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A slow-build orgiastic soirée, graciously beta-read by Jjonest.
I woke up and blinked a few times until the sleep cleared from my eyes and my dimly lit bedroom came into focus. As usual, I was also met with a nicely tented sheet hiding some serious morning wood, so I rolled out of bed to set it free and grant myself that satisfying first stretch of the day. I love sleeping nude; the feeling of freedom, of total relaxation, the way the cool sheets cocoon the warm, naked body.
Standing there, I smirked to myself, being tempted to waltz out the front door in my birthday suit for a little morning sunshine, still sporting a massive boner. It was all so comically perfect in my head: a woman would gasp and drop her expensive Ming vase, a cyclist would do a double-take, collide with a mailbox and go straight over her handlebars into a heap of azaleas, a delivery truck would jump the curb, strike a fire hydrant, and send a glorious geyser spewing high into the sky. You know, just like in the cartoons I watched as a kid.
Alas, public nudity, and even more so, free sexual expression, seemed the stuff of fantasies…
I grabbed a granola bar on my way out the door before driving the half-mile down Chavez Street to the cafe I always visit for a grande black coffee. It doesn’t make much sense as far as morning routines go — it’s not like my office doesn’t have a steaming pot of perfectly free coffee waiting for me each and every day. I guess I just need those soothing few minutes before the day begins, observing bleary-eyed patrons shuffling along to mechanically place their orders and grumble about the meetings they’re about to attend.
I smiled at Norah, the cute barista who never needed me to place my order. She smiled back and immediately scribbled my name on a cup, then got to work. I liked to imagine she did this just to demonstrate her daily familiarity with me. Adding my name served no real purpose since she always handed me my coffee directly before wishing me well. Fantasizing about an alluring woman like that was also key to starting my day. Norah had such intense eyes, long brown hair tucked behind one ear, an impish smile, and other generous assets that the silly green apron she had to wear never stopped me from noticing.
I fantasize constantly about a lot of the people I encounter — all the transient Norahs that come in and out of my life as I go about my mundane business. Before long, however, I found the real stuff of fantasies sitting right there in front of me in an opened newspaper on the table where I took my favorite morning seat.
When I saw a mention in the paper of being an “extra” in a film, it revealed an entirely new dimension to that term which I had never considered before. I could hear the journalist laughing as I read the comically dry headline: “Adult film studio seeks multiple participants to stage massive orgy.” The visions this conjured up were extraordinary and boundless; idyllic landscapes of naked human beings enjoying the erotic terrains of each others’ bodies in every way imaginable. There was no shortage of opportunities to be an extra in L.A., but I had never been that interested in being the guy walking down a street in the far corner of your tv set. Now, suddenly, the opportunity was thrilling, taboo, and something I would spend all day obsessing about instead of doing my work.
“Must confirm you are 18 or older and lawfully able to work in the US,” it said. Check. “Local to the L.A. area. All sizes: height, weight. All ethnicities.” Check, check, and check. I read on; medical clearance required, of course, visible tattoos were OK, I had to provide a phone number, headshots were recommended but I could come up with something — it all seemed perfectly doable… but could I do it?
You better believe I ruminated about it all day, and then all evening long. “Fuck it,” I said — and why not, you only live once.
Call time was seven AM on a Saturday and I got no sleep, being up all night plagued with a mixture of anxiety and excitement that sent my mind racing endlessly. I got cold feet four or five times but always came back to the stubborn insistence that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. One moment, I was preoccupied with the fact that in a matter of hours I was going to be expected to have sex with complete strangers, the next moment, I began to wonder if this was really going to happen as I imagined it. I second-guessed the reality of it all, despite the information I had gathered. Perhaps, in the end, I would just be a nude body in the background, engaged in the blurry, vague motions of fake, mechanical sex, with all the cinematic drama reserved for experienced porn stars.
