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Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Hayley looked herself over in the mirror, from the hem of her black dress at mid-thigh, past the flaring of her hips to her narrow waist, to the fuller curves of her… well, then to her face. There she met her own eyes, staring hard.
“Look at you,” said she to herself, “going out like this.”
“And look at you, standing there. I don’t think you have it in you.”
She broke eye contact, doubtful, and looked again to her dress. She was certain that one of her was right. How could she go out like this? She reached forward and tilted her floor mirror forward, revealing the reflection of her spaghetti string black heeled shoes. She had always considered her feet cute. At least she could agree with herself about that. Looking up again, the angle of the mirror now cropped her image at the neck, so she could no longer see her face in the mirror. Good.
She returned to her conversation. “Look at you, going out like this.”
This time there was no reply, but she casually acknowledged that she couldn’t look herself in the eye. A little more than four years in the Big Easy had gradually loosened her from her conservative upbringing, but this…this was hard. How had she come to this?

It was “the” season. Christmas had come and gone. Gifts had been given; gifts had been received. There hadn’t even been any returns this year. Provide Steven a list, show Steven the things on the list at the stores in which they are for sale, remind Steven where the list is, and receive the items on the list. Quite simply done. But she wasn’t as mercenary as that seemed. It had been a wonderful holiday.
New Year’s, too, had been great fun. They hadn’t painted the town red but spent a quiet evening at home with some friends, playing Hearts until an ageless Dick Clark acknowledged that another year had passed.
But four years of living in Louisiana had taught Hayley that the real holiday season was the two weeks prior to Fat Tuesday. She had heard of Mardi Gras growing up in North Carolina, but she had never really paid attention to it. There had a childhood friend that had gone to Mobile, AL for Mardi Gras, returning with cheap beads and moon pies. She was jealous at the time of the trinkets, but it was quickly forgotten.
That was then; this was now. After moving to Mandeville with Steven, she, like many of her neighbors, had pulled out the storage cases of gold, purple, and green knick knacks, flags, and beads, decorating her home on the inside, with a few flourishes outside. The addition of colored translucent plastic sheets in her patio lights put them one ahead of the neighbors. But that wasn’t really what it was all about. Decorating was a relatively quiet acknowledgement of the traditions of the area, including the wild things that went on in the city across the bridge and a bit east.
She loved Mandeville. She did. Clean city, nice shopping centers, good schools, excellent waterfront park… But it was at this time of year that, to some measure, she felt disconnected from everybody. All the native Cajuns always seemed to have a tradition about the way they celebrated Mardi Gras. This included the parades, surely, but they disappeared to family member’s homes for Cajun boils or were invited to other parties.
Therefore, it was the parades which were her participation in the festivities.
She remembered her first trip downtown to the big parades the first year they had lived here, accompanied by their neighbors, the Michells, John and Louise. The Michells had grown up in the area, mostly in Jefferson Parish. But they had wanted to try life on the other side of the lake, primarily for their kids’ education. They had surprised her with the invitation to go to a parade in New Orleans. She had expected to go to one of the small ones in Mandeville or perhaps Slidell. Most people had suggested they stay away from New Orleans when they had learned she was new to the area, including their realtor. “It’s so much safer out here. You just never know what might happen downtown; it’s a dangerous place.” But the Michells insisted that they try it, perplexed that she and Steven would even consider not going.
Well, her first experience was so wonderful that she couldn’t stay away. She had attended parades as a child… Memorial Day, Labor Day… she couldn’t remember which. It was mostly some floats, a few high school marching bands, uniformed veterans out for a march, and a lot of aging Rotarians dressed in silly costumes. It hadn’t been worth the time. But Louise had explained how extravagant the parades here would seem in comparison, and Steven and she had a natural curiosity. And too, she had a natural inclination to say “yes” when others told her “no.” Perhaps she would grow up some day…
Debauchery. She had never really understood the stupid things people do when they’re inebriated. And with each parade she attended over the last several years, she came to understand that people do stupid things even when they’re not drunk. They were just debauched. Was that a word?
And it had shocked her that first year to find that Louise and John were included. She would never forget when Louise flashed her breasts to a guy on a balcony, getting several strands of beads in the process. A process which had been repeated numerous times that night. And her husband, John, had just smiled and smiled. And so had Steven! And she had laughed too, the initial shock mellowing to amazement.
This was, after all, their neighbor! People they would see again and again. It hadn’t remotely touched her life to that point that people would expose themselves to others that they knew. As she had watched other girls and women expose their breasts, there was an excitement, yes, but, after all, she didn’t know them and would never see them again. As she watched, she realized that most of them were in small groups, obviously comfortable with their friends seeing them.
She hadn’t bared her breasts, that first year, or even been tempted. Nor had she the second year, despite some encouragement from Steven late in the evening. She wanted to, kind of, but just when she thought she had the nerves to do it, she would back out.
It wasn’t until the third year that she went without her bra, which, she remembered, was only because Steven had insisted. She knew what he wanted, at that point, because he had started asking her if she would flash people, starting some weeks before the season arrived. And she planned to, she had thought, but she never quite worked up the gumption to do it. As it turned out, thankfully, she didn’t have to. Louise was showing her breasts to a crowd of guys on the street, and suddenly, Steven grabbed her shirt and held it up. It couldn’t have been more than 2 seconds, but it seemed like forever. She still treasured the beads that had rained down upon them from a balcony, but she couldn’t even look up there to see who had thrown them. What if she knew someone? She knew that was unlikely, but it was just difficult to make eye contact with people that had just seen you half naked.
Then there was last year. A whole year of remembering her one indecent exposure had driven her to masturbate countless times. She hadn’t told Steven how excited it had made her. She had told Louise though, and it was for that reason that they had gone to all the parades on Fat Tuesday, rather than the smaller parades on a preceding weeknight. Louise had understood Hayley’s emerging daring, although she was surprised that it had taken so long. As Louise had set the stage for the parades throughout the day and evening, she had frequently reminded her, “More time on the street, more opportunity!”
She didn’t know exactly how comfortable Steven was, although, obviously, the first flash had been his doing. But still, she was married, and to go through with what she was planning, she thought it right to seek his “permission.”
The kids had been sent off to another neighbor’s house, who seemed to be babysitting for a number of kids in the neighborhood. Steven had come into the bedroom while she was dressing that morning, and had performed a “bra check,” gradually caressing her back to see if there was evidence of a bra. He hadn’t found one and had left encouraged, she had thought. But she had been wearing a conservative collared blouse that buttoned and tucked into her jeans. It was somewhat tight and gave evidence of her curves, but it was ridiculous to expect that she would be able to flash without seeming to undress. About 10 minutes before John and Louise picked them up, she hastily had changed into a clingy, satin purple halter-top. Louise would be wearing an identical one, but gold, as they had shopped together. Hayley had walked into the living room, watching Steven’s jaw actually drop, admiring her as she approached. She had stopped several feet short of his reach, curled the hem of her top around pinky fingers, lifted, and said, “How do I look?”
It had been a good thing the Michells had shown up shortly thereafter, or they wouldn’t have made the trip at all. As her hand had frequently, and, at times, rather openly confirmed, Steven had stayed hard throughout the day. And afterwards… it had been a night to remember. She also understood why Bourbon Street had a certain sour, earthy smell to it during the day.
