Page 70 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
We can’t move further along the wall because there are dozens of people in front of us, all in various states of undress. Some have all their clothes on, some just have underwear, some aretopless, some are completely naked. All of them wear their masks though.
Because there are so many bodies in front of us and because I can only see them for the split second that the lights are on and because the lights are so dim and because there’s fog floating around, I only get quick flashes of flesh: a bicep, a breast, a butt cheek, balls.
This flurry of images seems to accelerate whatever the alcohol is doing to me. The room tilts and then tilts again.
On the rare occasion that I drink, I spend like the entire night nursing a couple beers. I never just down a whole shot of whiskey like I just did. Not only do I feel funny physically, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly.
Oscar doesn’t normally do shots either. His face is getting flushed.
“Damn, bro,” Oscar says to me, “there’s titties everywhere!”
As my brain takes in more visual information, I’m beginning to see a bigger picture of what’s going on in here. I see couples (from what I can tell, heterosexual), interacting with each other, one-on-one, all upright on their feet.
Some couples hold each other in an embrace (tender, loving), some massage each other’s shoulders (gentle, sensual), some caress various body parts (breasts, asses), some lick (necks, chests), some kiss (mouths open, tongues deep).
Some are dry-humping against the wall (fabric against fabric), some are having vaginal sex (varying thrusting speeds), some are doing it in the butt (slow, careful).
It’s a lot to process. It’s like scrolling through a pervy version of Instagram at an incredibly rapid speed. Images flying at me so fast that before I can really understand what I’m looking at it gets replaced by another one.
Oscar looks at me, his mouth wide open. “I have no words.”
We continue on, navigating through the maze of bodies, limbs brushing against us.
A shirtless man with curly hair on his chest places a hand on Fatima’s elbow. She looks him up and down as best she can in the dimness. She makes a decision?—she casually shakes her head “no.” He respectfully nods at her and walks away.
This happens several more times to both Fatima and Twyla. They get propositioned by different kinds of men via elbow, and they decline with a head shake. It’s all very business-like, all perfectly polite.
In one corner, I get a quick glimpse of a naked woman, standing, sandwiched between two naked men. Lights on: one guy thrusts from the front. Darkness. Lights on: the other guy thrusts from the back. Darkness. Lights on: the woman’s face is directed towards the ceiling, her mouth open, as she releases an ecstatic moan that we can’t hear because of the music.
Oscar’s eyes practically pop out of their sockets.
A masked guy with short blond hair, who is fully dressed and watching the three-way from the side, unzips his jeans, whips out his cock, and starts stroking it as he watches. His pubes are neatly trimmed.
Twyla lets go of Oscar’s hand and walks up to the blond guy. She whispers into his ear. He nods. She drops to her knees and starts blowing him. Apparently, she just wants to give him a little preview because just as he really starts to get into it, Twyla gets up and rejoins our group.
Twyla leans toward Oscar to give him a kiss.
He jerks his head away from her. “Nah, girl, I ain’t about that. You got dick on your mouth.”
“Ugh.” Twyla rolls her eyes. “You’re so close-minded.”
“Nah,” says Oscar. “That’s just kind of gay though.”
“That’s not gay.” Twyla points. “Nowthat’sgay.”
Behind Oscar are eleven completely naked athletic-looking guys. Even with their masks on, I can tell they’re all twentysomething and handsome, like brothers at some hot fraternity. One guy is on his knees, and he’s blowing the ten other guys that are standing around him in a semicircle. He’s fully erect while doing so. He sucks on each guy’s dick one by one, clockwise, using the on-off rhythm of the lights to determine how much time each guy gets. Every time the lights pulse on, his mouth is on a different dick.
Oscar looks surprised and disturbed by this. “Yo, Hunter, I didn’t sign up for this!”
Twyla turns to me. “What’d he call you?”
“He called me Nash,” I immediately say.
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
I point to the ceiling. “The music is really loud!”
Suddenly, we hear some kind of commotion behind us.
