The Bachelorette Party Where I Lost All My Limits

For those who’ve already read something of mine, there’s no need for me to introduce myself, but for the new ones I’ll do it anyway. My name is Lorena, I’m Colombian, and I’m at that point in life where a woman stops asking permission to enjoy herself. Today I’m alone, with no ties of any kind, after many years of a marriage that ended for reasons it’s not even worth telling.

When I was still married, I experienced everything with my husband at the time. Threesomes, swapping partners, nights with other women, parties that began with a drink and ended in any number of ways. Today I’m going to tell you something that happened to me quite a few years ago, one night that stayed engraved in my memory like few others.

A friend invited me to a bachelorette party. The bride was her neighbor, a girl I barely knew, but I decided to go. As always, I went with my husband’s approval. I never hid anything from him, especially not in cases like that.

—You’re going to that party? —he asked me while I was getting ready in front of the mirror.

—I am. You know things happen at these gatherings —I answered, looking at him in the reflection.

He laughed and went back to reading in bed. He let me go without a single complaint, as always, with only two conditions: that I tell him everything when I got back, or at least bring him a piece of cake. That was the kind of complicity we had.

***

It started early. They had rented a lounge designed specifically for this kind of event. Low lights, some of them red, tinting the walls; comfortable, dark furniture; a decor that smelled of a long night. It was one of those places that, the moment you walk in, put your body into another frequency.

My friend and I sat on a wide sofa in a corner with a drink in hand. After a while, two other girls joined us and we started chatting and laughing. I took it easy with the alcohol; I like to feel things, not lose myself in them.

The waiters were young and handsome, and after a couple of drinks we started dropping hints that were barely hints at all. They played along with us with an elegance to be appreciated, never overstepping, never being disrespectful, just an extra smile when they served us, a look that lingered a second too long.

We sang, we danced, we played the usual games at these bachelorette parties: bets where whoever lost took a shot or took off a piece of clothing. And right away you could see who had come to let go. My friend was one of the rowdiest. Each round left her with less clothes and more daring, and I laughed to see her like that, lit up like a teenager.

Then the show began. Four dancers entered the lounge and the air changed. They were spectacular men, well-built, the kind who know how to move and know how to look. They danced for all of us, came close, let themselves be touched just enough to turn us on, and pulled away before anyone could get used to them. The whole room was a chorus of screams and applause.

This is getting serious, I thought, not imagining just how serious it would get.

***

The turning point was set by the bride herself. In the middle of the show, she knelt in front of one of the dancers and started giving him oral sex in front of everyone, without the slightest shame, as if that had been the real reason for the party.

It was like lighting a fuse. In a matter of minutes, what had been a show turned into something else. The four guys settled onto the sofas and the guests started lining up, laughing, shoving each other, taking turns. Each of them ended up surrounded by three or four women at once. The order had been completely broken, and nobody seemed to want to put it back together.

My friend grabbed my hand to drag me into the chaos.

—Come on, don’t stay there —she said, pulling me along.

—No, wait, let me watch —I answered, laughing, shaking her off.

There was a little struggle, both of us laughing our heads off, until I managed to get free. She kept talking to me very close to my ear, but with the music I couldn’t make out a single word. In the end she gave me a gentle push, sat me back down on the sofa, and made a little gesture with her finger: don’t get up, stay there. I took my drink, settled in, and devoted myself to watching the madness that had overflowed the room.

And I have to confess that watching is a pleasure too. Seeing them all lost, hearing the moans mixed with the laughter, feeling how the atmosphere filled with a different kind of heat. I wasn’t drunk, I was lucid, and that made every detail reach me more deeply.

I noticed little things. The way one of the girls bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming. How another, on her knees, closed her eyes as if she were praying. The sweat shining on their backs under the red lights. I crossed and uncrossed my legs on the sofa, squeezing them together, feeling the desire slowly gather between my thighs without anyone having touched me yet.

***

What I didn’t see coming was what happened afterward. My friend, who was definitely more than a little drunk by then, had completely let go. I saw her approaching from the other side of the room with four or five girls behind her. I thought they were coming to sit beside me, to rest. I was wrong.

They positioned themselves one behind the other, forming a line beside the sofa, and I still didn’t understand what they were plotting. I didn’t have time to ask anything. I felt someone lean over from behind the backrest and hands holding my face. One of the girls kissed me. It was a strong, decisive kiss, with something hungry about it, and I, far from pulling away, kissed her back just as hard.

We kissed slowly and deliciously, her tongue playing with mine while the noise of the room became a background murmur. And while that mouth occupied me completely, another of the girls knelt in front of me, gently spread my legs, and slipped under my skirt.

What I felt when her mouth reached me for the first time made my back arch. A current that went up from the center of me to the nape of my neck. That’s what they did, one by one. Each girl in the line had her turn between my legs, and when she finished, she came up to kiss me while the next one sank into my pussy.

I don’t know how many there were. I lost count and I lost the urge to count them too. Different mouths, different rhythms, some rougher, others so slow they made me beg without words. I was reclined on the sofa, head thrown back, receiving, letting myself be handled, feeling pleasure build in waves that never quite broke because as soon as one mouth left, the next one arrived.

The strangest thing was the contrast. Up top, the mouths kissing me were tender, almost affectionate, tongues playing without haste. Down below, on the other hand, each girl imposed her own character: one devoured me as if she’d been hungry for days, another treated my skin with the tip of her tongue like someone writing a secret. I didn’t know what to surrender to first, so I surrendered to everything.

It was a long while. A very long while. So long that when the last one stood up, my legs were trembling and my breathing was shattered, and I still could hardly believe it was really happening.

***

Little by little the girls dispersed, returning to the party as if nothing had happened, taking up their drinks and laughter again. My friend sat down beside me, her hair mussed and a smile from ear to ear.

—Did you like it? —she asked me, searching my eyes.

I didn’t answer with words. I took her by the nape of the neck and kissed her myself, since she was the one who had started it all. And right there, on that sofa, in front of anyone who wanted to look, the two of us ended up tangled together, giving back what the others had given me. Her body against mine, her hands where so many others had been before, and this time yes, a connection between her and me that had nothing to do with drunkenness.

When the party started to wind down and the room was settling into calm, my body still buzzing, I worked up the nerve to suggest something that had been on my mind for a while.

—Hey, would you be up for coming over one day? With my husband. The three of us.

She already knew him from before, so I didn’t catch her by surprise. She thought for a second, biting her lip, and let out a low laugh.

—Whenever you want —she said—. You know I’m open to everything.

We said goodbye with another kiss, this one calmer, and each of us went home with the promise floating in the air.

***

I got home in the middle of the night. My husband was sleeping deeply. I undressed in silence, slipped into bed, and woke him up the best way I know how, with my mouth, slowly, until he opened his eyes without quite understanding whether it was a dream or reality.

I rode him right there and while we were doing it I told him, without leaving out a single detail, everything I had lived through that night. How they had kissed me, how many mouths had gone over me, how I had ended up with my friend in front of everyone. I felt him getting harder with every word, felt him squeeze my hips, and I knew that whispered confession was turning us both on equally.

—And now what? —he asked me, his voice broken.

—Now comes the best part —I told him in his ear—. My friend wants to be part of it. The three of us.

Less than a week passed before that promise came true. We had our first and only threesome with her, one afternoon that deserves its own story and that I’ll tell you another time. But that, as they say, is another story.