Her initial musings about the previous year had changed though. She had searched web sites looking at pictures posted from Mardi Gras. It was an absolutely fantastic finger fuck when she first found her own picture on the web. And Steven had satisfied her more “fully” when she had shown it to him. She had known, of course, about the picture taking, as John had taken pictures of Louise the previous years, which was really just an asterisk compared with the seeming thousands of other revelers that had taken pictures as well. So, she had taken and worn a little feathered mask. That had lasted about half the day. It was too uncomfortable. Sure, someone might recognize her in the photos, but Louise had convinced her that even if someone did, it was very unlikely that they would confront her with it. After all, who admits to looking at pictures of nude women on the internet? Louise had a point.
An unanticipated result of that day had been that anytime Steven needed inspiration for a little romance, she simply pulled out pictures that either he or John had taken of her flashing her tits. What a strange day that had been! And with such mixed emotions! It was wrong to show her breasts – that was the way she was raised, and she knew deep within that was what the majority of people believed, because their behavior confirmed it. You just didn’t see women flash their tits.
But then there was an excitement, too. Doing what was wrong somehow felt so right, especially down…there. Feeling a slight cool breeze on her bare nipples had opened a new world of sensation to her… men walked around without their shirts, so it was only fair. But even as she rationalized, she knew that the wrongness outvoted her desires by a solid 1%. But it was, after all, her desires, that had won the moment and, for that matter, the day.
Still, considering all of that, it had been somewhat of a surprise to find that in every picture, there was an enraptured smile. The photos also showed the gradual increase in the number of beads she had been given, to the point where she couldn’t properly expose herself. Steven had taken the overflow, gladly
But then there was the wrongness again. Every picture showed her raising her shirt, even holding a breast for a man to ogle, as she looked squarely at her admirers. But not once had she looked at Steven in the pictures. It didn’t change his excitement, certainly, but how strange it was to be putting on a show for others, almost to the point of neglecting her own husband.
But the beads… She had earned them. Only cents to a few dollars each, she guessed, but she took great pride in them. Her mom had admired them during her annual visit, not knowing that her little angel had fallen a step or three to obtain them.
They weren’t trinkets to her though. They had been earned. There was a contract of sorts. I’ll lift my blouse and show you my tits, and you’ll throw me some beads. It was transactional. It was like she was a celebrity for a day, and the masses were paying for her autograph. Well, that was stretching it a bit far. But certainly she had earned them. So many of the pictures showed plenty of guys staring, fighting for position to see, and even reaching. One had even shown a faceless stranger’s hand on her tit. She had assumed it was Steven at the time…
It was a catching atmosphere…the cool night air… shoulder to shoulder people… the costumes…the beads… the masks… the smell of the food… the junk vendors… the stuff thrown from the floats…
The floats. While there was a growing satisfaction in having dared to do what she had done, it was ultimately the floats that had caused her mood to gradually change. In October or so, articles started appearing in the newspaper about the secret societies that paid for, built, and manned the floats, with occasional snippets regarding past Kings and Queens, ballrooms committed for the societies, and Even fundraisers to be held.
She had turned to the internet for information about these groups. She had quickly found that her blood would never be blue enough for the local in-crowd to be asked to join one of the main societies, and that had caused a strange depression in her, and precious little was known about most. Her memories were treasured, but they began souring as she dwelled on the fact that she had participated in “their” event. Mardi Gras wasn’t “hers,” not that anyone would claim to own it, but it certainly would never belong to a woman from North Carolina. It made her seem a stranger in… not a strange land – strange as it was, but a known land. And that just made her mad.

Steven had noticed her turn in mood, and it was him, ironically, she thought now, that had suggested she talk to Louise about it. And she had, shortly after Thanksgiving, when she had invited Louise to lunch.
“So, you’re jealous of the local high society?” asked Louise. “Listen, people pay a lot of money to join those societies. And it’s basically just a party. They spend tons of money on the floats, their costumes, the ball, the parties leading up to the ball… It’s very expensive. Why can’t you just enjoy it as you have? After the way you finally joined in last year, we’re really looking forward to another Mardi Gras with you. You’re officially an exhibitionist, you know.”
“I am, am I?”
“Doing it once is a dare. Doing it, well, how many times? Honey, that’s the real you finding it’s way out. You’re official alright. John and I had decided that you didn’t have it in you, but then you, well, exhibited your true nature.” Louise laughed. “Look, I’ve been showing off down there since I was 16, but don’t tell my parents if you ever meet them! But I guess I had forgotten how people might be shy about it, if I ever knew that to begin with. And now, here I am, 38 years old, with a buddy to keep me young! And with John sharing in it, it’s just wonderful!”
“Well, in a way, it’s the sharing that’s been the problem. And I don’t mean the awkwardness of my friend and neighbor’s husband having seen my boobs, as awkward as that sometimes seems to be.”
Louise looked baffled.
“Oh, I’m over that! But Louise, haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to ride on a float, to take a peek at Mardi Gras from the inside? You’ve lived here a while. Have you ever been invited to join a society?”
Louise didn’t answer, then broke eye contact.
“I can see it! Don’t hold out on me!” said Hayley.
Louise shook her head. “No, Hayley. I’ve never been a member. I’ve… Well, John was once a part of… I guess you would call it a feeder group. A few of the societies have…well, they’re not members, but they’re relationships with others that do certain work to help the society get ready, like volunteers. There’s a lot of charities that benefit from the Krewes, you know. So, John helped once.”
Hayley sniffed a story and wasn’t about to let it drop. “And? That’s it? I don’t think so. Continue, please…”
Louise looked uncertain.
“Louise… Come on. And? You were invited to a ball? Or, you were invited to ride a float? What?”
Louise exhaled loudly, obviously making a decision to give in. “Yes, I got to ride a float. There’s this one all-male Krewe that sometimes hides a woman on the float, sort of. It’s kind of like a guest of honor, and it was John’s… I won’t call it work. But basically he got me the ride.
“Was it fun? Did you get to go to a ball? Did you get to throw beads and cups and stuff? When did you do that?”
Louise looked guilty. “Actually, two years ago.”
“Two… You never told me!”
“Well, you never asked! No really, it’s supposed to be a secret.”
“How about John? Did he get to ride, too?”
“No. I guess you could say I reaped the benefit of his contributions.”
“That’s so great! Were you invited back last year?”
“No, it was a one time opportunity.”
“Is there anyway John could work me in?”
Louise looked slightly distressed, and Hayley was surprised by it, but not enough to let her off the hook. This was something she really wanted, and she let the silence linger. Louise shifted, her face the picture of a petition to escape a hangman’s noose, or in this case, answering the question. Hayley stared at her, ready for a long term contest of wills.
Louise resigned the stand off, as Hayley knew she would. “Hayley, you really don’t know what you’re asking, you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“I don’t know. Naïve? Not from around here? Too good a friend? I just don’t know how to explain it to you without… Well, there’s a certain… Hayley, I just don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
Hayley considered this and made a decision. “Louise, whatever it is, I promise not to hold it against you. I’m a grown woman. I’m 36 years old, just a couple years younger than you. I can handle it. Please!”