I arrived in a stupor at a large warehouse, surrounded by a motley assortment of individuals filing in from the parking lot. Most of them didn’t even seem like amateur or aspiring porn stars, they looked no different from me and equally prone to a rising wave of anticipatory tension. Full of idle, nervous chatter, we made our way inside escort izmir and were directed through an intimidating mix of crew members and film equipment. There were huge lights, camera equipment, and production assistants running this way and that. It was quite an affair, nothing like what I imagined of a regular orgy; showing up to some party, having a drink, whatever else happened after that…
The room really was nothing more than an empty warehouse, vast and rather plain. I had been expecting… I don’t know… beds? Furnishings of some kind? I thought about how I’d hate to be the person who had to clean the carpet after the event but then realized that staging such a massive orgy of this size probably necessitated not having one. It did, however, dawn on me what the brief film treatment we were provided with had said about the main character; how the scene we were filming would depict his fantasy of group sex in a humorous and outrageous way. It seemed clear to me that I just stepped into a blank canvas, full of the unknown; that the space was intended to illustrate the comedic aesthetic of the character’s daydream such that he didn’t know what a real orgy looked like other than imagining a large gymnasium full of naked people fucking in a wildly exaggerated manner.
Most of the participants appeared to be college students looking for a once-in-a-lifetime thrill, a fact which excited me when I considered the daring things they may have planned to do with strangers they would never have to encounter again. They filed into the room either solo, wary, and shifty-eyed, or in small groups of giddy friends that weren’t fully sure what the peer pressure was getting them into. The guys were grinning, performing double-takes upon spotting the girls that entered before or after them, immediately sizing them up and brimming with anticipation about what they might look like with their clothes off. The young women received the stares and hid their nervous smiles, casting each other covertly supportive looks.
However, more than a few women had no shame to hide, wearing ready-to-remove garments, waltzing in with their hairy pits and badass swaggers that seemed to want to place an unremarkable cast on something that to most of us felt perfectly sensational. These, too, excited me — they all did, every possible personality and potential motivation I could project upon them all.
I made a quick stop at a craft services table exploding with miscellaneous foodstuffs to grab some light fare that wouldn’t cause cramps but might provide lots of energy for the degree of calories I’d hopefully soon be burning. I grabbed a banana but regretted it as I stood there munching on a rather phallic object that sparked some unintentional smirks, given the situation. To take my seat, I shuffled halfway down a middle row in a grid of gray plastic chairs and, little by little, the gaps filled in all around me. A trio of young women quieted down when they settled upon the seats in front of me and caught my eyes. I knew they had been discussing something scandalous, their cheeks flush and red, but felt compelled to keep their mouth shuts as soon as I was within earshot. As they sat there in front of me, shifting anxiously in their seats, glancing up at every single arrival with keen, alerted eyes, I could imagine the butterflies they were experiencing — I was full of them myself.
My head filled with a thousand ponderings about the bodies they hid beneath their simple t-shirts and jeans, knowing full well that they were planning to slip out of them in front of everyone. One of them whispered, “This is so crazy…” to her friend. I noticed that she had a few dark freckles on her pasty neck — did that mean she might have little brown flecks on her pale boobs, contrasting with a pair of salmon-colored nipples? Her friend’s perspiring hand trembled and I noticed her brown forearm was well-graced with a soft, unidirectional flow of umber hair. Did that mean she hid a big mass of bushy brown pubes behind her panties? The contrast between seen and unseen was maddening as I became increasingly attuned to the simple knowledge that clothes were going to come off en masse.
My heart raced as I lingered in the anticipation of perhaps seeing her and her friends take off their underwear; the nervous laughter as they unhooked their bras, the startling bounce of their freed breasts as they bent in half and clutched at them in embarrassment as everyone watched on with bated breath. I imagined the way their boobs might dangle when they lean down to slide off their panties, the panic on their faces when they stood back up, their fluffy, unruly pubes and soft, wrinkled labias, the wide eyes, the gritted teeth as their private parts became visible to all. I no doubt projected some of my cautions onto them, feeling some of the same fears, albeit competing with intense arousal.
