Abby and the After Party

The early morning shower was just what I needed. The steam cleared my head while I methodically washed my hair and scrubbed my body. I was surprised that I never ran out of hot water. The aroma of the soap and shampoo my mom had selected reminded me of a spa treatment.

The hallway bathroom, which I used for a few years during my first eighteen years of existence, had been given an upgrade, recently, and it looked much better than what I remembered.

My mom had good taste in remodeling finishes... almost as good as her taste in men. I was still trying to place her fairy tale code-names from our earlier conversation with the faces - and dicks - from a few hours ago. Based on what she said about a few of them taking their secrets to the grave, I guessed that a few of the participants in the previous night's activities must have had a different set of fairy tale code-names that she hadn't told me, yet. A few of the men were still remarkably handsome, even if they were twenty-some-odd years older than me, and maybe thirty-some-odd years older, in some cases. Back in their prime, though, several of them certainly could have been Prince Charming.

When my mom had said there were plenty of towels in the house, she wasn't kidding. Each shelf of the hallway linen closet was stacked with more towels than a couple in their fifties could go through in several weeks. It was already after seven o'clock in the morning, but I was mentally and physically exhausted. I needed a few hours of sleep before doing anything else. Even eating.

Having sobered up thanks to the shower, I started having second thoughts about participating in any more of my parent's debauchery. Yes, my mom managed to get her thirty-four year old daughter drunk on fine wine. And, yes, my mom and dad seemed to have coincidentally invited my once-regular "fuck buddies" from the bar to their home, as well as a few of my mom's former lovers she had while she was pregnant with me. And, yes, men from both groups indulged in me as I had indulged in them. But how much longer could they keep the mood going?

I stepped out of the bathroom, expecting to hear the now-familiar sounds of my mom being pleasured a few rooms down the hall. Instead, the house was quiet. When I walked into my old bedroom, the bed had been made with a fresh set of sheets and a different comforter. My shower must have lasted longer than I thought.

The curtains were positioned to block out most of the sunlight, as if someone knew I'd be interested in getting some rest.

They were right.

Without even bothering to look for panties or pajamas, I let the towels drop to the floor, and I slid between the clean, soft sheets. I was asleep within seconds.

I woke up around noon, fully rested, somewhat disoriented, naked, and a little hungry. I brushed, then braided my hair, tying off the end with a little hair band. I then wrapped myself in a new set of fluffy towels and walked barefoot downstairs to find my mother tastefully dressed, sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee and scrolling through her cellphone.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," my mother said. "Want some coffee?"

I ignored the offer, looking around the kitchen as if searching for clues.

"Looking for something?" my mom asked.

"Where did everyone go?" I asked.

"Who, dear?" my mom asked, before taking another sip of coffee.

"You know who," I answered. "Grumpy, Dopey, Happy, Doc, and the rest. Seriously?"

I knew I hadn't dreamed the events of the previous twenty-four hours.

I went over to my parent's house, halfway across town, the day before. For some reason, my mom wanted "to talk." And talk, she did. Over the course of a few hours, she divulged her secret affairs she had while in the early stages of pregnancy with me, and all the pet names she gave to her suitors which happened to be very similar to names used for dwarfs in an old Germanic fairy tale. We drank. We got drunk. And then, I'm pretty sure we were both getting fucked a few hours later.

Now, I just wanted to know by whom.

I could always tell when my mom was trying to hold back a smile, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Are you going to tell me the names of those men from last night?" I asked.

"And this morning?" my mom added.

"Yes, and this morning?" I said.

She looked at me for a moment, grinning, then stepped off the breakfast bar stool and removed a yogurt parfait topped with fresh kiwi, blueberries, and strawberries from the refrigerator. She slid the tall cup in front of me, pulled a spoon from a drawer, and reached into a cabinet for a glass.

"Grapefruit juice okay?" my mom asked. "It's the sweet kind. Not too sour."

I just looked at her as she filled the glass and placed it in front of me.

"Where's dad?" I asked, taking a sip of the juice.

"Picking up a few of our friends," my mom answered. "What? You didn't think we'd have them sleep on the floor or tripled-up in the few beds we have in this house, did you? They're staying at a few different hotels in town."

"What are you all dressed up for?" I asked.

