The Organizer

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Ian Lorelle was thirty-five years old when he left Shana, his wife of nine years. It was all he could do to keep his sanity. Toward the end, she stopped trying to hide the fact she was cheating on him. She would come home late with wine on her breath and sperm in her hair, or sometimes vice-versa. The laundry hamper even took on the smell of cheap cologne.

Oddly enough, he wouldn’t have minded her being with other guys if she’d been honest. They had talked about partner sharing with a small group of folks they knew were into it. On one occasion, they went so far as to visit one of those couples to see if chatting might lead to something more risqué. Shana quipped and giggled about it over a glass of wine, but she got cold feet when their hostess began unbuttoning Ian’s shirt.

That incident proved ironic to Ian a month later when he came home from work early. As usual, he galloped up the stairs to their second floor apartment. As he opened the door, he heard a man let out a protracted moan. Bolting into the living room, he found their upstairs neighbor still buttoning his pants as Shana hastily wiped her chin on her sleeve.

After that, it was a short, steep, downhill slide to separation. Ian floundered for a week, thinking Shana may show remorse, but she responded by again stepping out and flaunting her iniquity. When he came home to find her legs wrapped around a guy she worked with, he packed a suitcase and checked into an efficiency apartment.

One Friday after work, he met his old friend, Cliff Gray to grab a quick beer and lament his woes. “I’m not going back to her,” he insisted as they sat at a table. “I don’t need the bullshit.”

“Atta boy,” boasted Cliff. “And have a little fun before you look to settle down again. You’re still young. Enjoy your freedom.”

“Easier said than done,” complained Ian. “I set up a profile on an online—”

“Don’t bother,” interrupted Cliff. “You’ll waste your time getting charged up over someone who isn’t who they say they are.” He took a swig from his mug and leaned his elbows on the table. “You want a no-worries guarantee to get laid?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want my dick to fall off.”

“Join Mingling Singles, bro.”

“Are you kidding? That’s full of mothers looking for a new daddy for their kid.”

“Maybe, but it’s a meat market. How do ya’ think they try to hook a new papa, anyway? Just don’t propose to anyone.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not. I went there when I divorced Crystal. Wet my noodle almost every week.”

“And you wound up with Deanne.”

“But not until I made the rounds, partner. By the time I met Deanne, I was worried my balls would shrivel. Besides she’s a helluva good girlfriend. I don’t need to make the rounds anymore.”

“Why not? Is she that good?”

“Something like that. I’ll tell you all about it some time.” He finished his beer and stood, grabbing his jacket. “Gotta go,” he concluded. “Just show up at the Elks Lodge tomorrow. They meet every Saturday at seven.”

Cliff’s call was on the money. The very first night, Ian wound up bouncing his belly off a chubby but cute set of butt-cheeks. The middle-age mom insisted he go bareback and was more than happy to let him come in her. She sucked him back to size and swallowed his second batch, then begged him to top her off with another load. What’s more, she stroked his ego back into shape by washing his balls in a few gushes of girlie reward.

On the down side, she did it all in a whisper. With her two kids sleeping in the room across the hall, she insisted he stay quiet as well. Grasping her love-handles, Ian pursed his lips and puffed his cheeks as he pressed his thighs against the backs of hers, jetting his last salvoes of the evening into a viscous pool inside her. It was by far the best sex he’d had in years, albeit a silent event.

As he retreated from her seed-laden channel, a shrill cry came from across the hall, followed by, “Mommy!”

With a bead of cum still dripping from her crevice, she pushed her arms into a robe and whispered, “I’ll try to get my parents to watch them this weekend.”

Ian was the conscientious type. He hoped she would eventually find Mr. Right, but it wasn’t going to be him. He said hello to her at the next meeting, but left with a classy businesswoman named Sandra, who he recognized as the loan officer at the local bank.

Sandra was just as quick to get started, but something was wrong from the start. She made him park down the street, and insisted they have their soirée on an old sofa in the basement. Clearly, her ex wasn’t as good with their separation as she claimed. Ian expected him to be at the door at any minute, bringing their eleven-year-old son back early.

Afterward, Sandra promised things would smooth out soon. She gave great head and squealed in pleasure as she swallowed his load. Ian lost track of how many times he came in her, but his balls ached as he drove home. She smiled and waved the next few times he went to the bank, but Ian pretended kurtköy escort not to see her.

