Suburban Strip

It wasn't late but the kids were in bed and my wife, Dina, and I sat at the island in the kitchen, thumbing through the week's magazines. It was a pleasant end to the day, me holding a cold Sam Adams and Dina idly swirling a glass of Merlot. I was also enjoying the view. She looked great, just back from a meeting, wearing a sharp, black, executive-looking pantsuit, her thick, chin-length dark brown hair swept back stylishly from her face, which had traces of sweetness in it that she almost obscured with a constant expression of pent-up sarcasm. I was wondering how she would look wearing nothing but that new pair of tiny, black-framed reading glasses she had on, when she noticed my stare and spat, "What are you looking at," in way that might have intimidated me if I hadn't known her for so many years.

I was about to tell her what I was thinking when she broke the short silence saying, "I was at the school for a meeting today and was talking with Cheryl."

I figured I was about to get another dose of PTA gossip, but I tended to pay a little more attention when Cheryl was involved. I thought Cheryl was more than a little bit of a fox.

"Cheryl said she's planning a party at her house where people would take off their clothes, and she invited us."

My body froze as my brain switched to overdrive.

My first thought was plain disbelief, which morphed in a few nanoseconds to the second thought, surprise, even shock that my wife would bring this up in anything other than a condemning, disgusted way. She's always acted conservative and disdainful toward any reference to sex outside our own bedroom.

The third thought consisted of images of the times I'd seen Cheryl-lively and elegantly attractive-at countless receptions and dinner parties. But now my fantasy of seeing her well-tailored clothes peeled from her body took a step toward reality. My head felt lighter as blood rushed from my brain to my cock.

Finally, I ran through a series of computerlike calculations to figure out the surest tactic for making this impossibility come true. I decided my best bet was to keep my mouth shut as much as possible and let my wife take the lead.

I said, simply, "What?" trying to sound surprised and curious, but not at all anxious.

"Yeah. She said she thought it just sounded different and kind of exciting. She said it was something she's been thinking about for a while, and she just decided to try it. "

I tried to stay noncommittal: "I sure wouldn't have expected that from Cheryl. Or anyone we know for that matter."

My wife said, "What do you think? Should we go?"

I stuck to my strategy and dodged: "I'm surprised you'd be interested."

"Well I know it seems gross," she said, "but Cheryl's really nice, and I've always admired her, and she's not gross at all."

Cheryl was anything but. She had a sense of both sophistication and fun. Her charmingly dry sense of humor seemed to fit her physical traits of sharply defined facial features and a slight squint to her blue eyes. She was one of those women of medium height who looked taller because of a slim body that curved erotically from her hips to her small, finely proportioned breasts.

Deciding I might need to take a little risk to preserve credibility, I said, "Well, I have to admit, I'm a healthy male and the prospect of seeing a few women without clothes does sound pretty intriguing." I added, "especially with you as a chaperone." Turns out I said one thing too many.

"Oh my God," she said. "I never thought about me. I could never do that, looking like this."

Misplaced female vanity. Despite my leering thoughts of Cheryl, my wife still turns my head-and lots of others. She's not model-thin by any means, but at 35 she has a fine figure and a great-looking pair of size Cs. I reminded her that I often try to follow that body into the shower after the robe comes off. She fended off my attempted compliment, as usual. She said she'd have to think pretty hard about whether we would go to the party. Reluctant to let the decision out of my control, I decided it seemed the most effective course for now. Over the next few days I tried with no success to forget about it.

One evening nearly two weeks later my wife said, "I had lunch with Amy today and SHE brought up Cheryl's party. They got invited too. I told them we'd ride with them. I figured it's the only way I'd be brave enough to go. What do you think?"

"Wow," I reacted, then recovering a bit, added, "that's sure a different take from the last time we talked."

"Well I've been thinking about it a lot," she said. "And I guess, as Amy told me today, 'you only go around once'."

This was almost too much-I actually felt a little dizzy. It sounded like this fantastic thing would actually happen. And Amy would be there. Amy was another PTA mom I'd run into often, especially working together to set up booths at fundraising festivals. Amy taught drama at a high school across town and had an especially bubbly personality and always paid a flattering degree of attention to anyone she was talking to at the moment. I often zoned into fantasyland in the presence of her friendly, open face, shapely body, and innocent but still compelling flirtatiousness. The notion of seeing her undressed was more than I'd ever hoped for.

