by Alex M. Quinlan (10/18/00)

A crowd of naked people running around the house for the weekend -- getting acquainted, getting intimate, getting off -- that's the kind of party my friend Joan, and her husband John, were planning when they consulted me as their sex-party expert. We knew we needed a Friday night icebreaker -- something a little more interesting than Lewd Scrabble or Naked Twister.

The old Mazola parties of the eighties came to mind, with the image of a small room, lots of oil on the floor, and hot sweaty people seeking even hotter sex. But these days we know that Mazola (or any other real oil) isn't latex-friendly, and not quite slick enough for the deeply satisfying games we were looking forward to. Not willing to give up easily, I researched, remembering a friend who had bragged about finding a powdered lube ideal for fisting women.

We found it, we ordered it, and we got ready to play. Fed-Ex delivered a two quart jar of a powder called J-lube, which, when mixed with water, formed this amazing slippery substance that bore a great resemblance to the juices that come from a woman who's been orgasming. (The product is meant to be used by veterinarians, so we played quite doctor-like while ordering.)

When I arrived at the party, I found some unusual sex toys next to the door: half a dozen water guns of varying sizes and a ten quart pot covered in clear plastic wrap, with an odd, viscous fluid in it. Inside a smaller room were three barefoot people armed with duct-tape, fastening an enormous plastic tarp to the walls. They'd managed to find one that had no seams and was large enough to cover the floor of the 8 x 10 room and reach about halfway up the walls, to protect the carpet.

Hours later, after dinner and laughing through the vet catalog that we had received with the lube - "Instant Branding!" "Is Your Goat Too Aggressive? Use the Elastrator!" - a pile of nervous, giggling people, including yours truly, stripped naked outside the door and went inside to sit on the plastic-wrapped floor. The uncovered pot of lube and the filled water-guns were handed in to us by the audience of folks too timid to join us, who sat outside in the larger room eating popcorn and listening to music.

We discovered, after splashing around, that the floor of the room was somewhat off-level. This meant two things -- all the lube eventually flowed to one corner, and then, all the people did too. This created a new game: Spin The Naked Person. Someone would sit cross-legged, and a number of folks would grab hold of their legs -- or anything that we could get a not-so-slippery grip on -- and start to spin them. Once we let go, they would bounce off a couple of walls, spinning across the lubed floor. Invariably they ended up in the same corner as most of the lube, with a resounding splash.

Sex was in the air, but it was still funny just to watch people try to move around. No matter what sort of motion they tried to use, they would always slide back, often slipping all the way down into the lube. This was especially amusing when the people were trying to leave the room ("no, no! it won't let you go!"), and when new people who had arrived after we started to play tried to join in -- like my long-distance lover, who had driven sixteen hours to see me and join in the party.

Joan slid over to me as I sat happily in the lube and laid her hand on my knee. "May I touch you?" she asked, obedient to the consent-rules of the party. Tall and pale, with auburn hair and cuppable breasts, her hazel eyes seemed to be challenging me. I suddenly flashed on some of her previous behavior, and the light dawned -- she had been flirting with me, and I had been too dense to notice. "Sure," I said, as I had noticed a long time ago that she was quite delicious. We quickly ended up with her between my outspread legs, facing away from me.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, I started fondling Joan's nipples. "I don't understand what it is that I had to consent to," I said with a wicked grin. In response, she started to tickle me, but I am not ticklish. She, however, was ticklish, and I made use of this, sliding my fingers into all sorts of places as I wiggled them. The people on either side of me -- my long-distance lover, broad and strong, who I hadn't seen in months, the other a complete stranger who was dark-haired and tall with very large hands -- braced me against the wall while I reached for every spot on her body that was suggested by the audience.

I found out that her breasts were not ticklish, and neither were the joints of her hips, her lush ass, nor her inner thighs. With the aid of the lube that was all over everything, she could slide out of any grasp I could get on her body, resulting in me fondling every solid, warm, slippery inch of her in my quest for ticklish areas. The folks who weren't involved in holding me stable against the wall made sure to keep us well slicked, showering us with puns and dubious advice along with water from their squirt guns.

Somehow she turned the tables on me -- she managed to get herself out of my grip and turned around to face me. She dove her hand between my legs, stroking and probing. I was startled, frozen by the sudden realization of her serious sexual interest.

My body soon took over, responding to her insistent fingers, and to the erotic feeling of being restrained against the wall. She worked her hand in my crotch, scooping lube from the floor, sliding along my labia, then more and more inside me. I'm an easy orgasm, to my everlasting relief, and she was rewarded with wave after wave of my shuddering release from just the fingering. This was mixed, however, with my body uncontrollably flinching and pulling away as she pushed harder and further inside me, until I finally realized she was trying to fist me.