By week three, Ian was on a roll. Buried deep in unfamiliar genealogy, he sprayed the velvety inners of a middle-age redhead with spurts of viscous warmth. His balls tingled in blissful pangs as he pumped his semen into her thin frame. She gave a needy coo into the mattress as his bursts faded off to bumps. Much like week-one, the antics came to an end with a knock on the door. Unlike week-one, the knock wasn’t from a child, but rather a crying ex-husband.

He went to Mingling Singles for several more weeks, only going home alone a few times, but a pattern was unfolding. The walls were closing in. Sooner or later, he would have to choose a partner and “graduate” like Cliff did, or his prospects would dry up and he would be thrown to the cougars prowling the back tables. Deep down, he had hoped to find a gal with a more open mind toward sexuality, maybe one who would give partner-sharing a try. Apparently, he wouldn’t find her at Mingling Singles.

Or so he thought. Each time he went, he couldn’t help but notice one particular gal in her early thirties. Although she was at Mingling Singles every Saturday night, she seldom spoke to anyone. She didn’t sit at any of the tables during hors d’oeuvres, or mingle afterward. Ian figured she organized the events, since she set up the food table and always hung around to clean up the hall. But she was no wallflower, either. Her walk had a dainty, playful purpose and on the few occasions he heard her laugh, she all but sang.

At first, her appearance struck him as ordinary. She had no particular quality that caught the eye with a single glance. But seeing her time and again, he found her unique combination of features manifested into a precious example of femininity. She stood a thin but shapely five-foot-six. Her long, full hair struck two shades of blonde—golden and sandy layers that framed deep blue eyes.

She usually dressed rather plainly in jeans or black yoga pants, a simple blouse, and moccasins or flat shoes. Only toward the end of each night would she take off her denim jacket to show her slender arms. As Ian watched her each week, he sensed an esoteric, easy-going quality in the air around her, even before he ever spoke to her.

When he did, he wound up plenty confused. She was wiping down a tablecloth as he approached.

“Would you like some help?” he asked.

“Does it come with a price?” she queried without looking up.

“Just a name,” he replied, folding the tablecloth as she wiped another. “I was hoping you’d volunteer the rest. I’m—”

“Ian,” she interrupted. “I pay attention.”

“What have you noticed about me?”

“For starters,” she replied, hauling a table like a puny dockworker, “You’ve been sampling the most vulnerable girls.”

“I didn’t mean any harm. I was just—”

“Dipping your worm in a kettle of fish,” she called back, carrying a bowl of salad into the kitchen.

“You can’t blame me for being successful,” he bargained, calling through the doorway to her.

“I don’t blame you,” she sang, strutting out and handing him a push-broom.

“So you’ll tell me your name?”


“That’s it? No explanation?”

“I don’t think you’d care for the company I keep,” she snipped.

“Are you a lesbian?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Why?” she asked, looking up. “Why do they always ask that?”

“Maybe because you’re being aloof,” he suggested.

“Aloof? I’ve never been accused of that before.”

“Not that you’ve heard. If you shut people down that fast, you’re likely to miss a lot. All I asked for was your name.”

“It’s Tonya Forsythe. Satisfied?”

“Nope. Now I want you to come out for coffee, Tonya Forsythe.”

“Is that all?” she asked sarcastically.

“Would you believe me if I said it was?”

Ten minutes later, they sat sipping coffee at a donut shop across the street from the rental hall. “Honestly,” offered Ian, “I asked you for a different reason than…you know…”

“All the others?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“You think I’m a dog, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied with a nod.

“Then why’d you come?”

“Something you touched on.”

“Well, I doubt you’re a lesbian.”


“That doesn’t bother me.”

“I wouldn’t care if it did.”

“So what’d I touch on?”

“Not telling, but I’ll let you know if you touch on it again.”

“I’m only asking—”

“I know what you’re asking for,” she offered in a playful intonation, standing to leave.

“Am I being too bold?” he asked, standing and reaching her denim coat off the hook.

“You’re bold,” she replied. “But not too bold.” She looked him up and down, standing only to his chin. Raising her gaze to meet his, she broke a cute smile over her glossed lips. “How open-minded are you?” she asked.

“Open enough to not care if you’re bi.”

“Childs’ levent escort play,” she purred. “Follow me in your car. We’ll see how bold you are.”

