How many ways can you get in trouble? I only needed one.
It's not my nature to look for trouble. I'm overly conservative. Extremely cautious. It's not easy with my body to avoid attention from men. My husband constantly reminds me about how hot he thinks I am. He's also convinced, based on my attempts to minimize the attention I get too often from other men, that I'd never stray. I'd never allow anyone to ever get close enough to even make a pass at me. He's a fool.
He was so certain in his assessment of my caution about contact with other men that he never worried about my activities when I was out alone or with friends. He never showed concern about my outings, always telling me to have fun and enjoy myself.
He was always correct in his assessment. I never wandered. I never even had a thought about wandering. My girlfriends had a different attitude but they always protected me. They knew me well and always came to my assistance if someone who approached me with vulgar intentions was causing me problems. They didn't mind. They knew the cad's intentions and it was a chance for them to score as well. I was the bait and they were the switch.
It worked well for everyone, until May a year ago.
Maryanne, probably my best friend and a member of the group of eight women who hung out and supported each other, was getting married. She was twenty-eight, built like a plus sized stripper, and head over heels in love with Dan, her intended husband.
However, she wasn't quite ready to give up the hedonistic life style she enjoyed while single. Don't misunderstand me, she fully intended to be faithful to her husband after the marriage but that was a month away. Right now she wanted one last lustful fling. She was determined to get laid, maybe twice, and we all knew it.
Maryanne spent considerable time planning her final fling as a single woman. She researched venues within fifty miles and wasn't satisfied with any of them. She widened the scope of her research to include private parties and performers that could provide the services she was looking for. Google was her friend and videos on socially frowned upon, but frequently viewed, sites became the focus of her research. She discovered a number of CFNM (Clothed Female Naked Male) party videos and was immediately intrigued. The videos showed male dancers removing their clothes and dancing naked among the women and encouraging them to touch the merchandise.
She suggested the possibility to the rest of us and we all agreed it could be fun. Honestly, I was a little nervous but since the women kept their clothes on, I went with the rest of the groups' decision. What Maryanne hadn't revealed to the rest of us was a number of videos showing some of the women fully naked and having sex with the dancers.
She selected a performance group that had the most flagrant videos, contacted them and got times and costs. She booked a two performer party for eight, paid the entire amount in advance and began to look for a venue for the party. The dance group had a number of suggestions near her that would host a small party in a private room and were known to be discrete. She booked a Saturday night, one week before the wedding and within ten miles from the city.
She emailed an innocuous invitation to the other seven of us.
I showed the invitation to Matt, my husband. "Maryanne's having a party?" he asked.
"It's her last fling before the wedding," I told him. "It's her bachelorette party."
"They can get pretty raunchy, I hear," opined Matt.
"Nothing I haven't dealt with before," I responded.
"Go and have a good time," Matt said. "If you get too worked up, come home and I'll be glad to accommodate whatever floats your boat."
"That's not going to happen," I retorted.
"Getting worked up or screwing me afterward?" asked Matt.
"Certainly not the former," I said.
I spent the Saturday afternoon of the party carefully considering what to wear. I knew the party would probably be raucous and I needed to be more careful than usual not to wear suggestive clothing. I settled on a long sleeved blouse with a buttoned up collar, roomy enough to deemphasize my breasts and a pencil skirt with a below the knee hem. Two inch heels and full bra and panties completed my outfit.
Maryanne came by at six pm to pick me up. She was riding in a chauffeured party bus and I was the third to be picked up. The inside of the bus reeked of sexual escapades. I looked around as I got in. "Maryanne," I asked. "What are you thinking?"
"That none of us will be able to drive home later," she told me.
I sat down, mildly uncomfortable in the lavender atmosphere and extra wide seats. A half hour later, all eight of us were headed for dinner.
Dinner was in a small room off to the side in an excellent restaurant. We were given menus without prices. Jackie asked about the missing information.
"Order whatever you want without considering the cost," Maryanne said. "I'm paying for everything tonight."
"You know that you're not supposed to pay for your own bachelorette party?" asked Susan.
"Actually, I'm not," Maryanne said. "My dad is."
"That's generous of him," I suggested.
"He doesn't know it yet," Maryanne informed us.
When the laughter died, we ordered meals, including drinks. I ordered a Tequila Sunrise because I liked the drink and its colorful presentation was consistent with the party atmosphere. During dinner a second round of drinks was ordered. I demurred but another Tequila Sunrise showed up anyway. Not wanting to be a killjoy at Maryanne's party, I drank it.
At eight, Maryanne tapped a spoon on a glass and announced the real party in another, more private room in the back of the restaurant. We moved to the new room. I felt a little unsteady but nobody noticed and I made the short walk without incident.
There were eight overstuffed chairs set in a large circle in the center of the room. Behind the chairs on one wall was a selection of nibbles, alcohol and mixers in a self service setting. Maryanne invited each of us to get a drink and choose a seat. She managed to get me next to her. When she noticed I didn't have a drink she offered to get me one. When I didn't respond fast enough she brought me what looked like a margarita in a tumbler. Just what I needed, more tequila.
We toasted Maryanne and each other and sipped our drinks. Music started, emanating from unseen speakers and the lights dimmed. A man danced from a darkened corner of the room into the center of the circle. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, bow tie, black pants and boots. He was an excellent dancer. Several of the women began clapping with the music. Soon, we all were.
The dancer responded, moving sinuously with the music. His moves were more than a little suggestive. He removed his clip on bow tie. "Who's the bride?" he asked. We all pointed at Maryanne. He tossed the tie in her lap and moved closer, dancing in front of her.
Watching the way his hips moved mesmerized me. I tried to blame the alcohol but his movements were the actual cause.
The dancer unbuttoned his shirt at the neck and continued to dance in front of Maryanne. Without warning, he grabbed the center of his shirt and pulled it open, buttons flying everywhere. He had the shirt off in seconds and began to spin it around his head while he danced. The women clapped more energetically and several of them hooted.
