Chapter 52: After-After Party
All three carloads up from Moab plus the assorted Salt Lake contingents met up after the event at the Alexanders’ huge house, which more than sufficed to accommodate a group this size.
“Y’all hafta see this,” gushed Molly Alexander as she led the party into their big private back yard, to the corner of the stone wall surrounding the property where there was an elevated semi-enclosed booth, perhaps a meter and a half square, about a stair tread’s height above the lawn.
That was when I noticed the shower head suspended from the underside of the pitched roof, though it made for an outdoor shower quite unlike ours. Where ours was fully open-air, theirs had a pair of screening walls that permitted a clear view from only about a 30° angle out into the yard. The screens didn’t quite reach the stone wall, leaving a handspan’s gap, but all a peeper could see through them was a hand reaching for the shower knob. The doorless gap across the front formed an imaginary fifth wall to the pentagonal enclosure.
It appeared quite a sensible design, except that I couldn’t see why it would be in the far corner of the yard, across a stretch of lawn from the pool’s patio surround, with only a narrow paved path between them.
I looked at it with a cocked head for a few seconds before breaking down and asking Molly, “Why put it so far from the pool?”
Her answer was simple: “Look here,” squatting and pointing at the base of the shower where I saw a black PVC pipe emerging from the far corner of the shower’s concrete platform, halfway between the privacy screen and the stone wall backing the arrangement. Looking over at the other side of the shower, another pipe went off at a ninety degree angle from the other back corner.
I lowered my head and deepened my squat until I could feel the grass tickling my danglies through my tight shorts, whereupon I saw that each pipe had small holes drilled into it: they were drip lines, I realized! Each clearly fed a flower bed at the base of the stone wall. That also explained why the shower’s base was so high: it had to allow for a continuous down-slope along the property’s expanse. Sure enough, looking out at the far end of the flower bed, the drip line was touching the wood and bark chip mix covering the flower bed’s expanse.
The shower booth’s base wasn’t flat, but rather than a dished bottom with a drain in the low center, this one had a sort of tented center with raised sides so the once-used water was shunted into each drip line for a second use in the flower beds.
“Ah, I see; very clever!” I exclaimed, then guessed, “No soap allowed in this shower?”
“Indeed not; it’d kill the flowers. If you need a soap shower, you go inside.”
I considered telling her about sand scrubbing, but realized it would clog the drip lines, and the shower enclosure would prevent the sun from UV-baking the sand clean. Instead, I asked, “May I try it?”
With a small smirk, Molly replied, “If you want a swim, you not only may try it, you must: no one in the pool without a shower. Norm and I will be taking ours inside, needing to peel this bodypaint off under hot water.”
We scored an invite for the Wellingtons, and bodypainted Sandra jumped on this. “We call the next hot shower!”
Addressing Sandra and Robbie, Molly said, “C’mon, you two, we’ll show you to one of the second floor bathrooms on our way to the master bath.”
As those four retreated inside, I performed a rapid self-denudement; which is to say, I dropped my mage shorts, the only thing I’d worn from the park. I’d considered driving over here still naked, continuing my justification of this being a special day, but I decided that being seen driving off by the police on event security duty might result in us getting pulled over.
I quickly showered the afternoon sweat off in the cold spray. It was an interesting change from our outdoor shower, but it made me glad we went to the effort to heat ours.
After wiping the water from my eyes, the shower once again quiescent, I saw that almost everyone else had finished undressing and were now either folding their clothes or waiting for me to finish.
But not everyone. Chris and Jasper were still as fully dressed as they had been at the WNBR after-party in the park.
As I was shishing the water off my skin with my hands, I called out, “You’re next, Poulsen!” I looked up to see him turn to his girlfriend Sherry, who just returned a steady look back at him.
Two against one, he grumped, “Oh, very well,” then began disrobing with dignity. Not everyone can do that; Poulsen can.
Vin began playing a raunchy jazz tune on mouth kazoo, holding a semi-clenched fist to his lips like a brass instrument mouthpiece, evoking images of imaginary burlesque dancers on the Alexanders’ back patio. That and Poulsen’s show got the women cheering him on amidst half-controlled giggles.
We exchanged small smiles as he passed me on the path between shower and patio, his tighter than mine, but I could tell he was amused rather than annoyed.
As Poulsen began his shower, some eyes watched, but most turned to Chris.
