unique opportunity to hear descriptions of the same sex act from both a male and a female point of view. One Saturday morning, about five years previous, while Greg and John ate breakfast at Ye Olde Hoosier Inne prior to doing some work on the Paddle Wheeler Dinner Theater sound system, Greg told John about his night with Susan.

"God she was hot," Greg expounded between bites, "I don't think I've ever been with a girl who wanted me that much." John only half listened to Greg's rendition of his previous nights sexual exploits. John and Shirley, his wife at that time, had been close friends of Susan's for a number of years. She had been one of the small number of people who had keys to their apartment and were welcome to come and go as they pleased. As they ate Greg painted a picture of a sexually obsessed nymphomaniac who could not get enough of him the night before. That evening John found Susan and Shirley setting at the dinning room table talking when he came home. John kissed Shirley rather thoroughly on the mouth then gave Susan a friendly peck on her forehead.

"Jamaica Blue Mountain?" John asked as poured himself a cup of coffee and joined the two ladies at the table.

"Picked it up today," Shirley replied.

"Greg said you spent the night with him." John said to Susan, as he sat down across from Shirley.

"Yes I did," Susan replied, setting down her cup, "what did he say?"

"He just talked about how horny you were."

"Actually," Susan explained as she got up and poured more coffee into her cup, "I was exhausted. I didn't even have enough energy to drive home." Susan took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "I figured if I wanted to stay at his place overnight it would only be polite to let him fuck me," Susan took another sip, "I figured I'd never get any rest if I didn't. The only thing I was anxious for was to get it over with so I could get to sleep."

John smiled as he remembered the differences between Greg's version and Susan's versions of that night. Later discussions with Greg proved him to be totally convinced of his version of the night.

Beer, whiskey, pot, mushrooms and nitrous oxide were consumed while the men watched the pornos and waited to find out if Cynthia would agree to provide live entertainment for the party. At five till nine Greg decided to make his way back to the restaurant, hopefully to escort Cynthia into the Ghost Town.

"Hey," John yelled after him when he was a ways down the street, "if she's wavering invite her back for a beer and some grass. Let her know she's welcome even if she doesn't want to strip." Greg waved in acknowledgement then turned and continued toward the back door of the restaurant. One terrific blowjob on the screen later Greg returned with Cynthia.

"Oh my god." Cynthia said as her hand came up to cover her mouth, her eyes locked on the screen as the actress, on her hands and knees, was analy penetrated by a muscular young man with a larger than normal erect cock. John climbed to his feet and offered her the half empty second bottle of whiskey. Cynthia took the bottle from John and downed two swallows without looking away from the action on the screen. After a hit on the bong and with a beer in her hand, Cynthia sat in front of John on the next lowest step. John spread his legs and let her lean back against him. She finally looked away from the movie to stare dubiously at the siphon when James offered it to her after attaching another mini-tank.

"Nitrous oxide." He slurred, his eyes barely able to focus on Cynthia.

"You know," John took over speaking a bit more coherently, "laughing gas. Like this," he explained as he put the siphon's spout in his mouth and pulled the lever, "hold it in as long as you can," he croaked while he held his breath after sucking the gas deep into his lungs. "Your head will spin, briefly," John continued after exhaling, "then you'll get a really great high that will only last for a few minutes, sort of like the big hill on the roller coaster." Cynthia gave John a doubtful look then, after placing her can of beer on the step, took the siphon from him and followed his example. Cynthia's body seemed to melt against John as the siphon fell from her relaxing hand and landed with a loud thunk on the weathered wood. John began to massage Cynthia's shoulders as her head slowly rocked from side to side against his chest.

"Mmmm, that feels so good."

"Cynthia's been working hard all evening," John said in a soft soothing voice, "I think you should give her a foot massage." He finished speaking to Greg. Greg, more than happy to comply with John's suggestion, moved down to street level and, setting cross-legged facing Cynthia and John, removed her left shoe and massaged her foot through her nylons.

"You sure know how to take advantage of a tired woman." Cynthia said tilting her head up so she could look at John. John resisted the urge to make a comment about Greg's experience in that area.

"Don't worry," John said, looking at her upside down face, "we won't ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

"It's what I'm beginning to want to do that concerns me," Cynthia responded still looking up at John, "not what you might ask me to do." The massages continued for several minutes with the moans and groans of the porno film and Cynthia's soft sighs of pleasure intermingling.

"Hang on a second." Cynthia said as she struggled to her feet then reached down and grabbed John's knee for support as her body rocked back and forth a couple of times like a slow pendulum. Once stabilized Cynthia reached under her skirt with both hands and worked her panty hose off her hips and down her thighs. With her hose around her knees Cynthia sat back down and, reclining once more against John, extended her legs toward Greg. Tim moved down to sit next to Greg and they worked together to finish removing Cynthia's panty hose before each took a foot in hand for continued massage. The banter died away, leaving only the ohhs and ahhs of the two actresses on the screen as they admired the large hard cock of the actor while taking turns noisily slurping it into their mouths. The ones not massaging Cynthia's shoulders, or one of her feet continually supplied her with additional grass, nitrous oxide and alcohol.