"It won't work at this angle!" I gasped out between spasms, caught in the feedback loop that my body creates. It didn't stop her from trying, crouched between my outspread legs. My lover started pinching my nipples, and the stranger on the other side kept me pinned with his large hands holding me upright.

I don't know how long this continued, but the crowd had finally thinned down to eight people -- a different eight than I remembered, as more people had arrived at the party and joined us in the room while I was on my orgasm-coaster, some driven away by my screams and some attracted -- when she pulled her hand back and said, "OK, lay her down."

I was dazed as my body was moved, pulled away from the wall with unknown hands sliding over my skin and laid down on my back, my head resting in my lover's lap. The stranger who had been holding my other side scooted down also, lying next to me and starting to suck on one nipple while another person I didn't know laid himself between me and the wall and sucked on my other nipple.

Joan knelt between my legs and scooped lube from the corner, liberally coating her hand. Sliding her fingers easily into me again, she worked her hand forward and back, in and out, as I whispered to her about what worked and what didn't. I'm used to getting fisted, but any sort of pinching would pull me right out of the delicious delirium, so I was telling her things like a squeaked "Not there!!" and groaning "turn it, turn it, yes that's it" until she finally twisted her wrist the last right way and it popped into place.

My eyes flew open and I shuddered all over when her hand slid into place. I saw a lover of hers kneeling behind her with his body rocking slowly, one hand on her leg and the other invisible. His eyes were hot on me, licking his lips, as whatever he was doing to her made her lift her body and gasp. Her breath was shaky and her voice randomly squeaked when she started shifting and twisting her hand inside me, learning the motions that would make me come with just a twitch.

There was music serenading us. When someone put on Heart's "Dreamboat Annie" CD, everyone was startled to hear me singing along . Even when I was panting for breath, apparently, my lips kept singing the lyrics of the songs engraved so deeply in my mind. I remember waves of orgasms rolling over me as Joan's hand moved in and out, up and down, stroking all of my insides with her fingertips.

After a long time of multiple orgasms, she slowly worked her hand free with a pop, and sat back. "Gee, it really does feel like a nose," was her first comment, and she giggled at the roomful of confused faces looking back at her. "The cervix," Joan explained, grinning at me. "Yours, in fact."

For some reason this was incredibly funny, and I finally lost control completely, whooping in laughter as she and her lover crawled out of the "Slime Pit" to clean up. As I calmed down, I found my lover nibbling on me -- well, trying to bite me, really, as he frequently bites my shoulder as an erotic act. But my skin was so slippery that he couldn't even manage to bite. He grinned at me and sat up with his back to the wall, saying "My turn. It's been four months. Too long."

There was a small basket of condoms in the room for people to use, and my lover picked one out of the pile -- or tried to. His hands were too slick to grab just one. With help, he got it in hand, but then found that he could not open it. The people in the room all tried to help, but whether or not their hands would have kept a grip, all were laughing too hard to be able to pry open the small slick plastic package.

Joan poked her head back in, careful not to get caught in the lube, to find out what was so hysterical. Seeing the problem, she handed in a different brand of condom, one that came in a hard gold foil shell, which we could open. But it got fumbled into a puddle of lube, which made it impossible to put on, by him or by me. We eventually had to coax Joan in again to help with her clean hands. She brought with her three more condoms, and after much effort they got a condom onto his cock. He clambered over me to fuck me at last, and as soon as he leaned on me, I squirted out from under him like a watermelon seed.

Over and over again I slid away. No matter what position we tried, it was impossible for me to stay on him or him to stay on me. After ten minutes of vaudeville-level pratfalls, we finally insisted that the onlookers give us a hand. They braced themselves, seated, against one long wall. They put their feet against my shoulders, holding me from moving across the floor, and my lover mounted me with his feet braced against the other wall. At long last we achieved penetration.

Only I was laughing too hard to orgasm, hard enough that my lover was having a difficult time staying inside me. Our helpers didn't help, being involved with such commentary as "Captain, I canna hold her anymore, she is slipping away from me!" and "Scotty, do yer best!" and "She's breaking up, she's breaking up!", and a rousing rendition of the chorus to the Paul Simon song 'Slip Sliding Away'.

Eventually we finished, and felt the need to finally clean up. The larger outside room was empty, except for Joan, who was being vigorously fucked by her lover. They didn't notice our emergence, as her voice spiraled up in her distinctive orgasmic cries, loud enough to drown out any noises we had been making. We sat quietly, passing around a towel to scrape off as much of our lube as possible, until the pair of them were done. Their passion was nearly enough to wake my body again, even after all the orgasms I had already had, and I led the enthusiastic applause.

Making our way into the hot-tub area, we found a couple whom I didn't know. They had been in the room with us, and they thanked me for being so uninhibited and inspiring. Apparently they had been fucking in a corner and I had never noticed. I thanked them. I was beyond blushing at that point, and I joined my lover and Joan and her lover in the communal shower.