I was about to volunteer him to be next in the shower when Miki turned to him and began unbuttoning his shirt, saying, “Spectatin’ time’s over, Chris.” That didn’t stop him from looking hungrily down at her utterly bare body as she sank into a sexy squat before him, keeping the next button ever at the same height before her hands. She noticed his gaze and returned a broad smile up at him. Chris bit his lip and shivered, a blush developing on his cheeks and neck.
Once she’d unbuttoned and untucked his shirt, she let it flap in the gentle afternoon breeze like a too-short dressing robe. Rather than remove it, she continued down into a low squat, sitting on her upturned heels, balancing on her toes and smiling steadily up at him as she unbuckled his belt.
Miki must have seen the bulge developing in his pants much more clearly than I did. She rubbed a hand over it, down and up before unclasping and unzipping his pants, controlling their fall over several seconds, gathering around his shoes.
She removed his footwear, and he stepped out of the pants, also shrugging off the shirt, letting it fall behind him.
Vin raised his hand to his mouth again, apparently to restart his burlesque tune, but Jess gently cupped his forearm, pulling it down. What was going on here wasn’t comic in the slightest: even an aspie like me can discern a seduction in progress when it’s this blatant.
Miki rubbed the front of his bared thighs up and down a few times, then up their backs, over his buns, curling her fingers into the band of his boxers. She began working her fingers around the band, pulling them away from his body but not down. Not yet.
She stood slowly before him, her strong toned legs making it look easy.
Miki was whispering a few words into his ear when the Alexanders emerged from the house, hair wet, bodypaint gone. She noticed their arrival and turned to them asking, “May we use your indoor shower, please?”
“Of course,” replied Molly, looking curiously at the pair, having missed the stripping. “The guest bathroom is down the hallway to the right just inside the door, and the second floor has two, one to either side from the landing, one for the bedrooms on the left, the other to the right. They’re around the balcony, about halfway down.”
The fourth, we knew, was the master bathroom’s shower at the top of the house, but I didn’t fault them for not offering the use of that one.
“Come, Chris,” Miki bade, leading him into the house by the hand.
I think everyone there noticed that they went the same direction inside, down the hall to the guest bedrooms.
We didn’t see those two again for hours.
Once they were out of earshot, I observed to my wife, “That was unexpected!”
“Didn’t you see him fiddling with the mirror controls in the car?”
I couldn’t see what her car’s mirrors had to do with anything, so I brilliantly riposted, “Huh?”
“Bright boy, I watched you fix the passenger-side mirror three or four times with the controls on the trip. How’d you think they kept getting messed up?”
I last remembered doing that before backing out of the convenience store parking lot mid-trip, so I admitted, “Yeah, and I couldn’t figure out why it kept moving, but I didn’t want to ask you in front of your friends in case it was something busted; didn’t want to embarrass you, babe. Do you have some sort of an automatic thingy trying to readjust the mirrors to you, the car’s normal driver?”
Kaitlyn shook her head and replied, “No, the Nude-Mobile isn’t that fancy; the mirrors stay where you put them. It was Chris, trying to watch Miki on the sly. She caught him at it and started posing. Didn’t you notice Chanel and I grinning knowingly at her?”
I shook my head again.
“And you didn’t see that those two were nearly inseparable at both ends of the ride? They might’ve spent ten minutes apart total since Chris got into the car back in Moab.”
Another shake.
My wife sighed in exasperation. “Oh, Davie, you’re so aspy! I’d’ve given you odds as to the when of the thing, but not to the whether.”
“Well,” I said fervently, “thank Gaia for women’s lib, then. It means you girls can come along and club one of us on the noggin and drag us off to your girl-cave now.”
She laughed and said, “That’s exactly what it takes sometimes!”
Kaitlyn and I rotated the pool party group through our massage area, taking time we couldn’t back at the WNBR after-party, healing, relaxing, and sunscreening them all.
We still had to crank them through quickly, there being so many, so it was hours before we got a chance to enjoy the pool ourselves. We didn’t mind: this little soiree was partly a pretext to do this very thing for our friends and family.
The group was lounging on assorted towel-lined patio chairs, taking turns feeding songs into the music system, riffing on each others’ choices when three reappearances each changed the party’s direction as drastically as a billiard ball hitting a side cushion.
First, Chris and Miki.
Vin noticed them emerging through the indoor shadows out onto the still-bright early evening light suffusing the patio, beginning a round of applause for them. This spread rapidly, accompanied by hoots, hollers, and huzzahs. The couple turned quite pink, and them without a stitch of clothing to hide it.