Every woman who walked in and cautiously took her seat inspired a flurry of questions about the scandalous unveiling of her naked body, from the izmir escort bayan young, fresh-faced beauties that casually skipped the bras, to the more mature ladies that walked in with confidence and an air of sexual ambition. Everywhere, individuals were exchanging looks, choosing possible mates, or simply flirting with a spontaneous fantasy about what soon might be real. Who were all these people, what kind of lives did they live, how had they just all of a sudden come out of the woodwork with the promise of an experience that might scare the vast majority of people away?
I soon learned that my initial expectations about the reveal of bodies were a little out of touch with the realities of the filmmaking process.
We quieted down as the director positioned himself before the crowd and raised a loudspeaker to his lips. He was a stocky man with a newsboy cap and a thick red beard. I wondered how many pornos he’d made and if he’d ever put people in a situation like this before. I listened attentively as he ran through the intimidating logistics, explaining that we’d all need to go through a check-in process and how the event would be broken down into wide shots of passive group activity as well as a variety of individual pairings that they would “facilitate” through “instruction” and “prompts from the crew.”
I was surprised to hear that there would be four separate mobile cameras working their way around the event individually, as assistant directors helped to capture a range of activities happening in parallel.
Most significantly, I was disappointed to discover that the men and women would be separated by a curtain for undressing and subsequent check-in. However, the director explained that this was only because they were going to film a grand reveal between the sexes, capturing our reactions to that first exposure to a sea of naked female bodies facing a crowd of nude men, before we would then be allowed to, uh, “mingle.” I briefly felt panic imagining walking through a sea of naked bodies for fear of sprouting an instant erection. However, I reminded myself that this was an orgy, not a nude beach. Not only were erections okay, but they were also required…
As soon as his speech ended, we were invited to rise and go to one or the other side of the warehouse. There was an explosion of activity as we began gossiping feverishly with neighbors about all the things we’d just heard. The sexual tension and curiosity were clearly palpable on account of our being simple folk and not porn stars, who I imagined were entirely desensitized to a situation that held me in the grip of anxious excitement.
As a long, thick theatre curtain divided the room in two, I got my last glimpse of the throng of women on the other side, eying us with a range of expressions, fully aware that the next time we would see one another, our clothes would be off, our bodies bare, visible arousal taking hold. I locked eyes with one woman who seemed to be suffering the same feverish insecurities. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing that I was; that we’d never met, didn’t know each other’s name, or anything else for that matter, and yet in a short while the curtain would be pulled back again and there we’d both be standing — one stranger obviously owning a penis, another very clearly possessing a vagina, and thus we’d be granted our most unusual first introduction.
I got in the line for check-in and eyed the guy in front of me who seemed to be in his forties, wearing a tight-fitting, charcoal gray t-shirt to advertise the fact that he worked out regularly. He looked as clean-cut and confident as an ex-military guy — I felt sure the ladies would be all over him. The young man who approached behind me could not have been more different; a nerdy, gangly fellow wearing a powder blue button-down shirt tucked into a pair of tan khakis. He even wore a pair of painfully loud argyle socks. I introduced myself and learned their names were David, in front, and Walter, behind.
“So…” I began, trying to make chit-chat. “How did you hear about this? What made you want to come?”
“Middle-aged. Two years divorced. Kids gone off to college.” David shrugged, underscoring his suddenly serious tone. “Dating’s not like it used to be when I was your age. So…” He glanced over at the curtain and forced a smile back to his face. “I figure — what the hell — maybe I’ll meet some young ladies and see if I’ve still got it.” As he began to chuckle at this, I wasn’t sure if I should feel sad or amused, but something was refreshing about his honesty, I suppose.
David looked over at Walter and gestured casually to him. “So what’s your deal? What brought you here?” David’s eyes jumped up and down, no doubt noting the same observances I did, but withholding any visible judgment about our neighbor’s meek appearance.
Walter shifted nervously then responded with a wavering voice. “I… um… have never really had sex before. So… uh…”
“You’re a virgin?” David replied, nodding excitedly.
