By the time Frankie and Cynthia arrived at Shoo-Fly's apartment for the party, it was well after midnight and fifteen or twenty people were already there, with more arriving as the hours went by and the musicians, strippers and other night people had finished their jobs.
Cynthia had attended Shoo-Fly's parties before and knew basically what to expect. She was certain that there would be plenty of marijuana, assorted other drugs if you wanted them and plenty of people ready to indulge in sex if you were in the mood. His apartment was luxuriously furnished for whatever your whim may be and he reveled in the fact that he could supply the surroundings as well as the drugs for his growing circle of friends. Although he was slightly condescending at times, everyone was more amused by his antics than anything else. He was always good for a loan with no questions asked, and periodically gave wonderful parties.
Even though he preferred men to women, often saying that the only good thing about females was that half the time they gave birth to males, he never tried to molest men after they had once given him a definite brush-off. He would just shrug his shoulders and say, "Well, no hard feelings, but do come around to all my parties and bring a girl friend," and then with a laugh, "and any of their old boy friends for me!"
There was usually some new innovation at his parties, and this time, as he opened the door for them, they smelled the scent of fresh perfume, so strong that it was detectable even through the sweet, pungent smell of the marijuana.
"Frankie… Cynthia," he cried. "Come on in. This is going to be a real ball!"
Shoo-Fly was dressed in a deep purple smoking jacket, white ruffled shirt, lavender string tie, a black sash cinching his waist tightly and lavender slacks. He looked like an advertisement for expensive sin, and Cynthia wondered bow he could see through his dark glasses in the dimly lit room. He continually wore dark glasses and she had always wondered why until one night when she was sitting next to him she noticed that his eyes were grossly over-sized and bulged out wetly like a startled fish. She had shivered with distaste and wondered if he kept them on even while making love!
She wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air as he helped them off with their coats.
"I recognize the pot, Shoo-Fly, but what's the other? Incense?"
He looked at her frowning slightly, "Cynthia dear, you know we had incense last time and that I always have something new. Come with me and see!"
He waved them ahead of him through the hall and into the living room, gesturing with a hand carved pipe with a foot long stem and tiny bowl that he had made especially for him in North Africa for his marijuana and hashish.
The living room was almost thirty feet long, the tall windows heavily draped in red velvet and the floor was covered with a thick Turkish rug. Low chairs and couches were scattered about the room and several dozen large square pillows lay in disarray on the floor. The room was almost completely dark and she had difficulty making out any of the faces that were silhouetted from the indirect lighting. The room was thick with smoke, but she could still smell the sickeningly sweet odor that permeated the room.
"No flowers… no incense… well?" she asked.
Shoo-Fly laughed heartily and said, "Perfume! Perfume on all the light bulbs!"
Frankie glanced at her, amused, as if to say, "God, what a freak!" and steered her to one of the large pillows on the floor.
"What'll you have," Shoo-Fly asked, gazing admiringly at Frankie.
"Not you, at any rate," Frankie replied laughing, and helped himself to a couple of joints.
"Hey, you two," someone yelled at them as they were lighting up their cigarettes. It was Al and Torchy sprawled out casually on one of the couches in the back of the room.
More guests kept arriving and soon the room was full of people all talking, smoking until they were all high, laughing at almost anything and a warm feeling of contentment and peace stole over her. She was leaning back, her head resting on Al's knees as she listened to the talk that floated through the air. She closed her eyes, her face relaxed, giving the appearance that she was sleeping, but she was aware of everything they were saying.
Her mind was so engrossed in the conversations that were going on around her that she didn't feel Frankie slip away from her side and make his way back to the bar at the other side of the room.
He walked cautiously, exaggerating each step as he stepped between and over couples that were lying on the floor.
"Hey, look at Frankie taking those seven foot steps," someone yelled, and she opened her eyes and watched him weave his way toward a group of their friends who were mostly junkies at the far end of the room. They looked dull and listless, as though they were having a horrible time, but she knew that they were actually in a state of complete pleasure as she had seen them earlier in the kitchen, boiling and injecting heroin.