And follow he did—under the highway and past the waterfront, then over the bridge to the town of Wellsburgh, where Tonya pulled into the driveway of a stately home. Ian pulled in behind her and scurried over to her car. “Nice house,” he offered, noticing the dozen or so cars parked on the side lawn.

“I’ve only been here a few times,” she replied as he followed her up the steps. Ringing the bell, she turned to face him and with a spearing glance of her blue eyes warned, “Last chance.”

“You’re trying to scare me off.”

“For your own good,” she retorted as the latch clicked. The door swung open to reveal a pretty, middle-age brunette in a black dress hemmed just above the knee. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her lips shone in a bright, enticing shade of red. Her brown eyes sparkled as she smiled and gestured for them to enter. “I’m so glad you’re here, Tonya!” she exclaimed. “Everyone made it.” Looking Ian up and down, she added, “Will your friend be participating?”

“Probably not, Liz,” replied Tonya. “This is Ian. He thinks he likes me. I figured I’d prove him wrong. Would it be okay if he just watches?”

“Of course,” she insisted. “But don’t be too quick to write him off. He may surprise you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” offered Ian as he stepped in.

Liz shot him a tantalizing grin. “Do me a favor,” she purred. “Surprise Tonya for me.”

“Let’s go, friend,” chimed Tonya, grasping Ian’s hand. “I’ll show you around.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” answered Liz. “Jim’s in the den.”

Tonya showed Ian down a wide hallway to large, well-appointed room in the rear of the house, where more than two dozen people milled about, chatting with hors d’oeuvres and drinks to soft piano music. The crowd was exclusively couples. Much like Tonya, they struck Ian as everyday, ordinary folks, joking and laughing at a Saturday night get-together.

“C’mon,” proposed Tonya, tugging his arm. I want you to meet Liz’s husband. Stepping up to a fit, trim man in a business shirt and slacks, she asked, “Nervous, Jim?”

He drew in a deep breath. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” he admitted. “But I’m among friends, thanks to you. I can’t believe you put this all together.”

“It’s gonna go fine,” she assured him. “After this you’ll see things in a new light. Say hi to Ian.”

As Ian shook his hand, Tonya plopped onto a love seat and patted the sofa cushions on both sides. “Both of you sit,” she insisted.

“Is this where the graduates from Mingling Singles go?” asked Ian as he sat to her left.

Tonya laughed aloud and pointed to the rear of the room, where a foot-high platform supported a king-size mattress appointed in heavy, deep blue sheets. The windows of the room were covered by thick, full-length drapes. Several large sofas and lounge chairs were arranged to face the makeshift nest.

“Care to guess again?” she asked.


“Not even close.”


“Let’s get ready to rumble,” she purred as the lights dimmed.

Most of the guests found seats. The men who didn’t stood behind their partners as Jim rose to his feet and cleared his throat. “Welcome everyone,” he announced. “Liz and I are so glad you could all be here. We’re truly honored to be a part of all this. We talked for a long time, but never thought such a thing could be properly organized…until we met Tonya, of course.”

The guests applauded as Tonya stood and offered a shy wave. She sat back down and leaned against Ian, much to his happy surprise. As the room quieted, Jim stepped up to the platform and continued, “So, I apologize for not having much chance to get to know all of you. But I was talking to Tom and Lena, the hosts of next month’s event. Liz and I are looking forward to being there and getting to know you all better after we’ve settled in. But for now, let’s get started.”

Liz appeared in the doorway, still in her black dress, but barefoot and without any jewelry. Her hair was down, draping over her thin shoulders as she stepped gracefully before the platform and faced Jim. After a quick kiss, she faced the guests as he stepped behind her.

“They’re not gonna do it in front of everyone, are they?” asked Ian in a whisper.

Tonya giggled and snuggled in closer as Jim unzipped Liz’s dress, lifted it over her head, and tossed it aside. The crowd offered polite applause as her perky breasts made their debut. They were medium size at best, but a perfect fit for her dainty torso. Her waist cambered to a delightful re-curve over her hips, and the bump of her tummy sat firm, adorned by the pea-size pit of her navel. She smiled and hooked her thumbs beneath her panties. The clapping continued as she tugged the dainty garment over her thighs and stepped out of it. Jim kissed Liz’s neck and returned to the mahmutbey escort sofa, dropping the silky panties on Ian’s lap as he passed. Liz stood before the guests naked, with her arms at her side.

Looking around the room, Ian realized about half the men were missing, but not for long. They filed in naked—a dozen in all. “Damn,” he murmured under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m just figuring this out.”