David izmir escortlar roared with laughter, “And you came to this?!” I smirked at them both. “You’re brave… I’ll give you that. You’ve got balls.” Walter gave him an anxious smile that led me to believe that through his crushing fear he welcomed any boost of confidence. “And I guess you’re gonna give both of ’em a workout today!”
“Seriously, man. You’re going zero-to-sixty here,” I laughed.
“Yeah…” Walter repeated with a slight smile. He looked down at the floor and began to fidget.
“Well… here we are. This should be fun. How about you?” David asked me.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t really thought about why I came. “I honestly just saw it mentioned in the newspaper and thought it sounded like a bucket list item. I have no idea what to expect really.”
David nodded at me as if trying to communicate a deep understanding. “I hear ‘ya,” he said. “My feeling, looking around the group when we first assembled… it’s mostly young women from–” David stuck his thumb out and pumping it through the air in the general direction of the local college campus. “You know… they’re wild and free, with their whole lives ahead of them. They’re just getting their first taste of freedom, full of hormones, eager to rebel and break free from mommy and daddy’s control. When you’re in that phase of your life, you want to do things like this that you’ll remember for the rest of your life. You know — flash your tits around, get some attention. Trust me — I saw a handful of desperate housewives out there, but us older folks have fewer and fewer opportunities.”
“Live it up while you can…” I muttered, trying to channel his point of view.
“That’s exactly it,” he concluded, adding a little more dose of reality to the fantasy crystallizing all around us.
As we approached the check-in point, I began to observe the procedure with keen interest. One by one, men were called forward from the front of the line to approach the table. A young woman took down some personally identifying information, confirmed the person’s RSVP and medical release, and then had them sign a series of wavers containing dry technical jargon that one could barely manage to skim. Finally, she handed them a small labeled bag for their clothing. Just like that, they were expected to undress in front of her, stripping down until they were fully nude, and then hand back the bag they’d stashed their things in. The young woman did not seem altogether unconscious of the stark display of nudity but managed to remain professionally unfazed by the sight of one penis after the next — no doubt having been resolute in her determination to not stare, opting instead to bottle up her emotions until she could share a hilarious beer with friends later that evening.
Before each male participant had an opportunity to settle into the awkward awareness that they were unclothed and performing these steps in front of a long line of other men patiently awaiting their turn, they were instructed to move to the next table where a sole physician sat. Obeying instruction, each man advanced, acutely aware of the penis dangling between their legs, as he was greeted by a smile and nod by a medical professional.
Each participant was required to raise their hands and place them atop their head, then straddle open their legs. The physician calmly performed a visual examination before instructing them to reach down and lift their shaft, move it to the right and then the left, as well as raise their balls for a quick check of their scrotum and testicles. All the while, she peered through her wide-rimmed glasses, glancing around for any outward signs of disqualifying medical conditions. There was no shortage of men who found themselves subject to a brief bout of humiliation as the focused attention of the physician’s studious gaze resulted in a quickly swelling erection which bobbed about haphazardly, sometimes getting so distended that it looked almost painful for them to hold it firmly off to the side for the examination to be completed.
I felt a flurry of nervousness as the men around me watched this display with growing restlessness. The last thing I wanted was to wind up with an erect penis a little too early, in front of all the other men. It did not exactly help to stabilize my emotions, but I imagined what was transpiring on the other side of the curtain. Was the physician attending to the women male or female? What did it look like as they were instructed to unsnap their bras one by one and slide down their panties? Were they as anxious about the whole affair as the men seemed to be, and did they become aroused? I had so many questions!
I put myself in the other physician’s shoes, calling one of the young women forward in her birthday suit, instructing her to raise her hands over her head, and then boldly asking her to take a wide stance. What exactly did the examination look like? Did the physician just… I don’t know… ask them to spread their labia to have a casual look around in there? I imagined a whole line of freshly examined, horrified young women cupping their palms insecurely over their genitals and wrapping their arms across a pair of bulging breasts.
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