"So it's a date then," I said.

My wife narrowed her eyes and accused, "You seem pretty casual about all this,".

Fessing-up time. I said, still trying not to act overly enthusiastic, "I'm actually working pretty hard at acting casual. I wouldn't be honest if I didn't say I was looking forward to it. It sure sounds different."

"I'm still getting used to the idea," she said. "But I guess I'm looking forward to it, too. Cheryl's friends are bound to be nice. And it sure should be something to remember."

A week later Amy and Bill's SUV pulled into our driveway. I could see enough of Amy to tell she wore what they call "the little black dress" with a neckline scooping low enough to show a fetching amount of cleavage. Bill was thin, medium height, with a noticeably weak chin that made him kind of mousy looking, and an ever-present sense of humor. He wore light gray pants, a blue button-down shirt and a navy blazer. As for me, I'm a little on the tall side, regular bicycling showing the effects of a mostly successful fight against growing old in my 40-year old body, sharply defined features in my face, and flecks of gray in my otherwise light brown hair. This evening I had on a Cashmere sweater and a pair of black khakis. I mention everyone's clothes because I was working, not very successfully, to think of something other than those clothes coming off.

Amy didn't make my efforts easier. She twisted around in the passenger seat to face us as we settled in the back, looking alluring with her black hair cut into a medium-length shag and her eyes dancing as she virtually sang, "So, are you guys ready to get naked?" She almost growled that last word.

My stomach fluttered. My wife's face flushed and she said, "Amy, how did I let you talk me into this? This is a bad idea."

"Oh come on," Amy said. "Loosen up. Aren't you excited?"

"A nervous wreck is more like it," my wife said.

"Me too, a little bit" Amy said. "But it's giving me kind of a thrill, too, just thinking about showing ourselves and seeing what our friends really look like. How about you, Greg?" Amy asked. "Isn't this a fantasy coming to life?"

"I think it could be fun," I said, still fighting to hide my real reactions.

"Yeah, right, Mr. Cool" Amy chided. Then Bill, adopting an upper class English accent, mocked, "Yes indeed. I'm very much anticipating the opportunity to be present for unobstructed views of pulchritude."

Our laughter eased the nervousness. A little.

When we got out of the car I scanned my wife again. She wore a light, flower-print, backless sundress hemmed just above the knee, and held up by a single button at the back of the halter-top collar. We've been married nearly 20 years and I was still thinking about how by loosening just one button I could watch nearly all her clothes fall away.

Bill rang the bell of the large, new McMansion and Cheryl opened the door. She looked stunning and was dressed a lot more formally than the rest of us. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back into an intricate-looking knot and she wore a simple, black, ankle-length gown that outlined the soft curves of her petite body. A strand of pearls just above the modest neckline of the dress added to the sophistication of the look. She greeted us warmly as her husband, Ted, appeared, acting, it seemed to me, a little nervous about the whole affair, showing a strained smile in his dark, vaguely Mediterranean features. He wore the uniform of khakis, navy blazer, and red tie. They told us to introduce ourselves, that most of the other guests had arrived, and to fix ourselves drinks.

On our way in I saw that my wife was right about Cheryl having nice friends, but not necessarily the way she meant. Either the invitation list was very carefully designed or only attractive people accepted. As we moved toward the drink table I was pleased to see a few people I knew-some who I'd imagined naked, and now I'd get to see the real thing.

My cock started to swell when I saw Hannah, who works down the hall from me in accounting. She's a little overweight, a flaw more than compensated for by her sweet, round face framed by a pageboy of brown hair that makes her look younger than her 25 years. She's quick to giggle and has wonderful, large breasts that stretched a pink pullover sweater she wore with a short tan skirt. Thinking only about Hanna's clothes coming off, I didn't wonder until later how invitations found their way to my office.

But I got rock hard as I looked up from pouring a scotch and saw Sally, who I knew in passing from, of all places, our church. She had a reasonably attractive face, partly hidden by long curls of dark brown hair. But her body was, to my thinking, as close to perfection as can exist. She's about medium height, with a narrow waist and a chest you wouldn't quite call enormous, but big enough to be a distraction through pretty much all of every church service.