“You’re 36? Maybe there’s something to numerology after all.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. You’re not going to like this, but I really, truly can’t tell you what the evening is about, other than riding on the float, obviously. I’ll have to talk to John, and then…well, maybe you’ll receive an invitation in the mail.” Louise looked at the hope on Hayley’s face. “Hayley, you really are naïve. I shouldn’t even say this, but I’ll tell you this. It’s not a free ride, but I am absolutely convinced it’s an evening you would enjoy. Oh, and I’ll tell you that the night makes sense afterwards.”
“That’s it? You can’t tell me anything more?”
“No. It’s one of those ‘I’d have to kill you if I did’ things. Like I said, let me talk to John.”
Hayley remembered the strangeness of Louise’s parting comment. “You’re really 36?”
“Yes, why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something to those Tarot quacks in Jackson Square, after all.”

For the next two weeks, Hayley’s thoughts had bounced between Christmas and Louise. Louise had said that she had talked to John the same day, and that John had agreed to start the process. She said to watch for a piece of registered mail. It would be addressed to Steven and not to open it.
Steven’s letter did finally come, but it had to be signed for by him, and it was another day before he was able to go to the post office to pick it up. She hoped it had answers. Still, Louise had told her to play dumb about it. It was part of the process, and she wasn’t to even let Steven know about their whole discussion. But she hadn’t said to ignore a registered letter, after all!
“Well, what’s the important letter?” she had asked oh-so casually as Steven arrived home. It was disappointing to have considered all sorts of strategies to find out about the letter only to have her excitement cut to the simplest of forms.
Steven had also answered casually, damn him. “Oh, that. It’s just an invitation to an informational meeting from a guy I know. I think it’s one of those multi-level marketing or business things.”
Yeah, right. “Oh. Like Amway? Is that all? What a waste of time. I can’t imagine someone sending that by registered mail.” I’m not letting you off that easy, hubby.
“Well, he had told me about it, and he’s a good friend. So I’ll at least sit through the one session. I’ve always been a bit curious about these things.”
Not as much as me! “When is it?”

It was two nights later, and Steven returned late, offering nothing to her in the way of information. She had searched for the original letter in the house to no gain, not to mention the trash, his car, his briefcase, his suit pockets… She also searched for any of this “multi-
level” marketing crap that, in theory, he would have returned with, and she wasn’t surprised not to find that either. Damn.
Then the quiet period had come. It hadn’t been until mid-January when her head started spinning.
He had arrived at the door, knocking several times, with even, firm taps. Through her peep hole she was a liveried courier, and a glance through the window indicated a limousine. In all likelihood, this either had to be her invitation, or else Ed McMahon was waiting outside also with a $1 million check. And she hadn’t entered that sweepstakes, but it felt the same. She opened the door.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I presume you are Hayley Anders Fleming?”
The use of her middle name was unexpected. “Yes, I am.”
“Very good.” He placed an envelope in her hand, then held her wrist firmly as he said, “For your sincerest consideration, I offer you this invitation.”
What do you say to that? “Thank you,” she said, with more eagerness than had intended.
“And for our sincerest appreciation of your beauty, I offer you this rose.” It was a beautiful red rose in a black vase marked with a golden “36” on it’s side.
“Good day, ma’am.” He bowed slightly, turned and left. She remained at the door, somewhat stunned as he began to pull away. How did he know her middle name? Who was “us?” And had they seen her before to know that she was… well, attractive, she thought. And then there was that 36... Then she ran inside, setting the vase down quickly and roughly tearing the envelope open. She didn’t know much about stationary, but she knew the paper was expensive.
Dearest Mrs. Fleming,
You have been nominated and accepted by the OBO as a candidate for our society’s charitable evening, to be held Thursday, February 19th, 2004. Mardi Gras in our City has become known for its licentious behavior, a behavior in which we, the men of OBO, freely participate.
Of you, Mrs. Fleming, much will be required, and much will be offered. The evening will begin by your honoring the Krewe of Chaos as a guest aboard one of their floats. This is, however, only the beginning of the evening, and the only aspect of which you may know in advance.
This opportunity will only be offered once. This invitation may incite certain questions. We ask that you trust the judgment of your nominator, who will not be revealed to you, that you will find this to be not only a rewarding and exciting evening, but one that fulfills some, or perhaps all, of your deepest desires.
To accept our invitation, you must present this invitation to Mr. Chin, at 400 Toulouse Street, promptly at 3:00 p.m., Wednesday, January 21, 2004.
Cordially,
The 36
She had spent days reading over the invitation, and had shown it to Louise in the hope of her letting out some details or at least some hints. Aside from an initial admission of feeling a great sense of guilt, Louise had finally brightened, although she offered no help at all in coming up with acronyms for OBO or explaining the meaning of “36.” Order of Better Orgasms? Oreos Bring Orgasms? It was pointless speculating, but the orgasms came naturally enough as she considered what this was about.
And, therefore, she had dutifully presented herself to Mr. Chin. This Mr. Chin had her strip to just her panties and had carefully measured her in every way she thought possible. Although quite the professional, he had seemingly touched her in every possible place before dismissing her abruptly with the words “You get package delivered. Here.” Thank you, Mr. Chin.
“Here” had referred to another note, which simply thanked her for accepting, and indicated that she was to set aside 4:30 p.m. through the night on Feb. 21st. She had imagined a Ball that started at midnight. Maybe.
In the coming weeks, she had fretted over what excuses she might offer Steven for her evening…would it be the whole night?... away, but several days ahead he indicated he would be working out of town. That was a relief, sort of. Although she didn’t anticipate betraying their vows, holding a secret wasn’t healthy to a marriage. As the first note had said, she had to trust her sponsor, whom, of course, she knew was John. She tried to imagine receiving the invitation without knowing who the sponsor was or any other clues. Had Louise known when she had done this? The thought was both erotic and terrifying. She was happy to be able deal with just the erotic…, although, there were plenty of questions that, if answered certain ways, could be terrifying. Trust your sponsor. Trust your sponsor…
The 21st finally finished creeping up on her. She was beginning to have serious doubts. Was someone going to call her? Pick her up? If she was supposed to be downtown for a parade, it was going to take time to cross Lake Ponchartrain and fight rush hour, especially with the mobs in town, to get to the French Quarter.
The promised package never showed until 1:00 p.m., and what was that? Two hours ago? It was delivered by a commercial courier this time. Her “package” included one hanging garment in a box and a smaller cube shaped box. Both boxes were black and were adorned with “36” on them. The smaller box had contained the shoes now on her feet, hosiery, and garters.
As she held each aloft, she was thankful that she had thought to tell the kids to go to a neighbor’s house after school. Claire seemed to manage a co-op of sorts to baby-sit for the majority of the neighborhood whenever the parades were scheduled.
For as little as she received, though, there were plenty of surprises. She was surprised that the shoes fit so well for being so new. She would have liked to have known a brand for future purchases, but there was none, other than a small indentation indicating the crafter’s mark, she believed. Which meant that this was custom.
