A SOCIAL MIXER

(VINEGAR AND OLIVE OIL DON’T MIX, WITHOUT SHAKING VIGOUROUSLY)

By izzy ess to wilderness

Jennifer was my assistant.  Collette was an X-ray technician and her best friend.  My best friend was Will, a hardware store owner in the Fox Building.  Will, Collette, Jennifer and I hung out.  Often we'd eat lunch or supper together.  We liked the pizza at Giovanni's and the souvlaki at Nick's.  All of us were about the same age, 40 something.  All of us lived and worked in the La Grange area, in the southwestern suburban section of Chicagoland.  All of us met because we all worked in the Fox Building in downtown La Grange at 112 Main Street.  All of us were married to other folks, Jon, George, Phyllis and Mary.  Jon and Jennifer had two children, a girl and a boy.  George and Collette, a boy and a girl.  Mary and Will, two boys, while Phyllis and I had two girls.  All our kids were teenagers, already considering suicide or, at least, driving their cars at high speeds into trees.

Collette was definitely our creative leader.  She kept in contact with the rest of us by email and cell phone communications and directorial dictations.  She chose the restaurants at which we met every Thursday night and the rest of us gladly followed her.  One week, she surprised me.  My name is Sam, Samuel Barbour.  Most of my family members are Barbers.  Our origins are French.  Most of my family, in my generation, have been living in the Chicago area for some time.  I live in La Grange, a southwestern suburb of Chicago, about ten miles from The Loop, the geographically central and socially middle of Chicagoland.  The Loop is so-named because the El makes a loop, downtown, as the elevated rails of the Regional Transit Authority, extend out in octopus shape, above and below ground, to the rest of the huge metropolitan area, which is aptly named Chicagoland.  At the time of this writing, there were over six million inhabitants of Chicagoland, while the rest of the state harboured only about five million denizens and citizens, mainly farmers.  I’m a dentist with an office in La Grange, Illinois.

Collette’s surprise was an invitation for the rest of us to join her at her home, in Bartonville, right next to La Grange, for an evening of food and fun, starting at seven.  Her kids and husband were out of town at the mother-in-laws and the house would be ours for the evening.  There were to be, then, no spouses or children to spoil our fun.  The Four Musketeers would have privacy for their revelries, eh?

Jennifer and Will were already at Collette’s beautiful home when I arrived at 7:11 pm having been delayed by a sticky dental problem in a little old lady.  Collette, in a see-through blouse with a red lacy bra shining through, greeted me at the door.  After I stepped inside with my excuse for lateness quietly mumbled, she smiled, mysteriously, and locked the door behind me.  She handed me a full-face mask resembling Richard Millhouse Nixon.  Jennifer and Will came to the foyer wearing masks of Ronald Reagan and Susan Sarandon.  They were naked, otherwise.  Collette began a sensuous strip-tease and motioned to me to follow suit, which I did.  This was a first for the four of us; we had never seen each other in the nude.  Once, Jennifer had shyly shown us her left breast and nipple to demonstrate how easily she could squirt out a lot of milk when she was pregnant and had huge breasts.  That was the only time there had been any exposure of generally unexposed bodies amongst us Four Musketeers.

No one could tell we were all smiling beneath our already smiling masks, but we could sense the pleasure being felt by us all at this new twist to our activities, as they were about to be played out.  I knew that I had had fantasies about this fantasy.  I presumed that the others had similar fantasies from the many sexy remarks that we had shared over the years we had known each other and our families.  Once at a family picnic at my house on Cossett Street, in La Grange, the four Musketeers had secretly gone to my master bedroom, for a silent and exquisite group hug, with a tight formation and the surreptitious feeling of body parts, all around.