Chris, I noticed, was now entirely flaccid, looking not so much relaxed as thoroughly wrung out and hung up to dry. Miki had a proprietorial arm wrapped around his hips.
This event caused conversation to turn diplomatically to dinner preparations rather than to what we all actually wanted to talk about but couldn’t, our socialization preventing it.
Second, Kristen and Carlo.
They hadn’t stayed for the official WNBR after-party, telling us they had some shopping to do, but wouldn’t say what for.
“Didn’t find what you wanted?” my wife asked after showing them thru the house, into the back yard, apparently because she saw no shopping bags.
“Oh,” began Carlo coyly, “our purchases are here, right close.”
Kaitlyn looked a bit irritated at this until Kristen folded her arms ostentatiously, a smug smile on her face…and her left hand prominently displayed on her right biceps.
“Is that…” my wife gushed. “It is!” she squeed, Kristen just barely having time to unfold her arms before they could be trapped between their colliding bodies.
Carlo was simply beaming, offering no explanation, and my Babel fish was overloaded by the girls’ high speed jabbering, so I just looked on bemusedly, expecting that enlightenment would come eventually.
Kaitlyn, perceiving my aloofness, held Kristen’s hand out toward me, almost pulling the poor girl off balance, asking insistently, “See‽”
There before me was a sizeable diamond set in a gold ring.
And lo, enlightenment suffused my being. I did indeed see.
“Congratulations!” I told the engaged couple. “When’s the wedding?”
Carlo said, “Thanks! Kristen’s got a transfer up to the Moab NPS office, effective in about a month, and I’m trying to get moved down there about the same time. We’re going down together tomorrow to start apartment shopping.”
Kristen added, “We, ah… We’re just staying thru dinner. We’ve got, um, other things to do…tonight.” Her gaze had dropped, and she was actually stirring the grass with her shoe.
As if we didn’t know precisely what she and Carlo would be doing!
Kaitlyn, ever more politic than I, said, “Oh, this is just too awesome!” Then she gathered the pair in a hug, waving me in to sandwich them.
About the time dinner was nearly ready, the third reappearance occurred: through the translucent curtains pulled across the big living room window, we saw a taxi arrive, letting out a single person.
“That’s Chanel!” exclaimed my wife.
“How can you tell?” I asked, seeing only a blur of color through the curtains’ sheer material.
“I recognize the outfit she put on after the ride before going off with that college kid. What, were you expecting her to arrive nude?”
“That’d’ve been fun,” I said with a smile.
Kaitlyn grinned over her shoulder on the way through the Alexanders’ huge foyer to the double front doors, opening the right side a crack to peek out, pulling it open while remaining behind its concealment as Chanel came up the house’s front steps from the plaza-style drive dominating the front courtyard.
Chanel stood for a few seconds getting used to the dim indoor light as Kaitlyn closed the door behind her.
Our shishya happened to arrive at that awkward time of evening where there’s barely enough daylight still coming in through the sheer curtains to see by, but dark enough outside that turning on the interior lights would expose our bareness to those passing by outside. The Alexanders’ standing orders had their two tux-clad servants putting off pulling the privacy curtains until the choice was between doing so and a risk of barking one’s shins on the furniture.
“Oh, to live in a world where my choice of dress didn’t contain the potential for criminal legal implications,” Molly’d sighed when this topic came up earlier. “Why isn’t it my-house-my-rules?”
Kaitlyn’d told her, “You should go into politics.”
Molly shook her head and replied, “Not a good plan. Oh, I’m social enough in my way, as you know from the parties, but remember, I started out as just another introverted computer geek. I couldn’t persuade a big enough bloc of never-nudes to accept the proposition that I might reasonably wish to skinny-dip in my back yard some evening and then go read a book in the front room under the torchères without dressing between. If I can’t make it over that low bar, there’s no way I’d be effective at full-contact politicking.”
My wife was about to return a comment to this self-assessment when Molly added, “Now you, girl, you’ve got the makings of a politician. Want a backer?”
That shut my wife up good and proper.
But I digress.
Our newest arrival stood in the center of the foyer, clad among nudists, and with a developing wry smile said, “I appear to be overdressed.”
Chanel wore a powder blue cropped halter top, so aggressively cut that it showed a bit of underboob, even to me, looking down from my six-one height. Below that, across an expanse of clear, toned belly she wore a tight pair of pale pink denim shorts, cropped tighter than Daisy Dukes so that the bottoms of the side pockets showed below the leg hem, artfully frayed into a white spray. Add white ankle socks with pink fuzzy balls on them and baby blue sneakers, and yes, our scantily-glad shishya was entirely overdressed for the occasion.