"Hey, good to see a familiar face," she said, as she took a glass of beer from a man at her side. "This is Scott."

Scott was the kind of guy I'd expect Sally to be dating, although in my mind I'd turned her into such a goddess I don't know whether anyone could have measured up. He was blond, square-faced and sturdy-athletic and imposing looking.

"Good meeting you," he said to Dani and me. "So, what do you guys think about this for a party idea? Looks like they're getting a pretty good turnout."

My wife jumped in, talking faster than normal, "I know. What did you think when you heard about it? Have you been to anything like this before?"

"Not taking my clothes off in front of other people," said Sally. "I posed in a teeny bikini once when I had my modeling portfolio made, but I just wasn't willing to take the next step."

"So, what about this party?" my wife asked. "What made you change your mind about, you know?"

"Taking it all off?" laughed Sally. "I guess I figured this would be more of a one-time thing-here and gone-and just among friends."

Scott chimed in, "Or if we're not all friends now, we're sure going to know each other a lot better." He continued, "I think it's going to be great seeing all these people in their birthday suits. What a rush." He mock-leered at my wife, which I found surprisingly arousing, and she slugged him on the shoulder.

"I wonder what the plan is? Is one of us supposed to start?" I said, trying not to do my own leering at Sally. "Anybody know?"

"Probably to wait until we're all wound so tight we're ready to explode," said Sally. "I know I can hardly hold this beer still. I'd better have another or I'll chicken out."

"You can't do that," said Scott. "We're already here and I can see by the sideways looks you're getting, there'd be a lot of disappointed guys. There might be a riot." It sounded like Scott was looking forward to Sally's impending public exposure.

"You're not helping," Sally scolded. "Just get me another beer."

We all got more drinks and mingled with guests I'd seen before, and others that I hadn't. When there were about 15 couples in the house, to a knife clinking on a glass, Cheryl called everyone into the living room. It was a bit of a tight fit, but not oppressive-it was a big house.

Cheryl slipped off her black high heels and stepped up onto a coffee table that had been pushed against the fireplace at the end of the room.

"Welcome to our home," Cheryl started. "I hope most everyone has met each other, and now you're probably all wondering, 'what's next?' Here are the rules for the evening. On the mantle behind me are two baskets marked with the male and female symbols. See them?"

"Which is which?" came a shout, followed by laughter.

"I'm betting you can figure that out one way or another," said Cheryl. "When your name is called, you'll take off your shoes and socks and get up on the coffee table where everyone can get a good look at you. You will be joining another person on the coffee table. That person will be of the opposite sex. That person will undress you, and you will go along with the disrobing under their direction, until all your clothes have been removed. Jewelry can stay on."

Cheryl paused and smiled, giving people a minute to let her instructions sink in. I heard a couple of quiet moans go up from the group. Then Amy shouted, "All right!"

"We're all polite, respectable people here, so I know we're not going to get out of line," said Cheryl. "But we're also here to have fun. So lets not be afraid to show a little style while we're showing a lot of skin."

Dina grabbed my arm and whispered, "I don't think I can do this." I put my arm around her shoulder.

Cheryl continued, "When you're au naturel, your stripping partner will get down from the table. You will then pick a name of the opposite sex out of the basket, invite them up, and take their clothes off. And so on."

As Cheryl talked, it started to dawn on people what each of them would be going through-getting undressed by someone else, standing on a makeshift stage completely exposed to the eyes of 30 men and women, even exposing their backside to turn around to pick a name out of the basket, then finally, in their nakedness, pulling off a friend's clothes.

"And one more thing," said Cheryl, breaking the nervous silence. "If you draw the name of your spouse or partner, date, or whoever came with you, put it back. How boring would that be?"

My knees were weak, my mouth was dry, and my arms were shaking with a kind of anticipation I'd never felt. This was silly. You'd think I'd never seen a naked woman before. But no doubt about it, this was a whole different game from a night in the bedroom or out at a strip club.

Cheryl continued, "Since I suspect most of you have never done anything like this before, and since I invited you all here, I thought it seemed like the polite thing to do to start the evening's activities myself."