The hose and garters also fit perfectly, with no adjustment needed. She would have guessed some strap adjustments would be necessary, but not in this case. The box had also contained a note, indicating that the delivered clothes were to be her only attire for the evening. Her first cursory look had revealed that she had a little trimming to do with her “winter growth.” Having reassembled, the black garter straps provocatively framed her freshly trimmed mound, now sporting the clean lines of a narrow triangle. She shuddered to think that she might be flashing someone “that,” but on the other hand, the provisions made it seem likely that she would be asked. And she would, she knew, because the moment would be too strong for the 51% now saying “This is wrong.” But if she were asked, and said yes, she would have been mortified if she hadn’t trimmed.
That she wasn’t to wear a bra wasn’t a surprise. She did like surprises, though, and it was for that reason that she hadn’t opened the garment box until that moment. But when she had opened the garment bag, her dress hadn’t surprised her. It shocked her. It shocked her still. And it was at her dress that she continued to gaze upon now.
It, like the rest of her wardrobe, was black. Black was good for slimming the appearance, but she didn’t particularly need slimming and that wasn’t the point. The dress clung tightly to her skin, but that wasn’t a surprise either. It seemed to cling to the very places in which Mr. Chin had placed his hand, which was all over. Such a tight fitting dress wasn’t what she would have chosen, perhaps, but…
It had been confusing to put on, with the left arm opening impossibly wide. It was so wide that she had thought that surely she had somehow missed both a head and an arm opening. But there it was. The dress clung to her thighs mere inches below her crotch, roundly fastening to her hips before diving in to her waist. It clung for a short distance to her abdomen, before turning with a direct line for her right shoulder, slightly flattening her breast yet managing to capture her natural curves, with not a single wrinkle.
The problem was her bare left tit.
As she looked now, her right nipple was fully erect, obvious under the tight fabric. And she imaged that, if viewed doubtfully by a casual observer, then one had only to glance at the other more directly observable nipple for conformation that, yes, the protrusions are at the same elevation and are, indeed, a matched pair. She was getting silly now.
There had been one other item on the hangar, and she put that on now, a short black shawl to cover her shoulders and her breast. It seemed a barely practical accessory to what was almost a Spandex toga. A single button and loop connected the halves. The left nipple remained more prominent than the right, as it had only half the fabric thickness covering it. Yet, this wasn’t as obvious, due to an embroidered “OBO” in gold threads, set on the shawl upon her left breast. What? No “36?”
She raised the shawl. Boob. She lowered it. No boob. A dress with one boob exposed. Something clicked. Aha… One Breast Out. OBO. There, that was it. She was tempted to call Louise and tell her the gag was over. But really, it wasn’t. She had no idea what to expect.
She returned to the bathroom, checking her hair, checking her light makeup, checking her teeth, checking anything but her eyes. She didn’t want to go there. Her mind was made up; she was going. She had shown her breast before; she would do it again. No big deal. Really. No big deal.
She argued with herself about not being brave enough to argue with herself regarding the wisdom of the whole enterprise. This wasn’t terrifying, she knew. It was more of a nervous excitement. And looking at herself in the mirror, again, she felt dressed beautifully, and if she could only look herself in the eye, she knew that she would see beauty there as well. Thank you, Mr. Courier and the 36. How curious it was that with a simple flip of her shawl, she felt beautifully… pagan? Her thoughts were finally interrupted by a knock at the front door. It was 4:30. And there was a limo waiting.
The ride was wonderful, but lonely. The driver wouldn’t talk, although she caught him steal glances in his rear view mirror several times. She had been mindful to cross her legs when she sat, but she couldn’t remember if she had maintained her poise as she had entered the limo. Maybe she had unintentionally invited his glances now. She had never worn so short a dress or a skirt.
Her immodest attire had certainly changed her ability to concentrate. She tried to think of what the parade would be like, she couldn’t think about it for more than five seconds before she started dwelling on her dress, and how it might play a part in the evening. She decided on a more deliberate and controllable course by helping herself to a glass of white wine. It soothed her nerves. A bit, anyway.
As they began their drive across the bridge, she saw the bright flame of a refinery west of Kenner venting gas, a veritable beacon. It was rare to see that, due to environmental requirements. With her shawl off, she, too, would draw attention, and she already felt a tinge of heat between her legs. If there was a similarity to her and the refinery, she only hoped her fine wouldn’t be as severe.
As they continued, she speculated where she might be delivered. Her guesses of law offices, a hotel, an accountant firm, a street corner with the other women participating, and surely there would be other women, were all completely wrong. She was dropped off at a fading, beat up metal building with gunshot holes in the wall just east of the Quarter. Faded paint indicated it had once been a cotton warehouse. Royal Street. How ironic. She was receiving the royal treatment, certainly. But in whose kingdom?
She exited the limo rather gracefully, she thought, for being so focused on keeping thighs pressed together. She was ushered indoors, where she found other women waiting in a moderately sized room, surprisingly well appointed. There were only 10 of them, gathered in an unnatural silence. She would have guessed that there would have been 36…
Then it dawned on her. All the women appeared to be about the same age. And two years ago, Louise would have been…
“A question. Does everyone here happen to be 36 years old?”
This was quickly confirmed. How… unusual! No one had an explanation for it. But at least it started conversation. No one seemed to know anything other than what she knew, and all had the same fears and excitement that she did, it seemed. They shared several trays of hor’s doerves, talking lightly, about… nothing really. And they waited.
The building did turn out to be a warehouse, after all, one used by the Krewe to apparently build and stage their floats. She was escorted to a float colorfully decorated like a jester. And although she didn’t dwell on it, she had half expected for them to ask for her shawl before climbing aboard. That didn’t happen, but as she surveyed the steps to the float and the assortment of goods that she would have to climb over, it would be impossible for her to maintain her modesty. Strangely, her spirits lifted. She knew maintaining her modesty was not what this evening was to be about. And as the several men grew to a small group as she approached the steps, there was more than a twinge of excitement as she climbed, making neither an obvious show of her sex nor awkwardly trying to keep her thighs closed. She finally settled in a centrally located seat, with some vocal admiration from the assembled gallery.
It was a different kind of exhibition, the “accidental” type. Intentionally accidental, perhaps. But she knew that she would try something similar again, with Steven around. Steven! At that thought, she mentally sobered, feeling more than a twinge of guilt for carrying on without him there, and without him knowing, even, what she was up to.
The men filled in around her, and the floats began to move. There was ample beer, but more importantly to her, there were boxes of beads, plastic cups, doubloons, and candy placed about her, and she was encouraged to throw the items as she wished. She was surprised to find a pretty good quantity of stuffed animals, even. She was also provided with a feathered mask that she was to wear which matched those to be worn by the Krewe. Fortunately, it proved to be comfortable.
There was much to remember about the parade. She had great fun tossing items and waving. She tried to target children and those kindred spirits that bared their breasts for the men around her on the float. She had been tempted several times to lift her shawl, but that seemed like cheating her evening in some sense. Her time would come…and there was always Fat Tuesday around the corner when she could flash more conventionally to her heart’s desire. And her desires were strong.
After the parade and enough time for traffic to clear the backstreets of the Quarter, they were guided to the limousines and driven a short distance where they turned into an very narrow gated alley. This led to a courtyard that otherwise wouldn’t be visible in the street. The area was well lighted, with a central fountain and ample plants hanging from the upstairs walkways that surrounded the courtyard. The building appeared to be an old hotel, possibly converted into several apartments or condominiums.