Music floated through the room, deep throaty sounds of a jazz singer belting out the blues and everyone seemed to be in a half-lethargic state.
She felt Al stroke her hair, running his fingers down the nape of her neck, massaging, caressing.
"Let's go on back to the other room," he whispered in her ear. "Torchy's hot to go too."
Just the thought of the room at the back of the apartment made a tight knot of desire swirl in her stomach. He helped her to her feet and pulled Torchy up and the three of them stood there for a moment clutching at each other for balance, laughing loudly, Al reached over and slid Cynthia's low-cut blouse off one shoulder so that it lay in a curve, half-revealing the soft swell of her full, ripe breast.
"A preview of coming attractions," he said.
They walked delicately between the chairs and pillows, stumbling over a few legs and finally reached the door to the hall.
They overheard Shoo-Fly arguing with his newest "Mistress" and chuckled at the ridiculous sounds.
It seemed ridiculous to them to hear two men fighting like a husband and wife and they couldn't stifle their laughs.
"Just a little domestic quarrel," Shoo-Fly volunteered when he saw them standing there taking in what they were saying.
"I see you are about to enter my special little den of iniquity," he continued, pulling his own lover by the arm and steering him into the room along with the other three.
"Wait a minute," Cynthia said, "Where's Frankie?"
"Relax, sweet," Shoo-Fly said, "He's already in there making it with, if I do say so myself, with a delectable little redhead!"
A pang of jealousy passed like a cold steel blade through her stomach, but only for a moment. She couldn't bear the thought of his making love to someone else even though she had made love to many different men during their relationship.
They had joined in group orgies where they had both been partners to other people and she had gotten some sort of a vicarious thrill seeing him saw in and out of another woman, but the fact that he had gone off by himself without letting her know was a different story, and she wasn't sure that she could take it.
They walked down the hall and opened the door to a smaller room, painted in red and black, which was so cluttered with clothes that it looked rather like a bargain basement. The smell of the marijuana filled the room and every now and then you could hear groans of pain and delight come from various section of the room. They undressed quickly and looked around for an empty spot on the floor. Cynthia tried to find Frankie amidst the tangled, writhing bodies that were making love in pairs, threes and other assorted groups, but her eyes had not yet become accustomed to the darkness so it was impossible to tell where he was.
There seemed to be more people than there actually were, for the ceiling was low and covered with a mirror, affording a clear, exotic view of everyone in the room to anyone who was lying on his back, smoking or resting.
The room was completely void of any furniture except for an occasional throw rug in black or white that was carelessly lain on the black mattress that covered the entire room.
Shoo-Fly and his friend made their way across the room trying not to disturb any of the sensually entwined bodies and situated themselves in one comer, away from the mass.
Torchy, moaning softly, her long, black hair falling half-way down her back, made a rush towards a group of three, two men and a woman, who were making love on the other side of the room. She dropped down beside them, and without saying a word, began caressing and kissing the nearest body to her, not caring whether it was a man or a woman!
Cynthia sat down on one of the rugs and lit another joint, puffing lazily, letting the smoke circle her head like a mushroom cloud and propped her head up with one hand. Al dropped to the floor beside her, hesitating for just a moment to see if she would voice any objection. She liked to smoke and relax before actively joining into any of the activities. She found that watching the others make love stimulated her own desires and aroused her to such a degree that she was a solid mass of nerve-ends, electrifying waves of passion shooting through her whole body.
When her eyes became a bit more accustomed to the darkness she tried to find Frankie among the assorted groups of bodies that were sprawled here and there, but it was impossible.
She lay completely back and looked up at the ceiling, and there he was, reflected in the mirror, also lying flat on his back, his arms and legs spread out at 45 degree angles, the redhead bending over him, running her fingers and tongue over his body.
