The only man allowed at a swinging bachelorette party feels as if he’s been given the keys to a private, magical kingdom filled with every kind of pussy imaginable.
When my old college roommate asked me to housesit for him while he was out of town last month, I jumped at the chance. He’s got a swanky place in an upscale neighborhood in sunny San Diego. Compare that to my cramped apartment in cold, rainy Washington state, and you can imagine how fast I packed my bags.
I arrived on a Friday afternoon, found the hidden key and let myself in. Blake had left me some last-minute instructions concerning his plants and the fish tank. I took care of those matters and then went for a walk around the neighborhood. As I was returning to the house, a shiny sports car pulled into the driveway next door. A svelte woman in a business suit emerged from the car. She was a bit older than I am, probably early thirties, and very pretty, with blue eyes and blonde highlights in her sandy-brown hair.
“Hi there,” she said, flashing a smile.
“Hi.” I paused, and she seemed to be waiting for more, so I added, “I’m house-sitting for the week. My name’s Declan.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said, her grin turning flirty. “I’m Margot.” Her office attire did not hide the fact that she had a stunning figure, and the Lauren Bacall timbre of her voice added to her seductive aura. She turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, I should warn you. I’m hosting a bachelorette party at my house tomorrow evening. Quite a lot of girls are coming.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Might get noisy.”
“Sure, no problem,” I replied. “Have a good time.”
Margot held my gaze for a moment longer. “Well, see you around,” she said at last. I watched her sexy rear end as she headed for her house. The rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Margot and her bachelorette party.
The next morning, a red Corvette was parked in front of Margot’s place, and I saw two attractive young women — mid-twenties, one blonde, one brunette — conferring with Margot on her front lawn. More women showed up as the day wore on. Later, after a TV dinner, I grabbed a beer and went upstairs to sit on the balcony, which happened to afford a view of Margot’s backyard. As dusk fell, I began to hear shrieks of delight and laughter along with loud hip-hop music. The sexy beat soon reached a peak, as did the whooping and hollering. Margot’s back door opened and disgorged several revelers into the yard. They drank from plastic cups and danced to the music thumping away from inside the house.
One of the girls spotted me watching. “Hey! Come on over!” she shouted. Her companions looked up, and they, too, entreated me to go next door. They seemed serious enough, so I hurried inside to freshen up. But what would Margot say?
When she answered my knock on her door, she didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Come in,” she said in that sexy voice of hers. “You’re just the man we need.”
A willowy blonde with packages under her arms stepped around Margot. “I’ve got to go — big day tomorrow.” She dropped her boxes and bags to give Margot a hug, adding, “Thanks for the party. It’s been wild!”
“Who was that?” I asked as the young woman gathered her belongings and headed to her car.
“The bride-to-be,” said Margot. “You coming in?”
She turned on her heel, and I followed her inside, into the cacophony of loud female voices and sexually charged music. The back door was propped open to admit the fresh air of the darkening evening. In the yard, the girls who’d beckoned to me were dancing around a fire pit, their cavorting figures bathed in the flames’ flickering glow.
“It was a bachelorette party, but I think it’s becoming a bacchanal,” Margot observed.
I found out later that a male stripper had entertained the women for well over an hour. Apparently, the guy had just left, after whipping the girls into a frenzy of arousal. That’s the situation I had walked into … been invited into.
“Go make some friends,” Margot said. “I think you’ll find the game room at the end of the hall most interesting.”
I went where she directed and discovered the wildest group of partiers horsing around with each other in debauched fashion while dancing to the pulsing beat. Two of the girls were up on a pool table, grooving like bar-dancing hotties. The room was warm, and they had taken off everything but their undergarments. I couldn’t help but stare for a second. That was about all the time I had, because suddenly I was the center of attention. The three women who hadn’t climbed onto the billiard table surrounded me and pulled me into their dance, which was made up of a lot of sexually charged bumping and grinding.
“This is Declan,” I heard Margot call out from the doorway. “He’s house-sitting next door.”