They were led to one of the upstairs rooms, where they were again treated to a light snack. The room was equipped with mirrors, brushes, combs and an assortment of makeup. It was both an obvious and welcome opportunity to clean up a bit, before… whatever. Everyone was talking about their trip on the floats as they groomed. After about half an hour, the conversation was interrupted as the gentleman who had originally handed her the invitation entered the room.
“Good evening, ladies. Our party has assembled. We will be calling you individually. Mrs. Connor, would you please accompany me at this time? A brunette who had been pacing walked to the door, where she accepted the gentlemen’s arm. The door was closed, and she was gone. And the room became quiet for a time.
Just as conversation would return, the gentlemen would return. Mrs. Daniels. Mrs. LeCroix. Mrs. Shaner. Ms. Williams. Mrs. Lombardier. And so it went. Hayley wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, as there were no clocks in the room, but it seemed like the intervals were getting longer and longer. Mrs. Gottschall. Mrs. Landon.
There were three of them now. A lady she now knew as Addison looked like she might pass out. She kept repeating, “oh my God!” again and again. The gentleman returned, and Mrs. Fauber, as she turned out to be, was led away.
“Any final ideas before one of us is called away?” Stephanie asked.
“Not really. A bunch of 36 year old women, all pretty. All with great figures. All wearing a dress that leaves one breast out.”
“Oh! Is that what that means?”
“That’s my guess…”
Then Lynn was called away, and she was alone. Figures. Last.
She sang the ending of a children’s song to herself. “There were two in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over. So they all rolled over and one fell out, and the little one said, Good Night!”
Well, she hoped it would be, and she certainly had one breast that fell out.
The door, finally, opened.
They walked a short distance down the 2nd floor balcony to another room. This room appeared to be lived in, but temporarily converted to a photography studio. The gentleman waited outside. The photographer seated her on a stool and angled the lights slightly. Curtains were behind her, one embroidered with a large “36” and the other with “OBO.” The photographer stepped behind her, straightening her back and directing her jaw at a certain angle. He then, professionally, she remarked, removed her shawl. She colored slightly, a breast visible to this stranger in a rather more intimate setting than the public streets. There found a sense of irony in that, and he seemed to appreciate her expression as again assessed her posture and placed her mask on her face. He then darted behind the camera.
His task was completed quickly, and he also proved to be a man of few words. “Please step forward.” She did, and he placed the shawl about her shoulders, leaving it to her to refasten. “This photograph will adorn the walls in our member’s hall. You, of course, will be receiving a framed portrait of the same. Should you wish to display it.” It was clear he saw the humor in the likelihood of her hanging this picture in her house.
He opened the door for her, where her escort was waiting.

They continued along the balcony into another portion of the building. She was immediately taken with the décor of the room she entered, completely packed with art on the walls, blown glass collections, sculptures, old books. A private library… There was wealth here.
They exited the room to a landing, where she descended a wooden curved stair case, possibly imported and antique. The room was lit by a suspended light, set behind a large circular assembly of stained glass. She dared not look at it long, however, as she may have tripped. And besides, there were a gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs, in what was a surprisingly large room. They all wore various masks, unrecognizable, each in a black tuxedo. She didn’t have to count, but if she guessed, there were probably 36 of them, many seated, some standing at the sides are rear. A small platform had been placed at the foot of the stairway, which she didn’t notice until she found herself on stage. It was well padded and carpeted, with a stained railing on each side, carved in the same shape as the stairwell railing. The only person who wasn’t masked was a bartender in the rear.
Her escort continued to hold her arm in arm and then cleared his voice as he faced the audience.
“Gentlemen, may I present… Mrs. Hayley!” The men applauded, and she blushed horribly behind her mask. She was glad, though, they didn’t use her last name.
He let go of her arm, stepping behind her. “Mrs. Hayley, your shawl please.” He was the only man not wearing a mask, and he had seemed so impossibly kind as to so directly ask her for her shawl. But yet, he was impossible to refuse, and really, she knew she wouldn’t anyway. She unclasped her button, and he withdrew her shawl over her shoulders.
The sensations were…overwhelming. Her face remained red, but the tingling in her breasts made her wonder if her breasts were blushing as well. Her nipples, she knew, were hard, but she didn’t dare look at herself. She might faint. It was somehow easier to look at the anonymous men in the audience. She realized the lighting, too, worked in their favor, as she was illuminated by lamps set behind the men.
She was shivering… No, it was tremors. It was one thing to flash someone with your own effort. This was quite different, with a complete stranger exposing her breast to a group of men. Despite the tremors and some fairly heavy breaths, she felt steady, and realized the trembling was inside. Butterflies. She was 36 years old and a bunch of men were now talking about her, looking at her and particularly at her breast. At the same time, they were casually holding their mixed beverages as if this was an ordinary occurrence. She being the tenth lady of the evening, a particularly poor choice of words to dwell on, maybe it was ordinary for them by now. But they were admiring her, and she liked it. She smiled inwardly. She smiled outwardly. She really couldn’t believe she was doing this!
“Order, gentlemen!” Her escort was definitely the man in charge. “As usual, you will appreciate that I kept the best for last.” There was an “amen” from the audience. “Thank you, sir. Mrs. Fleming comes to us from Mandeville, only the second to ever grace us from outside our two Parishes. I would expect that the rules committee will extend the waiver on geographical requirements we set two years ago; I would suggest permanently, based on the evidence. But I digress.”
“Mrs. Hayley, it is proper for you to know a bit about us, as we are obviously admirers of you. OBO is, at our core, a charitable organization. Your sponsor has met the $3,000 entry requirement for your attendance this year. As the gentlemen here have heard nine previous times this evening, this only meets our expenses in providing such a visual allure to our members this evening.” Hayley was stunned. She would pay John back every dime; it was worth it.
“We are unlike other Krewes in that the gentlemen here give charitably to a variety of causes, driven by professional appropriateness, or, more often, spousal edicts.” There was much laughter in the room. “Pardon them. It’s obvious I’m loosening up at last.” Applause followed.
“Well, our wives still direct the monies we give, but we do receive in other ways. Several of us began this organization 10 years ago, over a conversation about… about what, gentlemen?”
“Mother’s I’d Like to Fuck!” several yelled in unison. There was much laughter.
“Pardon them. But MILF was a term that just seemed very humorous to several men gathered at a bar. Then we realized how many good looking women there are in this City, and how obviously superior they were to men of taste beyond the, well, capable younger women that perform on Bourbon, professionally or otherwise.”
“And so we have our bit of fun, searching out the best MILF’s our area has to offer.” He reached for a straight cane, with which he teased her nipple, then raised her breast slightly with the tip. “Gentlemen, you see here 36-C according to Mr. Chin. 36 is such a wonderful number; it works on so many levels.” There was laughter in the room.
“Please tell me, gentlemen, that you are not spent for the evening. What wonders lie beyond this dark fabric?” He touched her thigh at crotch level with his cane, then moved the tip in circles in the air. Hayley took the hint, and turned around, giving them a rear view. This was a strip-tease fundraiser. This could be fun! And the mask certainly covered her cheeks and eyes; this was safe. But she would play it as she was led. She wiggled her hips, then returned to face the audience.