"I have a few errands to run," my mom said with a grin. "I wanted to make sure you were okay and had something to eat before I left."

"I'm okay, but I'd still like to know who everyone was last night," I said.

"And this morning?" my mom added.

"Yes, and this morning," I said. "I think Mort is the one you referred to as Doc, am I right?"

"Yes, Abby," my mom admitted. "Mort is Doc. He's a doctor, as if you didn't know."

I didn't.

"The really handsome guy had to be Happy, but he didn't tell me his real name," I said.

"Why didn't you ask him?" my mom asked.

"And the really big guy must have been Grumpy," I said.

"That he was, Abby," my mom said.

"What's his real name?" I asked.

"Well, if you didn't ask, and he didn't tell, I'm not going to be the one to break that level of secrecy," my mom said, smiling. "Not that it matters; he could only be here for one night. Maybe you can ask him next time."

"Next time? You mean this is a thing?" I asked, not realizing I had been stuffing my face with yogurt and berries.

"Why yes, dear," my mom smiled even brighter. "We've been doing this almost every year for the past several years. Before that, I think we had a get-together in one form or another about every two or three years... after you moved out. Things picked up after you were married and less likely to move back home with us."

"Is Happy local?" I asked.

"I knew you'd like him," my mom said, as if proud of herself. "His real name is Henry, and yes, he lives just outside of town. And, he'll be back this afternoon, lucky you."

"What about Dopey?" I asked.

"Dopey's real name is Dennis, and no, he's not local. He's one of the friends your father went to pick up," my mom said. A clothes dryer buzzed from somewhere between the garage and the kitchen. "That would be the sheets. I've already washed and dried your clothes, and they're folded on the rack in the laundry room, just in case you changed your mind about sticking around a little longer. Would you return the favor and put the clean sheets on my bed while I'm out?"

"What about everyone else? What are their real names?" I asked.

"Ask them, yourself, silly," my mom said. "Maybe that's something you should get in the habit of doing BEFORE you let a man put himself inside you." She didn't seem angry. But she did speak to me like a parent scolding her child.

"Yeah... good idea, mom," I said. "Mind if I borrow some of your clothes for this afternoon? I don't think what I wore yesterday really fits the vibe."

"If you can find something that fits you, have at it. I doubt either of us will be dressed for long. The pool water may still be too cold for a swim, but feel free to work on your all-over tan for as long as the sun is shining. As for anything else, you know where everything is, mostly," my mom said. "We've done a few more upgrades in the house, recently. You know about the hall bathroom and laundry room next to the garage. But, we just finished with the basement a few weeks ago. I think you'll like it. Oh... and there are more enema boxes in my linen closet. Lubricant, and flavor gel, too. We should be back in a few hours."

She didn't wait for me to respond. She grabbed her car keys and headed for the garage door.

"A few hours?" I thought to myself.

"Everything okay?" Ron asked after the second ring.

"Yeah, everything's fine," I said.

"Your mom said the two of you had a lot to drink and she didn't think you were in any shape to drive home," my husband added.

"Yeah, we drank a lot," I said, pondering telling him more. "And then, my mom had a bit of a reunion with some old friends."

"Just out of the blue?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so," I said. "The reunion seemed to be more of an annual event, and... by reunion... I mean..." I really wasn't sure how he was going to react. "More of a gangbang with a bunch of old guys."

There was a long pause, and then Ron finally said, "Are you coming home, now?"

"Do you need me to?" I asked. He normally handled this sort of thing better when he knew about it ahead of time. "Really, this was a surprise to me, too. I had no idea my mom and dad were into this kind of thing," I said.

"Is the reunion... still going on?" Ron asked.

"I think they're on pause for the moment," I said. "The house is empty, but I can lock up if you need me to come home right now."

"Did you... you know?" Ron asked. "Participate in the reunion?"

"Yeah," I answered softly.

"Fun?" my husband asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Do you want to stay a little longer? The kids wanted to go over to my parent's house today, anyway, so there's not much going on, here," Ron said.

"If you're okay with it..." I started.

"Just tell me all about it when you get home. Promise?" he asked.

