Page 159 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Allen raised an eyebrow.
“At least according to the invite,” I added. “We’re supposed to wear togas and—”
“We?” he said. “Are you really thinking of going?”
“Well, yeah. I know plenty of guys there. Daniel, Mike . . . someone else that I’m forgetting. Why not go?”
“Why not? It’s just a frat party, not Caligula.”
I shrugged. “It just sounded like something to do.”
“Christ, we need to get you out of your apartment more. Get your nose out of your books and into someone’s ass crack. And that’s not going to happen at Beta Theta Pumpkin Pie. No matter how much they want to disguise their little party, it’s not going to be a real orgy.”
“I bet you’ve been to plenty of real orgies, huh?”
He paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one. I had a threesome with two chicks once, but that wasn’t really an orgy.”
I wasn’t a virgin, but felt like one around Allen at times. “How many people do you need before it becomes an orgy?”
“At least four,” he said. “I have a friend in Chicago who’s in the scene. If you really want to go to an orgy, I’m sure she can hook us up.”
“There’s an orgy ‘scene’?”
“There’s a scene for everything.”
I’d never even contemplated going to an orgy before, but it felt like the right thing to do, like the sort of thing you would never see on Facebook and definitely not in any of those college textbooks that I—according to Allen—buried my nose in too often. “Let’s do it.”
“Really?” he said, raising his eyebrow again. “I’ll see if she knows of anything happening later this month. It’ll be an experience. Cool?”
“Will it be okay with Chris?”
Allen shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“Did you guys break up?”
“We weren’t ever really dating,” he said. “So, are you in or what?”
I drew in a deep breath and let it out. I nodded. “I’m in.”
A week later, Allen texted to let me know the orgy was a go. I met him at a men’s wear shop at the mall near campus. The party had a formal dress code, which meant we needed to rent tuxes. The girl measuring us had asked if we were going to a party.
Allen and I looked at each other and laughed.
A brilliant white tux caught my eye. I asked Allen if we should drop the extra fifty bucks on the upgrade.
“Why? You think there’s going to be so much cum flying around that we need to wear white? We should keep it simple. Black is always in style.”
That was easy for him to say, but I needed something to stand out. Not all of us were six-foot-two, barrel-chested monsters like Allen. I opted for a standard-issue black tuxedo with a top hat. Unlike the rest of my rented outfit, I had to buy the hat. Forty bucks. I looked at it as an investment, my first real adult purchase. Not that I planned to become an orgy regular, but hey—a boy could dream.
AFTER THREE HOURS on the road and another forty-five minutes circling the neighborhood for parking, Allen backed into a spot between two cars and killed the engine. We’d scoured every square foot of the far northwest edge of Chicago for parking—a blur of CVS pharmacies, Burger Kings, and Spanish-language signs I couldn’t read—and by some miracle found a space on the same block as our destination. It was our twelfth pass, so it was more of a minor miracle, like the Virgin Mary burned into a slice of toast. I hopped out to examine his parking j
ob.
He rolled down the passenger window. “We good?”
The space separating him from the cars on either side couldn’t have been more than three inches. I bent down and gave him a thumbs-up. “I don’t know how you did that without lubrication.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said, exiting the car. “Shall we?”