“Finally, gentleman, we have a game participant! Bidding begins at $1,000. But surely gentlemen, we can have a better offer! Ahh, sorry to leave you without an understanding, Mrs. Hayley. That night, Our MILF discussion was oddly conjoined by a member who bought a used car for his son. Please, we’re not comparing you to a used car; far from it! But MILF has a certain vulgarity to it. But a term he mentioned we came to adopt, OBO.”
“Would you know, Miss Hayley, what OBO means?”
She did. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t remembered it before. “Or best offer.”
“And such a wonderful voice! So many of our attractions remain so quiet.”
Please, do not take offense. We’ve come to think of such things as “certified, pre-owned, but the OBO remains.”
“And what is our best offer, gentlemen?”
“Who has $1,000 for the lady to flash us her other breast!” Hayley put a hand on the edge of her fabric, as is ready to pull the dress off her shoulder, teasing them, causing a vocal stir.
“Number24!”
“Thank you sir, you now have an obligation. Miss Hayley?”
She had never before imagined herself stripping in front of men. Wait… she had. Who was she kidding? She pulled the dress from her shoulder, slowly pulling it away, revealing more of her right breast, finally revealing her hard nipple. She squeezed both breasts together for show, then turned her back and pulled her dress back up.
“Oh my!”
“Best offers gentlemen? Do I hear a bid for her dress to return to its better suited position, namely, off her shoulder so that we may all marvel at length at her marvels?”
“$2,000”
“3!”
“I’ll go 4K”
“Once, twice, sold! Number 3, you now have an obligation. Mrs. Hayley?”
This would happen only once, Louise had said. “I can manage, but I’d manage better with the gentlemen’s assistance.” She had managed a polite, teasing tone.
“Whoa! She’s the best!”
Number 3 quickly approached, and stood at one side so all could see. He slowly lowered her dress, trailing its edge with his fingers down the slope of her breasts. His fingers trailed circles around her nipple, then he cupped her breast. His face lowered closer to it, and he asked “May I?”
“Four thousand dollars? Sure.” As he gently probed her nipple with his tongue and began sucking, she added, “But only for a bit!”
“I like a woman with…spunk! Don’t we all?” There was much laughter; she didn’t think he had been that funny.
“Thank you, Number 3. Now, perhaps we have someone who would be willing to offer $2,000 for Mrs. Hayley to give us a peek at what’s under the hood?”
“Done!”
“Thank you Number 7! You now have an obligation. Mrs. Hayley, will you accommodate us?”
Did she have a choice? She supposed, really, that she did. No one had ever said anything about not going through with it. It didn’t matter… she was into the game. She raised the hem of her dress, to just above her garters. Let them look!
“Wonderful, simply wonderful! Gentlemen, I’m suspecting that for another $2,000, Mrs. Hayley may just get a bit closer to the edge of the stage, bend over, and give us quite another view!”
Hayley couldn’t resist. “I think you undervalue me, sir! That would be $4,000.”
The gentleman was genuinely surprised. “Indeed! Is there a taker?”
“I’ll do it!” said a man on the front row. “And I’ll double it if she loses the whole dress in the process.”
“Thank you! Number 28, you have an obligation. As to the amount, we’ll let Mrs. Hayley decide.”
This was beyond, what? Her expectations? Yes. Beyond idle fantasies that she had ever masturbated to? Of course not! And after all, it was for charity.
She moved to the forward edge of the stage, only several feet from the nearest men, turned her back to them, and spread her legs slightly. Balance. Balance is good. She leaned over, her naked breasts dangling in their freed state. She heard murmurs and whistles from unbelieving admirers, knowing they were delighting in the view of her sex. Had the other women not gone this far? Surely some had.
She straightened and moved her legs closer together. The shoes were comfortable, but she wasn’t the most confident woman in heels. She swayed her hips slowly as she moved the dress over her hips, her back still to the men, then let it fall and stepped away from it.
“Turn around!”
She looked over her shoulder at them. Should she suggest more money? No, probably not. She turned, bent a knee slightly, and stretched the other out slightly. She put her hands on her hips and struck what she believed to be an elegant pose. Silence. More silence. Did she do something wrong?
She looked towards the gentleman, which interrupted his daydream, or, well, whatever he was thinking.
“Now, gentlemen.” He seemed to be actually catching his breath. She smiled at him, causing him to take another couple breaths. The power a woman can have over men... “I believe that this is the finest show we’ve had in quite some time. You can just imagine from the wonderful spirit she has shown, to the rest of her magnificent body, what more she has to give.”
“There have been several others tonight, whose sponsors were willing to go the distance, but this! Again, I saved the best for last.”
What did he mean about the sponsors? She was doing all the “charitable work!”
“The sponsor of Mrs. Hayley is willing to permit the Revelation, if we are willing to donate a suitable amount.” What did this mean? A Revelation? Reveal what? They had seen her already. Was she to have sex? With John? That was overstepping things.
Offers were being heard.
“I’ve got $4k”
“Thank you Number 38!”
“I’ll add $5,000.”
“Thank you Number 30!”
“We’re not there yet. Others?”
“My wife sent me with instructions to donate $15,000. We had a good year. I’ll spend it right here, bless her.”
“And bless you, Number 2!”
You each have an obligation.
Hayley felt a slight bend in the platform just as she felt hands on her shoulders. She heard an almost inaudible “Shhhhhhh” whispered in her ear. It was enough to make her think it might be Steven, but she couldn’t be sure. Trust you sponsor… Was Steven her sponsor? Or was it John?
It was only as she felt her juices began to flow down her leg that found herself surprised she hadn’t been leaking since she arrived on the stage. She was so turned on! Here she was, wearing only a few leather straps on her feet, black hose, and garters, in a room with 36 or so men watching. If she could just put her finger… there… she would come in two seconds!
The gentleman stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the men. He withdrew her mask, which left her dizzy with embarrassment, but then placed a blindfold over her eyes. Oh God! She might never know who it was behind her. She might never know!
She could hear… Steven, it had to be him for her to keep sane, undressing behind her. It just had to be him. Oh God, she couldn’t believe this!
She felt his hands find their way under her arms, fondling her breasts. It seemed to be Steven’s touch, and he would always go for the breasts first. It had to be him. Then she felt him exhale slightly on her neck, which was followed by a lingering kiss. That wasn’t necessarily like Steven.
She felt his hands caress her sides, working their way towards… He’d better be careful, or she would orgasm…like he cared. He caressed her trimmed hair briefly, then his fingers found their way to either side of her clit, rubbing his tips in circular motions. It was almost enough, but not quite… If he would just put the slightest pressure on her clit, she’d be out of control. But he didn’t. She felt his fingers barely enter her opening, pulling her lips apart. This was nothing like a flash! This was a revelation of… of her sex!