"Promise," I said, knowing that he knew I rarely told him everything. I was actually a little surprised that he hadn't asked for pictures or video to be taken as masturbation material for later. Our mutual MILF friend Jean must have really been rocking his world, lately. Good for him. And, good for me, I supposed.

My cellphone buzzed within seconds of ending the call with Ron, and for a moment, I thought he was calling back with a change of heart.

"Abby?" the voice said. I recognized the voice immediately. Not Ron.

"Michael," I answered. "I wasn't sure I'd be hearing from you again. It's been so long."

"About that," Michael said. "I was wondering if you wanted to make up for lost time."

"If you're talking about the little bar parties, I think they beat you to it." I said. "They actually brought the party to me last night, or more specifically, to my parent's house. Did you know anything about that?"

"Not at all," Michael said. "I haven't spoken to Little John in weeks. After that thing with Barker, I figured it'd be best to cool it for a while and maybe rethink the whole thing with that bunch."

"I figured as much," I admitted. Nothing kills the mood more than having someone have a heart attack while in the middle of fucking you. "I wasn't sure if I'd want to keep... you know... partying after that."

"Understandable," Michael said. "But Mort seemed to think your time in Cancun proved otherwise."

"Did he, now?" I asked.

"He did," Michael answered. "I wish I could have been there to see it."

"Just see?" I asked.

He didn't answer, so I decided to cut to the chase.

"What did you have in mind, Michael? More bar parties with older gentlemen?"

"If that's what you want," Michael chuckled to himself. "But I was thinking a little younger. And a little more frequent."

"Younger than the fine gentlemen at the VFW bar?" I asked.

"Younger than you," Michael said. "Think eighteen- to twenty-two-year-olds. Maybe some guys your age. Maybe older, too, if that's more your thing."

"How frequently?" I asked. "I still have responsibilities at home, Michael. A husband. Kids. I can't just drop everything and disappear with no explanation."

"I was thinking once or twice a week," Michael said. "Maybe more."

"Michael, I'm not Linda. That's a lot of sex, you know!" I said, forgetting his former lover, talent, and personal sex toy had moved on to a bull of a man that fucked her more than her husband or anyone else ever had. When she stopped participating in Michael's "parties", she ended things with Michael, too.

"I know," Michael said.

We waited over a minute before saying anything.

"I can make it worth your while," Michael said.

"You mean you'd pay me? Like a whore?" I asked, calmly.

"If that's what it takes," Michael said. "But not like a prostitute. More like a model, or an actress."

"An actress with several dicks inside her, you mean. You want me to do more porn for pay?" I asked, actually intrigued.

"Up to you, Abby," Michael said. "I gotta go."

The call ended without either of us saying goodbye.

I wanted to call Linda, next, but I knew she wouldn't answer. It was Saturday after noon, and that meant she was most likely with her bull with her phone turned off. So, I called Jean, instead.

"I wouldn't," Jean said. "Payrolls tend to leave paper trails, and you don't need that."

Jean's was always the voice of reason. She was very worldly. She taught me how to give a blowjob the right way, among other things.

"If someone wants to tip in cash or something along those lines, then have at it. But don't make it an actual job. You'll get burned out, and it'll stop being fun really quick."

"Speaking from experience?" I asked.

"I helped sell lingerie in college for a short time," Jean said.

"Retail? You?" I asked.

"Not exactly. I'd model outfits at a few bars near where I went to college for a short stint. If the bar patrons liked what they saw, they could buy the outfit. Some offered a lot more than the price of the outfit if I'd let them take it off me," Jean confided.

"Was that legal?" I asked, only half serious.

"It was... until business started booming. My supplier actually ran out of outfits after a while, leaving me with nothing to wear after the first hour on the clock," Jean said. "That left the bar patrons propositioning me for sex with cash."

"And?" I asked.

"And that was the end of that," Jean said. "I met my future ex-husband shortly after, got pregnant, got passed around to his friends, and ten years later, got divorced."Jean had more in common with my mom than I thought, in that regard. Although, my mom and dad still managed to remain married all this time.

"I don't want to be paid for sex," I said. "I want to do it because it's fun."

"Then do it for fun," Jean said.

Try as I might to steer the conversation toward "normal" topics, Jean managed to bring it back to sex. Specifically, sex with my husband.