She watched fascinated as she took another deep drag on her cigarette, and she could feel a tightening in her stomach as she could not take her eyes off this strange woman making love to her man! She twisted her body slightly as the redhead's mouth closed around Frankie's erect penis and she began sucking noisily, greedily, like a starved woman. She could see him raise his hips, trying to force more of his manhood into her eager, moist mouth, his own mouth opening and closing with short, hot gasps as she mouthed his hard phallus. Cynthia was so caught up in what was going on that she barely noticed Al's hands begin to run over the full, smooth curve of her breasts and begin to massage the soft, supple flesh between his fingers, pinching at the nipples until they stood up erectly, proudly.
"Aaaaggghhhh," she moaned softly, wriggling her body underneath his touch, but not taking her eyes away from the spectacle she was viewing on the ceiling mirror. She could feel the desire building up in her own body, wanting, needing, but completely oblivious to whomever it was creating this desperate urge. Al rolled his body over so that he lay pressed tightly against the length of her body and she could feel the beat from his erect, thick penis as it jerked against her hip. Casually, she let one of her hands close around his thick, throbbing staff and massaged it gently, pulling the foreskin back and forth over the hardened pole of flesh.
Frankie looked as though he were about to climax when the redhead stopped her voracious mouthing and moved up his body until her legs were straddling his hips and she lowered herself onto his long, thick penis. She saw his mouth open in a gasp as she bucked up and down on his body, pounding her hips against his then pulling up so that only the head of his penis was buried in her vagina. He was twisting underneath her, grabbing at the flesh of her hips in an effort to hold her down on him so that she couldn't pull away. She knew from her experience with him that he was close to his orgasm, that he would not be able to hold off much longer. This thought brought the tight feeling between her own legs to a breaking point. Al was running his hands over every inch of her flesh, kneading it, massaging, making it tingle with an aching desire. Her grip on his penis tightened, squeezing it harshly until he moaned in pain. He pulled at her body until they lay face to face and she could no longer see what was happening between Frankie and the other woman, but at this moment she didn't care. She knew that Frankie would be spent in a few moments, and she was just beginning to build to her own climax.
Al's fingers dug into the soft fleshiness of her buttocks, pulling the cheeks gently apart until she could feel the thickness of one finger search out the tiny, elastic hole of her rectum. She ground her hips into his, feeling the length and hardness of his penis slide moistly, hotly between her tightly clenched thighs. His finger inched its way into the tiny passage of her anus, impaling her, holding her skewered like an apple on a stick. She reached down between their legs and guided his jerking penis to her other channel and tried to ease her hips up slightly in order to give him better leverage.
"There… there… that's it," she moaned softly as she felt the giant prick slowly work its way into her hot, moist channel, the walls of her vagina closing around it like a smooth, fleshy blanket. The pain of his roughness at her backside subsided as she wiggled up and down on his prick, her fingernails digging harshly into his back, scratching at the hard, muscular flesh. She could feel the flood of her orgasm about to spill and she pushed down roughly on his cock, until she could feel its entire length filling her right up to her belly.
"Aaaggggghhh… yes… now," she gasped as her vaginal walls began a rapid contraction around his thick, pulsing manhood.
"Now!" was all she could muster through the narcotic haze that hung over her mind. Her words and her passionate grabbing brought him to the brink of his own satisfaction, and as she ground out her climax he felt the boiling of his sperm as it shot deep into her waiting, aching vagina.
"Yes… yes… I'm cumming… I'm cumming too…" he groaned, feeling the contractions and the jerking inside her until his penis went limp and flaccid and slid out of her, semen still oozing from the head.
They collapsed next to each other, not looking at each other, because it didn't really matter who it was that had satisfied them, not caring about anything except that they were satisfied.
When she opened her eyes and looked up into the mirror, the others were lying, as worn-out as she, except for Shoo-Fly and his partner who were still queering each other and he still had his dark glasses on!