CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART THREE What surprised Christine the most upon emerging from the kitchen into the main room of the cafe was the immediate increase in the ambient noise level. The double doors through which she strode had to be soundproof, because the racket that greeted her entrance was sudden and almost mind-numbingly loud. Where did all these people come from? she thought, mildly confused. When we arrived there was almost no one here. How long was I milking into that pot of lobster bisque anyway? The clock on the wall was no help, since she hadn't noted the time when they arrived, but it told her that it was already well past ten p.m. The raucousness of the crowd told her that she had already missed the party's preliminaries. The party had broken up into a series of mini- parties, each with one of the cafe's very large circular tables as its focus. People seemed to have gravitated toward particular areas; there was very little traffic between tables. Chris found herself to be essentially the only "social butterfly" in the room. As she came closer to the nearest table, she saw that each table was a sort of miniature stage, with a different activity going on atop it. It didn't take but a moment to realize that each activity was intensely sexual in nature. Another moment later Chris realized that even though her incredible, bare breasts were in almost full view, covered only by her unzipped windbreaker, her state of undress was more the norm than the exception. People were dressed (or not) in all manner of costume, reminiscent of Mardi Gras or Carnaval. Feathers, sequins, lame', rhinestones, beads, and gewgaws of all descriptions dotted bodies all over the room, male and female alike. I'm really underdressed, Chris thought, then laughed aloud at her inadvertent play on words. Her curiosity and her animal side drew her toward the nearest table, from which very little noise was emanating. As Chris approached the first table, all she could see were the backs of several men, all bent over and clustered about the center of the table. A woman's head and shoulders stuck out above the group; she was evidently sitting on the tabletop. She appeared to be nude. The look on her face was that of the cat who'd eaten the canary. She was stroking the heads of two of the many men who surrounded her. As Chris got close enough to see through the crowd, she gaped. The woman's breasts were of a size that the word "elephantine" was barely adequate to describe. Each was at least the size of a large watermelon; Chris couldn't think of anything appropriate to compare them to exactly. Her areolae were the size of saucers, and they were capped with nipples the size and shape of upside-down cupcakes. The men were busy quietly caressing and kissing these monstrous mammaries, the ragged scars on which gave away their artificiality. Some of the men were openly masturbating. The woman had to be carrying gallons of silicone inside her. She was sitting Indian-style, but her lap was completely obscured by the huge globes of tit-flesh that rested on it. Just at that moment one of the men grunted and came, shooting an arc of semen onto one immense nipple, just missing the cheek of another man. The woman smiled and winked at Chris, who smiled weakly in return, turned, and proceeded to the next table. Sitting atop the second table was a pair of nude women, both dark haired, very thin, and fairly flat- chested. As Chris approached and was able to make out their facial features more clearly, she saw that they were twin sisters. One was in the process of wiping the last vestiges of what appeared to be shaving cream from her crotch with a damp towel, which she handed to one of the men who were sitting in a ring around the circular table. She had evidently just finished shaving off her pubic hair as her sister had also done. From the same man the woman received two identical rubber penises attached to flat rubber bases to which were glued thatches of fake black hair such as what one might find on a Halloween fright wig. She handed one to her sister, then took from the man a large tube of what appeared to be some type of adhesive. She and her sister smeared copious amounts of this material on the bases of their dildos, glued them to their naked pubes, and adjusted them so that the penises pointed downward. They then began taunting the men surrounding them, stroking their "members" and cooing suggestive come-ons at them. Chris surmised that they were simply waiting for the adhesive to set before proceeding. From a safe distance she watched as the women spat on their fingers and used the saliva to lubricate their labia (although from the looks of it, supplementary secretions were hardly necessary). They then positioned themselves crotch to crotch, facing in opposite directions, and inserted their attached penises into the other's vagina. With practiced precision they moved against each other, the dildoes sliding out the same distance from each gaping slit and then disappearing completely from view as their pussies slammed together with a wet squishing sound. Chris winced in sympathetic pain as she saw the skin of their pubes where the penises were attached stretch under the strain, particularly as the women neared orgasm and clamped their vaginal muscles more tightly around their toys. The men cheered them on. The two nearest the panting mouths of the twins liberated cocks glistening with pre-come which the women promptly swallowed whole. Chris found herself stroking her own bald cunt outside of her slacks as she watched. Her animal side was telling her that she needed to stop being an observer and start being a participant. Her more rational side was almost ready to acquiesce, but was insisting that a different forum be found. So she moved on. At the third table the centerpiece was a transsexual who was receiving a blow job from a large man wearing a wig and earrings. Chris recognized the latter as the bouncer who had greeted them at the back door of the cafe. In addition, two women were frantically sucking on the transsexual's budding breasts, which though developing nicely, had not yet lost their masculine qualities. Definitely not my cup of tea, Chris thought, and continued on. At the fourth table a crowd of both men and women was watching a man dressed in an oversized baby bonnet who was lying on his back on the table as a nude, large- breasted woman was finishing smearing baby oil on his shaved, erect penis that was ten inches long if it was a millimeter. She then dusted the shining pork sword with powder and finished fastening a large diaper around the man. Chris marveled at the woman's strength as she then lifted the man's upper body off the table and cradled him in her arms. He made gurgling noises -- amusing to Chris because they were supposed to emulate a baby's vocalizations but had a baritone pitch -- and sought out the woman's nipple, where he latched on and began nursing avidly. Now this is a little more up my alley, Chris thought as she made her way to the front of the crowd. From her improved vantage point, Chris noticed that the nursing part of the man's fantasy was just that -- a fantasy. The woman was not producing any milk. Chris decided she would do something wicked. She stood up straight and opened her windbreaker, allowing her magnificent milk machines to come into view. This caught the woman's eye, and she smiled. The man looked at Chris out of the corner of his eye but did nothing. Chris then cupped her full breasts, squeezed, and shot multiple streams of hot milk across the table, splashing both participants. The man immediately sat bolt upright, knocking the woman backward, and thrust both arms out toward Chris, who merely laughed and quickly backed away. The man fell into the crowd in his haste to reach Chris, but by that time she had made good her escape. I like nursing men, she thought, but I'm not into infantilism. She realized too late that she shouldn't have let only one squirt of milk go, because now that stimulation had kicked her breasts into high gear. She could feel them reaching maximum capacity and knew she'd have to do something fast, even if it meant revisiting Enrique's pot of lobster bisque and topping it off with more mother's milk. Fortunately, what eventually transpired at the fifth table, which was off in a far corner, was enough to make her end her search. Here was where Christine would make her mark, where she would put on a sexual show that would have people talking about the 1995 party for a long time to come.