“Leave now if it’s too much,” whispered Tonya. “Don’t make a scene and ruin the night for everyone else.”

Ian considered doing just that, but it wasn’t him on display. It was a lovely brunette with long, lanky legs. Whatever her purpose, Tonya’s touch was growing more magical by the moment. “I’ll stick around,” he said quietly.

“How bold of you,” sassed Tonya, rubbing his thigh.

Like a kid in a movie theater on a first date, he snuck his arm around her. To his absolute elation, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Welcome,” squeaked Liz in a nervous crackle as the men filed past her. “I’ll do my best to remember names,” she offered, turning her back to the crowd to face the men. “Danny, Jake, Jahleel, Sam and Marco, let’s begin.”

To Tonya’s right, Jim peered on as the men stepped forward and formed a semi-circle around her. She knelt and sat back on her heels. Ian held his breath as she dunked over the rigid staff in the middle, stroking one on either side with each hand. He fought to keep his hand off his own crotch as he watched Liz’s full black mane dance before the men’s loins. He fought harder to keep it off Tonya’s as Liz turned to her left and dunked over another beefy hard-on.

With Tonya nestled against his side, Ian watched Liz offer her wiles to one man after another, most often two at a time. She spent a good portion of the time on her elbows and knees, bobbing over one shaft while another thrust in and out of her from behind. Other times she rode atop her sex-mate, leaning forward to loll her tongue over a throbbing bulb or lick a cum-swollen sac.

On the other end of the sofa, Jim leaned forward and peered at a pearly ribbon dripping from his wife’s slit. The scent of male pheromones filled the air as each new cock thrust into the remnants of its predecessor’s seed. The sheets beneath her oozing crevice lay soaked with white puddles. Liz’s lips glowed with mixed lineage as one chiseled shaft after another pulsed between them. Jim offered fist bumps as guys passed, returning to their wives after inseminating Liz and being replaced by a fresh stud from the floor.

Liz rolled onto her back and spread wide for a beefy, bronze-skinned hunk. As he sloshed into the concoction of proteins in her depths, Tonya brought her lips to Ian’s ear. Her breath wafted like precious puffs of enchantment as she leaned the cleavage of her modest but firm breasts against his upper right arm. “Let’s talk in the dining room,” she whispered.

Ian followed her across the hallway and sat at the head of the handsome wooden table. Tonya took off her jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, then sat at the corner to his right. Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed into his, folding her hands on the table. “Ian,” she chimed, “the women at Mingling Singles are looking for love…someone to nest with and help raise their kids. They don’t need guys looking to get their rocks off and move to the next. Let them be.”

“So,” he squeaked like a kid whose balls hadn’t dropped. “You organize…these—”

“I organize all kinds of things, from ice cream socials to this and all things in between, like Mingling Singles. I thought you should see both ends of the spectrum. These are couples…mostly married ones. They’re honest with themselves and each other about what excites them. I try to help them with that.”

“Gangbangs excite them?”

“Raw sexual honesty excites them. It’s not always a big gangbang. Jim and Liz have been kind of on the fringe for a while. They decided to do this to break the ice. This group gets together for social sexuality, and they wanted to be part of it. This is their offering to the assembly.”

“Fair enough,” he acknowledged, “But why did you bring me here?”

“Because you said you wanted to know me,” snapped Tonya defensively. “If you really did, you’d have realized that these are my friends.”

“Hold on!” he insisted. “You said you want someone to understand you. Maybe you should start by talking instead of accusing. What is it you want me to understand?”

“I’m sorry,” she lamented, bowing her head. “I’ve never found a guy who was willing to even try to understand what’s going on inside me.” She took his hand and smiled. “Remember when I said you touched on something?” she asked.

“Did I touch on it again?”

Tonya nodded, then scooted over and sat on his lap. “People need all kinds of things,” she explained. “Sometimes it’s validation. Call me a slut or whatever, but I enjoy multiple partner sex. What I really want is someone to love me…to be my alpha. I want to watch other women enjoy him. I want them to know I’ll share his sexuality, but that his love is mine. Is that so wrong?” She peered into his eyes as if looking for the answer in them. “Funny as it sounds,” she added, “I’m loyal. I’ll never kiss anyone but my lover.”

“I think I get it. But it’s a girl pulling that train, not a guy. What’s Jim’s deal? Is he a cuck?”

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