Incidentally, Cossett was the name of the man who had been tarred and feathered and expelled from La Grange, Louisiana, because of accusations of fraud when he tried to create a suburb of La Grange, near New Orleans.  He had come to the intersections of interstate routes 12, 20, 45 and 66, purchased a large farm and subdivided the land for purposes of establishing the town of La Grange, Illinois.  He and his brother-in-law, Dr. Fox, made a fortune.  However, Cossett’s investments went sour and he committed suicide, avoiding thereby, another tar and feathering and ostracizing.  Dr. Fox, on the other hand, had concentrated his efforts on the downtown areas.  His name can still be seen, engraved in stone, on at least one of the downtown buildings used for stores and offices, including his own medical practice.  These stories of the Cossett family and its successes and failures were told to me by his great-great granddaughter, a real estate agent in La Grange, who walked me around the town on many occasions, telling me the stories and showing me how to ascertain the age of any building.  She even showed me her naked body, once, for my entertainment, and our entertainment, when she was trying to sell me a house near the Cossett Street Public School.  She got the sale and a huge commission and some brief clandestine feelings, later on, in my master bedroom’s walk-in, lockable closet and thrice on my dentist’s chair, when her mouth was full and Jennifer could do some feeling, too.

Sorry folks…  I digress, presumably, to break the sexual tension which I have created, on purpose, for the entertainment of you, my dear reader.  Let us continue with the tension…

Collette led us to her master bedroom, where the lights were dimmed and a ceiling mirror was recording everything.  An odour of Lavender filled the air.  Truly, the one-way mirror did record everything, because Collette and her husband had placed a camera behind it, for taking movies of their sexual activities, for their own post-coital amusement.  Collette got on the bed, her ass up in the air, and instructed Jennifer to get beside her, also with her ass up high.  Collette then instructed Will and I to mount her and Jennifer from behind and do some serious thrusting.  Will took Collette and I got Jennifer.  We all began thrusting in synchrony, as Collette murmured, “Thrust!” at a slow frequency, initially, and then at at ever increasing frequency until we all screamed our delight.  We fell apart and laughed, heartily.  Collette then instructed me and Will to lie flat on our backs beside each other while she coached Jennifer to follow her lead.  Collette knelt beside me and took my growing erection in her mouth.  Jennifer did the same to Will.  They tongued our penile heads until we screamed, “Uncle!” but the women persisted until we exploded in their mouths.  The women smiled and swallowed everything with savouring sounds, like, “Mm.”  Then, Jennifer offered me her ass again, as she sat on my groin.  What could I do but respond and penetrate the lovely, highly lubricated receptacle of Jennifer, while Will was similarly enjoined with Collette.

Dear reader, surely you don’t need further visual and auditory stories to imagine what went on for several hours in Collette’s bedroom.  If you’d like, Collette will send you a movie of it all, in blazing colour and surrounding sound.  Suffice to say, The Four Musketeers enjoyed the activity and the post-coital movies, well into the night.  At three am, the spouses and the children interrupted us.  We were watching the movie for the fourth time.  The spouses and the children joined us in our nakedness and donned some smiling masks, provided by Collette’s husband, George, whom Collette had kept in the loop for the entire evening.  Thereafter, the Four Musketeers, their Four Equestrians and their Four Wunderkinder, kept the cameras and microphones operating, until dawn.

In the morning, we all arose, and aroused, took a group shower, with heavy petting, and other great morning sexual activities, dressed and went about our Friday routines of work, play and education, as if nothing had happened.  The Twelve Disciples gathered on Friday, at seven, to watch the films and giggle with each other, and seriously feel each other up.  The kids were remarkably mature about the whole affair, taking casual part in the general feelings up.  They were sworn to secrecy, but of course they blabbed to their respective neighbourhoods, in lurid detail, possibly exaggerated, for the full effect.  On the occasion of the next block parties of the respective neighbourhoods, many and mickle, physical and sexual activities, were recorded.

The rumours reached The Loop, where graffiti on the walls of the Regional Transit Authority of Chicagoland, told and retold the stories of The Four Musketeers and the Twelve Disciples.  To this day, the graffiti still tells their tales of tail and turbulence, as all our families disintegrated in divorces, separations, homicides and suicides.

Good times, eh?

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

June 16, 2013