As soon as she had formed a mental picture of her exposed cunt before a crowd of men, she felt hands – others’ hands, on her thighs, and still others on her back and under her shoulders, and she was lifted. Again, she felt fingers pulling her lips apart, and she knew that the men could see her sex much more clearly,
Then she orgasmed, hard. Steven, or John, or whoever, had just pressed on her clit, and her mouth opened, gasping for breaths as the sensations washed through her. Her hands searched for a cock to hold, but she couldn’t find anything but air. Instead, she pinched her nipples between her thumb and the side of her index finger, rolling them slightly back and forth, extending… heightening even, her orgasm.
“Remarkable, gentlemen. Remarkable. Please move her to the side so that her sponsor can continue.”
She was turned… sideways, she decided, and her hands were placed on a rail as her legs were lowered to the floor. Then she felt a shaft pressed against her, teasing her opening, and a single pair of hands on her hips. His brushes against her made him seem big, so big. Steven was kind of big… was he this big?
“Gentlemen, as we have met the donation amount qualified by Mrs. Hayley’s sponsor for the Revelation, I will add some details. She is 36 years old, as you know. She has been married for 12 years and is the mother of two, ages 8 and 10. As you can see, she has no tattoos or unusual piercings. She jogs regularly and works out frequently, the benefits of which we can appreciate. She has had three previous lovers, all in college. Two were boyfriends. One was a one-night stand, were we all so lucky. She is in a committed marriage at this time, and I must caution that any further personal contact from our members is not desired.”
Hayley couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Her husband indicated to us on his information card that she sucks his cock when he initiates it, but she cannot deep throat. She has let him cum on her face once, which he greatly enjoyed and continues to enjoy from videotape. She loves to watch him cum on her breasts as often as he would like. We can only hope for that! She has no favored sexual position, variety being the spice of life. However, he particularly appreciates it when she is on top, as her hair tickles his face and her breasts dangle before him. And indeed, as we can see, they dangle deliciously, do they not? Interestingly, she has not been prone to exhibitionism until last year’s Mardi Gras. I think we can expect more of that!”
Steven! How could he reveal so much about her!! The irony of this thought struck her as she considered her current situation. Then her heart skipped a beat.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce to you Mrs. Hayley Anders Fleming of Mandeville!
What!!!?
She understood the blindfold now; she couldn’t possibly stand to see any of those men! They knew everything about her! Just as she was thinking this, she felt whoever’s hand brush her skin as he directed his shaft towards her cunt. “This is wrong!” resounded through her head, but there was no stopping her from spreading her legs to silence that nasty 51%.
And he was big, bigger maybe than she had thought. He stretched her, and although she knew she was plenty wet, he slowly penetrated her, working his way in, until reaching her depth. Finally, she felt his balls pressed tight against her, and she knew he was in all the way. He was just soooo big… It had to be Steven, just because it had to be. And if it was, he had kept a very big secret for 12 years, because he had never filled her so fully before.
It wasn’t an orgasm that she felt. It was tremors, in her knees, in her ribs, up her spine…and definitely in her cunt. She felt his hands leave her hips to reach beneath her, feeling the weight of her breasts, then pinching her nipples. His cock changed orientation slightly as he shifted his weight, and her tremors were out of control. She could feel her breasts jiggling, and he wasn’t even stroking her. Enough. Enough!
“AAAIIIIIeeeee! Fuck me! Fuck me now!”
Suddenly, she felt so empty, and then he was huge as she swallowed him up. He thrust inside, touching her all the way to… and out again. She could breathe, but only for a moment, and he was filling her again.
Her breasts were… “dancing” as Steven had liked to say. But it was more of a sprint, swaying and slapping against her body in rhythm with his thrusts. Oh! She was so naked! And then, he was into her again, impossibly far! How could she ever ask Louise how big John was? And out again. Breathe! This had to be Steven; it had to be. Her breasts weren’t the only thing slapping. She could feel his balls with each stroke. Did Steven’s balls slap against her? She couldn’t remember! Men were watching her get fucked! He filled her again, and her breath was gone, her heart racing. She was seeing stars. Oh! Her lungs filled with air. These men knew her name! Everything about…
She felt a surge of warmth inside her; she knew he had cum. Yet, he still thrust faster… He didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. This wasn’t like Stev… He had to be super turned on; that had to be it.
She didn’t think she had another orgasm in her, but it came, suddenly, and hard, tingling up her spine. The stars were out again. He was so big and felt so good. She rested her head on the railing, her arm beneath her. She needed to catch her breath. So many to catch…
“Gentlemen, look how red she is. See the splotching on her breasts.” She felt his cane again against her flesh. She moaned. Was it the cool surface of the cane or the spectacle of her wonton exhibition? It was less than a minute before she began trembling again. She turned, reaching for…Steven. He held her close. His height seemed right, but he and John were the same height she knew. Her hand found his chest. It seemed hairy. Was Steven that hairy? She couldn’t remember. She could rip off her blindfold and know. But maybe it was best not to know.

“Gentlemen, this being the end of our evening’s entertainment, I will ask Mrs. Hayley for a final benefit.” She felt her arm being placed in the gentleman’s arm yet again. Steven, or John, was lost to her.
“Mrs. Hayley, there is no polite way to ask this, but I will try to refrain from being coarse. You have won our admiration, and you have heightened our lusts. It has been a tradition to… but that is unfair. In most of our past years, our final guest has allowed this membership to share their appreciation our guest’s beauty by…how do I say… releasing our built up tension. Additionally, it offers each of us the chance to admire your wonderful body from a much closer perspective. We are not proposing sex; that is against our rules. But we would like to…”
“Cum on me?”
“Thank you, yes. For which we would be willing to contribute 10% of the entire night’s proceeds to you.”
If silence could be heard, she was hearing it. They were waiting. She tried not to think about what a mess they would make, but found herself irresistibly drawn to the notion of seeing 36 cocks in action. It had been 12 years with Steven, after all, and she was…well, curious.
“Then I have a proposition for you, sir. I will agree, but, I have two conditions. First, you keep your funds and donate them. Secondly.” She removed her blindfold. “Gentlemen, you have seem all of me, including, now, my face. But for this, I get to see a part of you.”
There was no argument and quick agreement.
A low table was brought out, and several blankets placed across it, with a pillow at the end. She laid on the blanket, finding it comfortable enough.
Two men approached, one on each side, their eyes canvassing her face, her breasts and her cunt as they dropped their trousers, then their boxers then… this was a treat. She watched as they stroked their cocks, their heads swollen from the start, and it was not long before their cum arched their way to her breasts.
Another pair approached, and she found the idle nature of her hands to be impossible to maintain. She reached her cunt with both, pulling her lips apart and touching herself…there… in her special way. Both men positioned themselves so that they could see, and it wasn’t long before one and then the other coated her thighs and the back of her hands with their cum.
The men remained anonymous behind their masks, but she had no interest in their faces. Their cocks were all she wanted to see. Longer, shorter, fatter, thinner, average, far above average, darker, paler, rounder, pointed…the variations were wonderful.
They seemed to almost worship her – their eyes told the story in the moments when she tried to watch… they were completely absorbed with her, and she tried not to think of herself as lying upon an altar. Their jism after each turn covered more and more of her, and she could see and hear the delight of the assembly as she worked it slowly about her, working it into her skin like a lotion.
The smell of their cum, the sight of their dicks, the utter stickiness of her hands resulted in a sudden urge to cum yet again, which she accomplished with her fingers as two more men came on her.
