Living, as she did, in a spacious home, and being married to a man of great wealth, Sylvia had had installed in the basement of their home a swimming pool, and the place had held more than one bizarre party. The banquet was to begin at nine o'clock, and I arrived at seven, just in time to partly overhear a quarrel between Sylvia and her vicious daughter.
This girl, though scarcely eighteen, had already been mixed up in one or two scandalous affairs and was known to have carried on a flirtation with a captain of the police, he having caught her in a raid and demanding her favors as the price of silence.
"I don't know what the child will want to do next,” cried Sylvia, wringing her hands and carrying on at a great rate. “Now she wants to bring in a dancer to entertain my guests, and I know it will cause another scandal. What shall I do! What shall I do!"
"Forget it, Sylvia,” I said, patting her cheek. “The child must have her fling, even as you and I."
Whether she got my meaning, I do not know. Nothing more was said about it until the end of the dinner. Then plenty was said, and not by Sylvia alone.
These functions, as one might guess, were the gathering place for rogues and their mistresses and, as in other fashionable centers, the women were forever striving to outdo each other in indecent dress. Sylvia's banquet was no exception. Myself? I wore a gown with little or nothing above my waist. My breasts, like those of every woman and girl present, strutted boldly over my corset. The couples, eighty in number, were from the first families of the city, and the women and their escorts alike boasted of their lovers and mistresses.
Madam Sylvia herself spent but one night each week in her husband's apartment-the other six she spent in the arms of her lovers.
Is it any wonder, then, that her daughter, moving, as she did, among the others of the “younger set,” shouldn't go in for the unusual?
I have, as you know, a pair of full, well-rounded breasts, and long before the dinner was over, more than one gentleman present was viewing them, desire showing in every glance. Much wine had been consumed, and the dinner was rapidly drawing to a close when there came a scuffle. A moment later, a girl was seen to dash through the portieres and run to the table. With a bound she sprang upon it, ran the entire length amid the plaudits of the guests, and finished the performance by doing a most lewd dance in the very center. Does that sound unusual, my friend? No? Well, then, let me tell you something more about it. The beautiful black-haired daughter of Sylvia was stark naked.
Her mother, of course, was horrified, or pretended she was, but the guests, and especially the gentlemen, were delighted, and insisted that she continue her dance. After that, she was handed from one to the other until she had made the round of the table, and the whole affair ended by her mother kissing her and thanking her for making the party a success.
But Sylvia, however, had another treat in store for her guests who were to remain overnight. A dozen couples, having come from distant cities, were supposed to remain all night, and being among these latter I, too, remained.
"You'll enjoy it darling,” Silvia cooed, handing me a “Frenchy” nightgown. “It's so risque. Oh, darling, you'll love it!"
The “party” Sylvia had in mind was to take place in the famous pool in the cellar the following morning. There was a story leading up to this affair which runs something like this: Once, a few years previous, some women of her acquaintance had given a cruising party to several of her guests. A large yacht carried them into the Adriatic. Everything went well until the afternoon of the third day, and then the yacht sprung a leak.
There was little or no danger, but the captain ran the yacht upon a sandy shore for safety sake. The dining room, however, was under several feet of water, and someone in the party suggested what she called a “swim-breakfast” and this was seconded by the entire party. Then, just to give the thing “spice,” they went into the dining room wearing their nightclothes, the ladies wearing their naughtiest night-gowns, the gentlemen wearing theirs.
Sylvia, who had been one of the women, immediately copied the stunt, and once a year she gave her own swim-breakfast in the pool. The pool having been ready since the early hours of dawn, we proceeded into the cellar where we found everything ready and waiting.
It was, I do believe, the most bizarre affair I had ever attended.
The water had been lowered ‘till it came to but the top of the table, and the chairs had been weighted down. We found steaming coffee awaiting us, and it was a gay crowd, indeed, who tripped down into the crystal-clear water. Little “Ohs” and “Ahs” escaped their lips at the contact of the cool water.
Sounds like a very “spicy” party, doesn't it? Well, to me it was the most asinine affair I had ever attended. It was asinine because these fool women were wearing nightgowns of the sheerest possible texture (two or three, more daring than the others, wore gossamer affairs without the slightest trimming) when they should, by every possible right, be naked.
After all, what is the difference between one woman wearing a sheer nightgown, and another in complete nakedness?
Two or three of them hurried down into the water and waded to their place, seemingly unmindful that their thin garments floated about the hips. Others, trying to appear shy, flitted about the edge, their gowns drawn up as they begged the men not to wet them; the men, in the meantime, got a splendid view since they stood directly beneath the squealing women.
At last, however, they all waded in and were directed to their proper place by maids who waded hip-deep, and here again there was considerable squealing when they settled down upon the chairs.
It was Sylvia's daughter who once more turned the drab affair into a real, honest-to-God naughty party, and thus saved it from becoming a flat failure. The little imp seemed to have been waiting until everyone was seated before she burst in upon the crowd and, as she had been the previous night, she was stark naked. Laughing and splashing her way through the water, she rushed directly to her mother's side, kissed her, and splashed water into her face.
Sylvia was furious, of course. She remonstrated, coaxed, and pleaded, but it did not the slightest good. Tillie (that was the daughter's name) was bent on making it an out-and-out nude party and finally succeeded in tearing the gown off her mother, very much against the poor woman's wishes.
This, of course, was wildly applauded by the others, who were only too glad that someone had courage enough to do something to enliven the silly affair. The gentlemen, seeing Sylvia floundering about in absolute nakedness, took it upon themselves to denude their partners, and though the latter made as though to prevent it, it was all too plain that they were doing everything possible to assist the men in the disrobing act. The result was that every woman, myself included, was reduced to complete nakedness, and after the men kindly removed their scant attire, we sat down to enjoy a much-delayed breakfast.
"Isn't it fun!” cried one.
"Isn't it just too naughty for words!” cried another.
"Don't you just love it!"
"Let's do it every Sunday morning!"
Tillie scrambled upon the table and was pouring coffee and making herself useful in a dozen different ways, and more than one male hand reached up and patted or toyed with some charm that was so freely exposed.
Sylvia tried to make one desperate effort to get rid of her daughter, but Tillie wasn't to be put off. “You should talk about me! What were you doing sneaking into your lover's bedroom last night if it wasn't to get a thrill! Oh, don't look so frightened! I saw you in bed together, and you weren't making such a fuss about being naked then!"
And while Sylvia fumed and fussed, the others laughed at her misery, and the whole affair boiled down to what it should have been in the first place-namely, an out-and-out bare-ass romp.