"OK, you win," Cynthia said several minutes later as she pulled her feet out of Greg and Tim's grasps and stood up, "put on some music." The movie continued but the 'dialogue' was quickly covered by the growing intensity of Revel's Bolero coming from the portable tape player. Cynthia, standing in front of the portable screen, and with a mouth moving up and down the shaft of a large cock being projected on her white blouse, began slow sensual movements in time with the soft music. Her hands moved from her sides, up across her stomach to briefly cup her breasts, then continue up her throat, over her face then through her hair. Cynthia's hips continued to gyrate slowly with the growing beat of the music while she brought her hands back down the sides of her face, back down her neck and down her chest, then slowly around the sides of her breasts to return to her stomach. With what was to her audience agonizing slowness, Cynthia unbuttoned the bottom button on her blouse, then moved her hands slowly up to the second one. Instead of immediately unbuttoning it Cynthia teased them by pulling her blouse open and up just enough for them to get a glimpse of her naked belly then, letting her blouse close again, slowly turned to face the screen. Bending forward slightly and still moving in time with the music, Cynthia looked back over her shoulder, watching the five men, as she ran her hands slowly over her butt then down her thighs until she reached the bottom of her skirt. Cynthia slowly raised her skirt, exposing the backs of her thighs then stopped just before her panties came into view and let the skirt fall back into place. As Cynthia slowly turned to face her small audience once again it was becoming obvious to them all that she was really enjoying her roll as the seductress.

With much teasing and flirting the buttons of her blouse were slowly undone and the point was reached where the blouse was slipped slowly down her arms and tossed aside. Cynthia's erect nipples could be seen bulging under the almost sheer material of her 'natural look' bra. As the excitement level of everyone involved grew the clothes began to come off more quickly. With considerably less teasing Cynthia's short black skirt came down her legs and joined her blouse lying on the street. Once it was gone Cynthia cupped her breasts and teased the men by teasing her nipples through the material, then unhooked the clasp in the front and slowly moved the bra off her breasts then tossed it into the pile. With the porno movie still being projected on her skin, Cynthia lifted one of her breasts then the other, bringing her nipples to her mouth where she licked, sucked and nibbled on them for her own and the watchers' pleasure. Holding one breast in each hand, looking like she was about to present them as a gift or as trophies for the winning of some contest, Cynthia walked slowly forward, undulating her hips in time with the music, which was approaching the peak of its intensity, and stood in front of John, who was still setting on the step.

"Would you like to remove my panties?" She asked with exaggerated mock innocents. Leaning forward John took her right nipple in his mouth as he worked her white cotton panties off her hips and down her leg. Without relinquishing his mouths grip on Cynthia's nipple, John helped her step out of her underwear then, starting at her knees, ran his hands up the backs of her legs until he cupped and kneaded her fanny cheeks with both hands. Leaving his left hand to fondle Cynthia's right butt, John moved his right hand around then traced his fingertips through her kinky pubic hair before pushing between her legs. John felt a small spasm shake Cynthia's body as his finger moved across her clitoris on its way to the moist folds of her eagerly waiting pussy. Still holding her right breast to make it easy for John to keep his lips locked on her nipple, Cynthia released her left breast and moved her left hand behind John's head. When the invading finger sank into her welcoming cunt, and John's thumb pressed down gently on her clitoris, while his teeth gently teased her nipple, Cynthia's deep throated guttural moan could be heard over the crescendo of the Bolero's final notes. Her second and much louder moan seemed to echo through the eerie silence that followed. The other four men watched as Cynthia, hugging John's head to her breast, jerked her hips backward and forward fucking herself on John's hand while she called out to the almighty to make sure he was cognizant of her orgasm.

"Get your fucking pants off," Cynthia leaned over whispered in John's ear, "I want to fucking fuck you, fucker." With his face still held tightly to Cynthia's bosom, and his right hand clamped between her thighs, John fumbled blindly with his left hand to get his pants open and his cock into position. Once he was sufficiently freed of encumbrances Cynthia pulled his hand from her crotch, straddled his legs and, reaching around behind her back, held him by the base of his cock while she lowered herself onto his lap. Tim, Greg, James and Neil, the porno flickering on the screen forgotten, watched the live action entertainment as John's hard cock slowly disappeared into Cynthia's glistening flesh.

"I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning," Cynthia said looking back over her shoulder as she slowly raised and lowered herself on top of John, "but I intend to fuck each and every one of you," Cynthia paused briefly before continuing, "several times." The expressions on their faces could only be described as 'big silly grins'.