To me, one of the best things about a good party is simply watching all the people around you, all of them dressed up, showing off their bodies to their best advantage. As I look around now, itís almost sensory overload as I catch a breast squeezed by a slinky dress here, a thigh with muscles straining inside jeans there, here a rump just covered by a short skirt, there a firm shoulder open to the air.
As I lose my inhibitions about staring, I start to look more at peopleís faces, both the individual parts - glossy eyebrows, pink pouting lips, vivid alive eyes - and the sum of the parts making up facial expressions - smile, frowns, grins, rapt attention. To me, now, all of them appear dazzlingly beautiful.

Itís that time of night when people have mostly stopped dancing and are making themselves comfortable on sofas, bean bags, the floor, having one or two last drinks, and starting those interminable conversations on the meaning of life. Itís also that time when the serious flirting starts. I can see it happening: here and there people round the room are ceasing to have personal space round them as they edge closer to one or more others, who do the same, creating little clumps of sexual anticipation around me.
I join in one groupís conversation, but, I confess, Iím concentrating more at the people around me than on the subject. I shouldnít be embarrassed; they are doing exactly the same thing. Itís that complex student courtship ritual that dare not speak its name. No-one will come out with it and say who they are interested in and what exactly they want. It all has to be done by sideways glances and subtle touches. I wish for the days when ladies had fans, so I could flutter one before my face, opening it when my blushes got too much, or for the simple life of the bower bird, so I could just build my bower, collect shiny artefacts, and wiggle my backside in front of it and get all the ladies in the area descending on me. I think about just raising my voice and saying "Okay, whoís on for a good shag tonight then?"
Apart from my being too nervous, though, I think it would terrify the people here and send them running. Maybe in a few years time we will all be more confident about what we want and how to get it, but in the meantime itís back to the games.

I look around my circle of friends, and spot so many sensual features. Eyes, chins, hair, hands. Thighs, bottoms, waists, chests. All these attract me and tantalise me. So many people have such attractive bodies. Some too have that air of sensuality, showing that they value sensations and are willing to explore sex in order to know their senses, not just have it to avoid loneliness or prove their attractiveness to themselves. It still doesnít narrow it down too much though. How shall I choose between all these people. I think Iíd like to have them all. Maybe, in time, that will be possible, but still I need to start somewhere.

I sneak a look round to the person next to me, half buried in a large bean bag, animated eyes, eagerly stating a point in riposte to someoneís false logic, hands gesturing in support. A breath out, and the body falls back, relaxes.
Our eyes meet. I see the soft, supple smooth skin, and am hooked. Iím a sucker for strokable bodies. Thereís golden wavy hair for me to run my fingers through, and deep brown eyes for me to gaze into. The eyes glance at me and smile. This is a sensualist; the smile betrays the secret.
I pick up the nearest hand, and stroke my finger along the back of it, lovingly, yet somewhat nervously - I could still be wrong. Not everyone will understand. The smile widens - I am reassured. The hand is cool under my sweating fingers, and I trace its shape over and over. I put it to my lips, where my sensitive mouth feels the smoothness of the back of the hand, and every ridge on the fingertips. I can smell the distinctive, slightly salty aroma of skin that is not mine. I lean over a bit further. We embrace, my head resting on a firm shoulder. Strong arms are holding me, fitting tightly to me shape, yet tenderly adapting round me. I inhale the scent of that blonde hair, and probe my tongue outwards for a taste of sweet lips. Our lips make contact, and shyly our tongues greet each other, first a fleeting salutation, and then a longer introductory conversation. I explore carefully this new mouth, an unknown cavern, all to be discovered. I am squeezed tighter, and a hand fondles my waist, caressing the whole area down towards my hips, squeezing me, kneading my bottom, wanting to possess it.

I am more than happy to yield and enjoy this sensation, and restrainedly stroke the vulnerable exposed neck in front of me with my forefinger, carefully downwards, over the delicate larynx, down to the firm breast. I kiss your neck, and enjoy gazing into those deep brown eyes, which return my stare lovingly, knowing how we are both enjoying ourselves. I fall back onto the pile of plump cushions under us and am almost lost in the crevasses as feathers rise up on each side of me, and am completely lost from view when my new lover slides on top of me, so that I am completely surrounded by softness and warmth. We kiss again. Now it is like a meeting of old friends, but yet we are finding out more about each other, and wanting more knowledge still as our embrace becomes more close, more enthusiastic, more passionate. Our bodies scrub against each other, smearing our clothes about, creating a warm friction between us. Every press of my hips seems to be echoed by a push from you. Our groins begin to grind together. This is very good, but I want more. I want you, naked, to play with.