The room erupted in cheers and applause. For the first time Cheryl looked a little rattled, and she turned crimson. She recovered quickly, quieting things by saying, "But before that can happen, I'll have to suspend the rules a little, since everyone here looks fully clothed. So I'll draw a name of someone who will come up and take my clothes off, then I'll return the favor. That guy will then draw a name, and we'll proceed with the rules as I described them. Is everyone OK with that?"

"All those in favor say 'aye'," piped a voice from the back of the room, and 30 answered a loud "Aye."

"Well then here we go." Cheryl turned around, then came back with a slip from the basket. "The lucky winner is," she paused, leaving several seconds of total silence, "Don Browning."

I'd never heard the name, but a couple "all rights" came from the side of the room, and a slight, blond man with a mustache, about 30, started moving toward the coffee table. He seemed a little stiff and proper. He carefully laid his shoes under the coffee table, and stood next to Cheryl, examining her dress.

"Are you just going to look?" asked Cheryl.

"I guess not," he said uncertainly, glancing at the group below. He chuckled nervously and said, "Are you sure this is OK with your husband?"

"Oh I think it's someone else's turn to take these things off, don't you?" she smiled.

"OK then," he said, clearing his throat and moving behind her. The room was still enough for us to hear the faint sound of a zipper opening from the back of Cheryl's neck to the top of her ass. Don carefully pinched up the shoulders of her sleeves, and slid them down Cheryl's arms until the dress fell to the table. The sight was magnificent. Cheryl stood with her hands at her side, in a black bra and tiny black bikini underwear. She stepped out of her dress and kicked it back onto the floor.

We then sensed some quick fumbling at her back and Don carefully lifted her bra straps down her shoulders, exposing magnificent breasts a little bigger than I had expected. They had large, pink, mounded areolas that pointed sharply out at her admiring audience. I don't think anyone in the room was breathing.

Still standing behind her, Don pulled the panties down to her ankles, letting her step out of them before he tossed them on her dress. She had a small patch of light brown hair over her pussy, and a surprisingly long, elegant stomach and waist for a fairly small woman.

The whole experience was still more than my brain was completely absorbing. Cheryl stood, fully nude and gorgeous, in front of me and a living room full of friends and acquaintances. Her pulled-back hair and the pearls around her bare throat and shoulders made her look nuder than nude.

She stood still for a second, then put her palms up at her side, shrugged, and said, "Well, this is me."

The room erupted in applause. When it died down Cheryl turned to Don and said, "Your turn soldier. We'll need to get rid of this coat," and she pulled it off him and tossed it on the floor near her dress.

"Let's see, what's next?" she said, finally deciding to unbutton his shirt. Then she undid his belt and fly, pulling his pants down to reveal blue checked boxers. She ran her hands along his hips and announced to the group, "Get this, they're silk. Very nice. Maybe I should leave them on? Not."

Cheryl yanked the shorts down his legs. Don stood still, an impressively long, thin circumcised cock hanging between his legs. Its limp condition I chalked up to nerves-I know my member had retreated since the first excitement of seeing some of the female guests.

Don finally stepped sideways, allowing Cheryl to dispose of the shorts and stand back up from her very lovely crouch. She pulled Don to her and gave him a quick hug, and before he could react, she said, "I need a drink, bad," and hopped off the table.

Don stood in a trance, watching Cheryl's backside disappear into the crowd, until someone said, "So pick a name already."

Don flinched, then turned and drew a name from the women's basket. He tried to sound casual, but came off as awkwardly formal when he announced, "The next luck lady is Amy Dillon."

"Here's a sight," said Amy as she sprang onto the table and stared pointedly at Don's cock. "Does your mother know you went out without your coat? Or anything?"

Don's experience stripping Cheryl didn't seem to give him any more confidence, and nothing about Amy was about to calm him down. Along with her brash manner she looked boldly sexy. Her wide mouth and prominent cheeks promised mischief. Her slight, short, fitted dress advertised her hills and valleys in a way that would make most any man's hands tremble at the prospect of close contact. Don stood sideways, looking Amy up and down until one of the guys finally shouted in desperation, "C'mon, we're tired of looking at YOUR butt."