Kaitlyn aimed her off into the back yard past Norman’s smoking barbecue grill, letting her get a shower and dip in before dinner.
Every other eye watched this gorgeous creature shower and swim, then sunbathe nude on the final sunny spot of the lawn before shadows overtook the neighborhood.
This was sufficiently distracting that Molly had to bark, “C’mon, eyes on your work! We’ll never get dinner on if we keep gawking!” Then Molly’s eyes went back out the window to the quiet evening shadows sliding over Chanel’s smooth skin, shaking her head wistfully.
We had a lovely nudist BBQ on the Alexanders’ patio, then the group began fragmenting.
Carlo and Kristen left, citing…other engagements that night.
Yeah, they’d be engaging, and disengaging, and re-engaging all night!
Two carfuls of the Moab contingent also left: Jasper & Sherry in their car, plus Kaitlyn’s parents with Joss & Allison in a separate car. All wanted to get back home before midnight, so faced with a four-hour drive and impending sunset, they offered their thanks and said their good-byes.
Those of us left split into two groups.
Molly tempted most of them away with promises of board games in the downstairs study where they had suitable tables set up, allowing several games to proceed in parallel.
Well, they call it a ‘study,’ but it was more of a small library, complete with one of those wheeled ladders that ran around its perimeter on rails! It spanned the first two floors of the house, with a narrow mezzanine allowing access from the second floor bedrooms.
Mage House Moab — desert rats all three of us — kept on skinny-dipping, crystal-clear backyard pools being a novelty. The Gutierrez family farm’s relaxation pool was so different I found these luxuries as comparable as chocolate cake to champagne: both very nice, but sharing little in common, fairly compared.
With the muggles out of earshot, we huddled about halfway down the pool at that spot where you can juuuust stay above water by the tips of your toes rather than active swimming. Within that temporary zone of privacy, Kaitlyn asked our shishya in a low tone, “So, what took you?”
Chanel smirked and said, “What, you don’t believe a trick takes three hours?”
“I suppose if I’m being honest, I have to say I don’t actually know, but I was under the impression that it was like an hour.”
Chanel nodded and said, “Most a lot less, actually. If you think sex work is not work, try keeping a desperately horny college kid from popping for an hour to avoid an accusation of cheating. Or, re-fellating them like three or four times to fill out the time!”
“My jaw aches just thinking about it,” my wife said sympathetically.
I remembered the details of Chanel’s healings, and there were no problems in her mouth, throat or stomach, so I wrinkled my nose and said, “You always had to do that with a condom on, too, didn’t you?”
“Good guess!” she laughed brightly. “Yeah, warm latex isn’t my favorite flavor.”
I gave Chanel a fresh checkup and said, “You’re still clean. You must have either hit a dry hole, so to speak, or you cured the guy.”
“Guys, plural,” she corrected, “and no, they weren’t all clean. That’s what took me so long. Turns out he’s a frat boy — such a surprise! — and he took me home to his brothers, two of which were also former clients. I checked the medicine cabinets — both of them! — and didn’t find anything I could tie to an STI, so I boned them all. It was…exhausting. My puss is shot, my jaw aches, and my ass is wrecked!”
“I can only imagine,” breathed my wife.
“How many were infected?” I asked in a near-whisper.
“At least two of them,” she admitted, “both being prior clients. Now, zero.”
We gathered her into a slippery nude hug. Kaitlyn said, “You did well, Chanel. Does it feel good?”
“It does, except for the knowledge that I caused all of this.”
I shook my head and told her, “You don’t know that. They could have picked those bugs up after you last, ah…”
“…serviced them?” she supplied, shrugging and adding, “Can’t prove it either way, I suppose, but the odds against it aren’t good.”
Wanting to move on from this topic, I sent through our close contact in the water, «Come, Chanel. Time you learned self-healing.»
We climbed out and lay on the evening-cool grass and silently taught our shishya to heal herself. Kaitlyn added magical contraception atop that.
Chanel breathed a deep sigh of relief when we finished that lesson, sending through the bond, «That’s worth everything! All the pain, all the expiation… Just to be able to heal myself and others, I’ll take it all on!»
We mages placed our hands on her belly in a kind of benediction, nodded our agreement, then wordlessly slipped back into the pool.
The three of us were laying out on the grass after our swim, trying to pick out faint constellations through the light pollution when Miki called from the patio, “Y’all off tomorrow?”
