"We shall begin," intoned Zythia, a woman with short cropped brown hair that had begun turning silver and the voice of authority. She wore a long dress that left her shoulders bare with slits on both sides revealing long, slender legs.
Joanna pursed her lips nervously, and glanced around the circle. Thirty or so men and women, some young, some old, a few in their late thirties like her. Some were naked, more were topless; a few, like the Zythia in the middle, wore clothes that emphasized the sexuality of their bodies. Joanna had tried to be one of the latter, and she thought she'd succeeded, with a bandeau top and a short flouncy flower skirt. She'd kicked off her heels and stood barefoot, because the heels would never work on the grass, or even on the blankets that had been strewn around for later. The cool green blades tickled against her toes, and she inhaled the smell of pine trees and fresh air.
Only the woman next to her, who'd introduced herself as Melody and was wrapped in an all-concealing cloak, was being at all modest. Outside the circle, two men and one woman, all topless, sat together on a bench and beat a steady rhythm on drums.
This will never work, thought Joanna. Her shrink, Dr. Smith, had sent her to Zythia. Joanna suspected that the psychologist had simply been tired of working with her. "Darling," Zythia had told her. "Come to ritual. Try it. I guarantee that you will experience an orgasm. You are such a lovely, sexy person, and when the spirits move you to surrender to your own pleasure, amazing energies will course through you."
The shrink had never given her a guarantee, and hadn't gotten anywhere, either, despite sending her home with directions to use toys and not use toys, to abstain and to indulge, to think it was all in her body and all in her head. And through it all, Joanna wondered if she'd ever recognize an orgasm if she had one.
Now she stood in a circle with a bunch of pagans, slightly chilly in the night air. At worst, it was a waste of time. Interesting, she supposed, from an anthropological point of view. Thirty or so stood in a circle, quietly focused.
"Just a moment," yelled Melody, piercing the solemnity of the moment. Joanna was as shocked as if someone had yelled in church to delay a sermon. She looked over - everyone did, she imagined - to see Melody finish fumbling with the clasp on her cloak and then throw it behind her. Its singularly unaerodynamic flight sent it fluttering all of five feet. Melody didn't have a stitch on - so much for the notion that the woman was modest. She simply hadn't wanted to be naked in the cool air until things got started. Instead, she'd drawn everyone's attention and wrecked the moment. She didn't even have that nice of a body, though Joanna critically, even though in a saner moment she would have defended the right of women of any shape to wear or not wear whatever they wanted.
But instead of disapproving glares, someone whooped. A woman whistled. A few laughed joyously. Others joined in, combining in an incoherent but undeniably approving noise. And Zythia broke into a wide smile. "Now that was worth a little delay. Blessed be! Anyone else?"
There was a rustling as a few more people got naked, among general laughter and shouts of approval. A woman told a man, "Take it all off, baby!" and he did. No one, she noticed, showed any shyness about looking, either. Melody, transformed from audience to the entertainment and now, audience once more, had her gaze three feet above the ground as she looked around, and Joanna decided she'd take a good look herself. Bare pussies, shaved, trimmed, and au naturel. Cocks, cut and uncut, erect and flaccid. She'd never been attracted to genitalia. The sight of a hard cock did nothing for her, especially unsolicited in her email, but there was something fascinating about the process of them going from soft to hard. One man's semi-hard cock twitched. She looked up to see what he was looking at - there were so many choices - and discovered that he was looking at her. He'd introduced himself as John earlier, when he'd been wearing clothes. He had kindly eyes, she thought, a little sexy grey in the temples, and a very average furry body. Had her stare excited him? She was tempted to whip her top off and see if it provoked another twitch, as an experiment, but she wasn't that brave. Which, she told herself, was silly; she was now one of the most dressed women present.
Of course, she'd have to take off her clothes eventually, for there to be any point in all this. She'd have to let other people touch her. It would never work. It was hard enough to feel okay and relaxed when she was by herself. Even Dr. Smith had said that was the first step, and then to try with a partner. With over a score of people present? There was no way. She felt self-conscious just being caught looking, and she turned away as if to pretend that she'd just been scanning, and had hardly noticed John's nakedness.
"Spirits of the North," Zythia chanted, bringing the circle to some measure of attention again. Joanna, too, was happy enough to be able to have her attention focused on something safe, and Zythia, for all her oddness, felt safe. "Spirits of earth and rock, hill and mountain, of flesh and all manner of earthly delights, we salute you, and invite you to our circle. Hail, Spirits of the North!"
"Hail, Spirits of the North," chanted the circle back, and Joanna tried to mumble the words after them.
Zythia moved inside the circle, inviting the breathy spirits of the East, the flaming desire of the South, the wetness of the West. The drums beat their insistent rhythm, and Joanna couldn't help but sway to the sound of the drums, or feel a warmth from the sultry tones of Zythia's voice.
"Bacchus, we invite you to our circle," Zythia said. "See us revel! As in olden days, we come from all walks of life to celebrate the freedom you give us, to nourish our spirits with your wine and to bring pleasure to you and each other with our bodies."
With a flourish, Zythia undid something on her dress. It fell off her, and she stood, naked.
"Let the revels begin!"
Joanna froze, watching as people crossed the circle to find partners. What if no one wanted her? There were younger, prettier women. Women with bigger breasts, women with flatter bellies, although perhaps none with both. But there were also older women, and they had no trouble finding partners.
John stood in front of her. "Would you like to pleasure each other?" he asked. She avoided looking at his cock, but he made no secret of sweeping her body with his own gaze, and his smile clearly indicated that he liked what he could see, even if there was fabric in the way.
So simple. Pleasure each other. More enticing than "have sex" or "make love." She might not cum, but when men cared about her pleasure she had still enjoyed sex. At least, until their egos got damaged by the fact that they couldn't get her to the "goal."
"Yes," she said. "I don't - don't worry if I don't orgasm. It's okay, really."
John smiled. "What happens, happens."
"Yes." She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this would be fun, even if it didn't work the way Dr. Smith and Zythia hoped. He spread his arms, and she stepped forward into them. It was strange, him being naked and her still clothed. In her experience, men always wanted the woman naked first, and afterward they were happy to put their clothes back on, make their excuses, and go.
"May I remove your top?" John asked. "Or would you like to remove it yourself?" Left unspoken but implied by his tone was the third option, to keep it on. But hardly anyone had clothes on anymore, and some couples were already lying on blankets on the grass, touching, licking, and sucking.
"I can get my clothes," she said, and whipped the top off. There. Boobs. This time she did sneak a peek, and sure enough, his cock had gotten a little harder than when she saw it last. She reached for the waistband. Just getting naked was less embarrassing than a striptease.
"I know you can," John said, putting his hand on her forearm. "But may I? It would please me."
She smiled. "Yes."
He knelt on the ground in front of her and kissed her just below the belly button. Then he worked his way down, and when he got to the skirt he eased it down slowly, following it with his lips. She'd shaved her pussy for the occasion, as she wanted to look her best when naked in front of everyone, and he kissed her bare mound as the skirt fluttered to the ground. Do I smell okay, she wondered. He breathed in her scent like he was savoring it, and then looked up at her with a grin. "Mmmhmmm."
He liked it, apparently, but it only made her more embarrassed. She had hoped she didn't smell at all.