"I'm really glad that he followed my diet suggestions of pineapple and grapefruit. His come tastes so much better," Jean said.

"Really?" I asked. "I hadn't noticed." I admitted.

"Heavens, yes," Jean said. "But, then again, his dick is probably spending a lot more time in my mouth than yours, lately. He's even warmed up to sharing."

"Sharing your mouth?" I asked, knowing he warmed up to sharing his dick months ago.

"My mouth. My pussy. My ass," Jean said. "Terry didn't mind if I didn't mind, and you know how I feel about having more than one man inside me at the same time."

I knew. Jean liked it even more than I did, but I think that was just because she had done it more often than I had. I was catching up, though.

"Well... good for Ron, and good for you, I guess," I said.

"Why, thank you, Abby," Jean said. "He seemed particularly pent up when he called a little while ago. It's a good thing I won't have to do much walking tomorrow. The last time you stirred him up like this, he did me up the butt for nearly an hour."

"He's coming over to your place tonight?" I asked.

"This afternoon, right after he drops off your kids at his parent's house," Jean said.

"Well, that explains why he wasn't in a hurry for me to come home," I said.

"If I were you, I'd fuck all of those gorgeous old farts hard enough to give them all heart attacks," Jean laughed. "If this is an annual event, give them something to think about until next year. Also, if it really bothers you on some level that your parents are totally comfortable with your current lifestyle choices, maybe do something to make them less comfortable."

"Such as?" I asked, intrigued.

"You've watched enough porn with me and Linda, and heard half our stories. You've been in the video booths and watched a variety of movies out there. You have a naughty imagination, too. You'll think of something," Jean said. I heard her doorbell in the background. "Your hubby's early. I'm gonna have to let you go, Abby. I have a dick to suck," Jean said with a giggle.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel just a touch of jealousy. I can still remember the days when Ron would rush home from work, knowing I'd drop to my knees to suck his gorgeous cock as soon as he walked through the door. He wouldn't even have time to drop his car keys before I pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees and welcomed him with a very enthusiastic blowjob. Sometimes, I'd already be naked, loving the look of his surprised and grateful face, and that was before I knew how to really give good head. I had no doubt that was how Jean was greeting him at her place this very moment. Good for him, and good for her.

I cleaned up the kitchen out of habit, then tossed the towels I had been wearing in a hamper in the relocated laundry room. No stranger to walking around and doing chores naked, I put the clean sheets on my parent's bed, per my mom's request, and stepped into their walk-in closet. I rifled through my mom's clothes, not sure what, if anything, might fit me. She had the usual outfits expected of a woman in her late forties and early fifties. But, she also had a few that were completely unexpected. I decided to start there.

She had a nice collection of little black dresses, more suited for a girl in her late teens or early twenties instead of a woman in her thirties or fifties. I picked a sexy-but-comfortable stretchy-dress - if one could call it that - and then found a pair of heels that looked like they might match. Luckily for me, we were the same shoe size. There didn't seem to be any point in putting on the shoes just yet, so I set them aside and remained barefoot for the time being. A garter and stockings might have worked, given how short the stretchy-dress was, but I couldn't find any. Her bras and panties would have been too big for me, had I thought to borrow those, too. The little dress-like thing would be enough, not that I'd be wearing it very long, anyway, according to my mom.

I wasn't sure what the afternoon would entail, so I went back to my old room, took off the barely-there dress, and prepped myself for sex. A lot of sex. And, of course, anal sex. The enema couldn't be rushed, so I wasted no time getting back in the shower. More steam from the hot shower added the finishing touches to clearing my head, but I knew I couldn't stay in there all day. I was already clean everywhere else, so after a modest application of lubricant in my butt, I dried off and decided to work on my hair and makeup. The hair was easy, as the braid seemed to work for most men whether at a bar, a video booth, or the grocery store. But, the makeup was another story. My mom used higher-end products, but nothing I would have chosen. I opted to try just a little eye shadow and lipstick, resulting in a "pretty" instead of "overly sexy" appearance. I looked presentable and not nearly the slut I had become. If the afternoon barbecue included significant others, I didn't want to make it too obvious that I was also on the menu for their husbands. Better to make them wonder, and maybe squirm a little. A touch of cologne on my neck and inner thighs, and I was done.