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As the party was in its fourth hour with no open nudity, it seemed like high time for someone to get things moving. With that aim in mind my friend and I boldly commandeered the playroom and got naked.

He went down on me, and because that’s just how I roll, I was soon grinding on his mouth and coming. It was as lovely as it always is with him, but from the adjoining room floated snippets of conversation from a group of still-dressed party goers.

“Think about it. You’re passing a rock out your urethra!” shrieked one woman, making me giggle even while my friend’s mouth was still latched on to me.

“Focus,” he murmured into my pussy.

And I tried, I really did try. But as soon as we began fucking, a new girl wandered back to use the bathroom. “Oh, sorry! I’ll come back later,” she said, backing out.

Without stopping he answered. “It’s fine! Go right ahead. It’s a public room. We don’t mind at all!” But she was already gone.

An unholy hush came over the other room; she must have reported back to the crowd on our activities. We did the only thing we could have done. We hammed it up for them.

Soon they tired of listening to our porn-star stylings. The conversation picked back up (as did our fucking). We’d gotten back into a nice little rhythm when we heard, “So I asked her, ‘How is Eskimo pussy?’”

We tried not to laugh as we soldiered on.

We’d almost gotten into a good groove when a mutual friend wandered into the room and plopped down on the bed. “Do y’all need some help?” I wished she would have asked, but no. She was drunk and chatty, so as we tried to keep going, she gave us the rundown of everyone else’s party activities.

Politely we listened and responded until eventually she wandered off. Unfortunately, she didn’t wander far. As he put his face into the angle of my neck in preparation for coming, we heard bumping from across the room.

We peeked up to see our tipsy friend perched on a chair. She removed a lampshade from a sconce and stretched up to place her cheek close to the bare bulb. “What the hell are you doing?” my partner asked.

She mumbled something about trying to activate the light-sensitive paint on her face. We watched with astonishment as she slumped off the chair and ricocheted back to the next room. We were alone, but the magic was gone. His bewildered dick slid out of me and we could do nothing but laugh at the absurdity of the encounter.

“Let me suck you more,” I coaxed.

“I’m done, hon,” he answered. “This is just too much. Who could work under these conditions? No one could!” We tugged on our clothes and rejoined the crowd.

Could this be why most people choose to conduct their intimate activities sub rosa? You think?