It was after this orgasm, a quiet, private type of stirring that she often had when she masturbated at home, that she became aware that the men were done, all except…her gentleman escort. Was he 36 or 37? He was older than the rest, not elderly, and his cock was a… a nice one, but on the average size of nice, and not quite fully erect. It contrasted with his massive balls. He stroked and stroked some more, but… she felt for him. Performance anxiety perhaps.
“Sir, may I?” She reached a hand towards his shaft.
“As much as I would like that, I’m afraid it’s against our rules.”
“Waived!” came an anonymous response from the men.
Hayley didn’t wait for him to think through a proper response, grasping him firmly, twisting slightly to get better leverage. He moved closer to her, giving her hand a greater range of motion. His skin was soft, although she could feel him harden at her touch. She wondered what his inspiration was… her breasts? Her cum covered cunt? She looked to his eyes, and saw that he was looking at hers.
That was possibly the kindest compliment he could give, in a weird sort of way. The head of his cock was close now, and she could see it swell. She whispered to him softly, “I want you to cum on me. Yes.” She felt him harden fully in her hand as she stroked his shaft. “That’s it, cum on…”
And he came. She didn’t realize how close he had drawn, and she would never know how long it had been for him. But his first release flew over her face in a stream, trailing into her hair, and the second shot forcefully onto her face, covering her cheek and eye Afterwards, they fell shorter, to her jaw, her shoulders, her breasts and her arm.
His cock quickly softened, and she released him, though she could make out that he continued to stand over her, admiring… whatever.
The smell of cum was overpowering, and she began to smooth his load away from her eyes so that she could see and off of her lips. She was a sticky mess all over, but what sights she had seen!
“Mrs. Hayley, you were indeed, our best offer. Thank you so much for accepting. You have been the most splendid revelation to all of us.” This was greeted by many cheers, but her attention suffered. She was spent.

She slept much of Friday, waking basically to masturbate herself back to sleep. Steven returned home from his “business trip” late that afternoon. She found that she couldn’t bring up the subject of the most exciting thing to happen to her in her life. And Steven, for his part, said nothing of what his trip had been like. Stalemate.
The weekend was full of sex, however. They laughed, they talked. It was like they were newlyweds, groping and fondling. Throughout, she expected Steven to get so turned on that he would open up the subject of OBO, but she couldn’t do it herself. After all, what if it had been John after all? That would be…disastrous.
And because he didn’t bring the subject up, that made her doubt the facts that otherwise led her to believe it had been him. He had received an invitation. He had provided the most private information, damn him, about her. His cock had hardly softened since he returned home. He had a glint in his eyes… It had to be him.
Louise also hadn’t spilled any helpful information. They shopped on Saturday for their ensembles for Mardi Gras together, which was great fun. The forecast was for a colder Fat Tuesday, so thoughts of miniskirts and heels were put aside. It wasn’t like wearing heels on the brick streets of the Quarter was a wise endeavor anyway. But they did manage to find tight leather pants that fit them very snugly. Yet, they were equipped with snaps instead of zippers, and they could be pulled down very quickly. The sales girl even said, “These will fit you so tight people can read your lips, if you know what I mean.” That inspired the same delicious thought in both of them. They made a pact to shave their mounds completely the morning of Fat Tuesday and leave all undergarments behind. They also found thin white sweaters with a loose weave, which gave a hint of their darker nipples underneath. If it was cold, a jacket was probable, but they certainly would have their fun. And if the sweaters should itch… well, the men could carry them.
It was huge fun in planning the day, but it wasn’t as much fun as it could have been, or should have been. Louise hinted time and again about Hayley’s special evening, even saying “What a revelation it would be” to the men when they lowered their pants in the crowds, but Hayley didn’t want to talk about it until the Steven vs. John issue was put to bed. That thought made her wince. So she told Louise that it would have to wait until another time, obviously disappointing her friend.
On Monday, a delivery service delivered a wrapped frame, two boxes, and a large envelope. She knew what the frame would hold in it. The photography turned out to be excellent, and the frame was elegant. Neither was a surprise. However, with kids around the house, she knew it would soon find its way into storage, but for the time being, she placed it under her bed. She had hopeful thoughts that some night when she was horny, she could place the portrait on the wall above their bed, an obvious sign to Steven that she needed attention. It was the only use for it that she could imagine.
The boxes were no surprise. She had seen identical boxes the week before. Her dress had been cleaned and returned to her as well as her shoes and hosiery. She didn’t recall leaving the items behind, or for that matter, exactly how she had returned home. She remembered a shower at the…club, was it? But here they were, and she was thankful to have them back, particularly the shoes. If her mystery man was Steven, she wouldn’t need the portrait; she would just reprise her role. But the envelope, that would be something new…
The envelope contained a DVD. This was, all things considered, an unsurprising surprise. She was fearful about what might be on it, yet, at the same time…she knew. Somewhere there had been a camera, and the rest was digital history. How many copies were made? She decided not to ponder that.
The film quantity was not up to the standards otherwise set by OBO, as her entire performance had been recorded from a single camera, with occasional zooms. The camera did keep focus on her, but there were only glimpses of the man who had participated in her “Revelation.” He was probably Steven’s height. But John’s height was the same. He had Steven’s hair color, somewhat more so than John’s. He was slender, again favoring Steven over John. And his skin was perhaps paler than John’s, although the lighting bleached their skin, she saw. And the mystery man had an annoying mask. But it looked mostly like Steven.
Still, there wasn’t enough to make her sure. Whatever certainty she lacked caused her nagging 51% to return. It had been a bad thing. She imagined a low voice, accusing her of crimes… “Adulteress! Fornicator! Exhibitionist! Everyone will know what you have done!” And truly, at times, she had half expected some bad thing to happen to her as confirmation of her guilt, or maybe punishment.
But watching the video, she realized that she really had enjoyed the whole of it, perhaps with the exception of this group of men knowing exactly who she was. Her flashes on the streets had been anonymous, but these men possessed her in her nakedness and in their knowledge of her. Still, the experience was a different, unexpected thrill, and as much as the evening was a revelation of herself to that group, it was even more of a revelation to herself. And the only thing lacking now was the sharing with Steven, the only piece, she realized, that was missing to her satisfaction.
That night, after the kids were in bed, she put the disc in the DVD player in their bedroom, stripped naked, and started the video. She lay on the bed, an elbow supporting her head as she lay on her side. She called for Steven, who entered wondering what was up. She was pleased to see that he was “up” as he saw her on the bed; she hoped he would stay that way. He sat at the edge of the bed, a hand on her calf, his attention drawn to the television. He was expressionless for several eternal moments, then he grinned, and that was all the confirmation that she needed.
“You.” She pointed at his crotch, then her own. “Come here. Make love to me.”
He looked her over, slowly, up her thighs to her hips, resting briefly on her mound, rising to her breasts which cuddled together, then to her lips, and her eyes.
Steven’s hand moved up her calf to her thigh as he said, “That is the most beautiful thing you have on! One question first. Is that what you’re wearing tomorrow when we go to the parades?”
“Pretty much.” She grinned, drawing closer to him. She lightly kissed him on the lips, then looked into his eyes. “Pretty much.”

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