"I want your body so much," I whisper into my loverís ear. There is a pause. Have I gone too far? Finally - probably less than a second later - I see a big smile. Your mouth comes towards my ear. Your breath is hot on my face. I hear your voice bursting into my ear with one word, "Good."

Now, confident, I undo your top shirt button. Far from rejecting me, you stretch backwards, exposing the fastenings to my fingers. I undo all the buttons. An extra small glimpse of torso tantalises me as each one yields to my command, but not until they are all undone can I pull apart the two flaps of cloth and admire the body in front of me.
I pull your shirt away totally so that I can let my hands prowl over this new realm, taking possession of these new fleshy dominions, then, showing how gentle I can be, tracing the back of my Ďprisonerísí neck so delicately that I sense every hair making up its fuzziness.
O my new lover, we are going to have such a good time together!

Already I can feel my groin getting damp, my pants being as steamy inside as a rainforest, an exotic heaven where dew covers everything, where great rewards await an intrepid explorer. Your tongue becomes a fearless adventurer, sailing southwards down my neck, off to map the hitherto unknown regions of the new continent of my body.
My top is removed to expose me to this small pink cartographer, who runs down to the foothills of a fleshly mountain, and looks to the peak above, in awe of this natural monument, surmounted by a pointy blushing pinnacle. The adventurer races to the top of my curvy mountain, and sucks the little pinnacle in triumph. While your mouth is basking in the glory of conquest, my fingers are doing exploring of their own, leaving the savannah-like terrain of the back of your neck to penetrate the thick forest of your hair. It is an exciting journey; my heart pounds as each finger on the expedition follows into the dark undergrowth of this flaxen jungle, savouring the warmth of the forest floor, enjoying the sliding of the tresses between my fingers. The heat of your scalp makes my hands hot, and I run my hot hands down to your chest and arms, which are beginning to erect hairs due to the cold. You have firm muscles in your arms and chest, and I squeeze them, pulling you onto me so I can run fingers down your back, making tingles travel down your spine.

Now I can grip your round bottom through your trousers - pure pleasure! I pull one hand back and round your front, tentatively feeling the firm parts in front of you. You make a noise like a purr, only more active. I start to undo your jeans, fumbling with the belt buckle, easing the zip down. I wriggle myself further down underneath you to fully enjoy your scent now that you are obviously as turned on as I am. You twitch on top of me, pressing into me, teasing me.
I force my hands inside the sides of your jeans, trying to push them down, out of my way, so I can investigate all of you, unhindered. You writhe against me, looking knowingly at me, perfectly aware of the effect you are having, touch my belt, but then move your hands elsewhere. Tease. I pull your hands back down to my groin, where I want them, but you have other ideas, shaking your head. You run your hands over my back and stomach, very pleasant Iím sure, but I want something more intense.
I clutch you and squirm against you in frustration. And stop grinning at me like that. Eventually, after Iíve almost given up getting satisfied, you put your lips round one nipple and slurp vigorously. I tense slightly as I feel your teeth, but relax as you never use them for more than a little squeeze. Before it occurs to me that my other breast is feeling cold, you have a hand on it, massaging it, palpating it, and then my nipple is between thumb and forefinger, being gently, then severely pinched, then rubbed better again. Itís wonderful.

Then I feel your breath on the other breast, your breath now feeling cold on the wet, sensitive skin, and feel the delicate skin puckering up, followed by it easing flat again as you return to wrap my nipple in your mouth. This is the life. I could let you go on for ever. I still want all of your body, but I can wait while I enjoy this. Please, keep going! Itís an amazing blend of sensations across my chest, causing excitement in random other areas of my body, especially between my legs where my pussy is getting wetter and wetter. You are doing wonderful things to my breasts, but suddenly you tense up. You raise your face from my breast and bring your head to mine again, stopping just before my mouth, suddenly hesitant.

I too suddenly remember the large crowd of people in the room - we are surely performing in front of an audience, although I have not noticed anyone else in the room for some time now! I cannot see anyone but you from where I am lying, and I decide to leave it that way. But it is not a sudden shrinking from exhibitionism that is making you pull back, but rather your knowledge of the limitations of some other peopleís minds. For some reason which I do not understand, there exist many people who place limitations on both attraction and on love, restricting themselves to a small sector of the sensual spectrum, and some among them who call anyone outside their small range of experience evil. I just donít get it. How can kissing my new lover here, revelling in how our tongues fit together, enjoying the snug fit of our bodies, possibly be considered wrong?

I smile at you, and urge you towards me. I lift my head up, and kiss you as deeply and meaningfully as I can, proud to be sharing my mouth with yours. I reach to your beautifully curving breasts and caress them carefully, lovingly. Your nervousness has made your breasts cold, and I commit myself to warming them up and to protecting them from anyone who might call them evil.

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