After consulting briefly with each other through the bond, they elected me spokesperson, so I pulled myself up into a low boat pose and called back, “Yes, why?”
Miki was strolling towards us, moderating her tone as she walked, “The Alexanders offered to put us up for the night so we don’t have to drive back so late.”
I made a guess, saying, “And they know full well we don’t wear pajamas to bed!”
“Yup!” she said with a short laugh. “They’re kind of preppers, so they found some toothbrushes and other necessities in storage; we’re set for supplies through tomorrow morning at least.”
Kaitlyn said with a scrunched-up nose, “I guess we’ll have to wear today’s clothes back home tomorrow.”
I laughed, then asked, “What’re you worried about? You hardly wore them today; they’ve gotta still be almost laundry-fresh!”
Miki replied, “They’ll be fully clean tomorrow, because they’re all back in the washer now. Me asking if we can stay over tonight is something of a formality: y’see, Molly had the servants toss all our stuff in the wash, then told them to hold off putting our things in the dryer until tomorrow morning. When she explained this to us around the table, she said clothing’s forbidden here in the meanwhile! Servants excepted, of course.”
The three of us laughed at this, not being put out in the slightest. This was our normal state, Chanel having gone from sleeping nude to full-on home nudism, following our lead.
I knew the massive house had plenty of bedrooms for everyone, but somehow I guessed there would be a fair bit of doubling up.
And in at least one case, quadrupling up.
”Who’s sleeping where?” I asked Miki.
“Vin and Jess are leaving soon to find their own beds, so you should go see them off. The Alexanders have their own bedroom of course.” Then, apparently unaware of how close we were to our hosts, Miki said, “You and Kaitlyn have your pick of two rooms on the second floor, and Chanel here gets the other.”
Seeing no reason to multiply entities unnecessarily, blessèd be Saint William of Ockham, I guessed, “And you and Chris in the guest bedroom downstairs. Again.”
Miki actually blushed at that, and dropping her eyes said, “Yeah.”
Kaitlyn fairly squeed, “Oh, we’re so happy for you two! Chris is a wonderful soul!”
“Other parts of him aren’t too bad, either,” judged our resident professional on manly attributes, adding, “He really go for two hours?”
Miki’s blush deepened. “He, ah, took a few breaks.”
“Still,” Kaitlyn breathed, “lucky girl.”
“I’m kind of worried, actually,” Miki confessed.
“What, too much?” asked Chanel incisively. “I know how that is…”
Miki just kind of bobbed her head, so my wife said, “C’mon, lay down here. Time for us to show you a bit of massage they didn’t teach you in med school.”
Our boss’s eyes got a bit wide, and she asked, “You can massage…that?”
“Of course we can!” said my wife brightly. “Now c’mon, lay down.” She patted the cool grass for emphasis.
Miki did, and we began a new massage on her, dry to start with, but shortly switching to mineral oil, which Chanel helpfully fetched without us asking.
Once we had her relaxed, my wife asked, “Miki, may I massage your hoo-hah with my fingers, please?”
Miki tensed back up a bit, but then said, “This I’ve got to see.”
“To feel,” my wife corrected, then began a technical sort of vaginal fingering, not trying to get her off but rather covering the magical healing she was performing, reducing the inflammation from Chris’ pounding of her earlier this afternoon. Kaitlyn then spread out from there, healing the whole area.
“My goodness, that’s amazing!” breathed Miki. “I didn’t even know that was possible!”
“Magic Hands, remember,” was all my wife said.
“I’d ask you to teach me, but I don’t know when I’d ever have sufficient cause to use the technique at work!”
“Nor us in our private practice, Miki,” I told her. “It’s something we can only do for a friend in need, like here and now.”
“Too bad,” she sighed. Then after a bit of thought, she said, “We? You can do this, too, Davie?”
“I taught her,” I said honestly, misleading though the truth was in this case.
Miki looked thoughtful, then started to ask a question, stopped, started again, and stopped again.
Kaitlyn guessed, “You want to know if this means Davie plows me cross-eyed. Answer is, yes he does, sometimes. I’ve had cause to enjoy his healing hands afterwards more than once.”
Miki looked at me in mild admiration.
Chanel looked at me with shrewd speculation instead. Through the bond, she said, «Prove it.»
«You know I can’t,» I replied. «Maybe once you’re graduated, shishya,» choosing to address her with that particular title to make it clear I wasn’t talking about her college coursework.
Chanel got a cute grumpy look on her face, and we gave her the smiles she’d earned thereby.