"'Ello!" said a man from behind me with a pronounced north-of-England twang. "I saw you and yer girl on the bed. We were right next to you! We were gonna join in, but you shot off all sudden like!" The man, clad only in boxers, extended his hand. "Name's Billy. Billy Cardboard, on account of me making things out of cardboard. You name it; I'll make it out of cardboard." We shook hands and helped ourselves to the crudités. Billy gave me insight into his bizarre occupation, then explained how he and his wife Jennifer got involved in these kind of parties: he had to warm her up to the idea that he "liked to share" over an extended period of time. It was then that both Claire and Jennifer joined us. After a lively five-minute chat about the real-estate market in Queens, Billy got behind Claire and Jennifer snuck behind me. They pushed Claire and I closer together; their mitts vanished into our underwear.      Swapping befuddled looks, Claire and I were nose to nose, mouthing expletives to one another as twenty fingers moved rapidly in our pelvic vicinity. The lascivious pair shuffled us over to an empty bed and arranged us according to some predetermined plan. Billy parked his face in Claire's formidable cleavage, and Jennifer tugged away at my old chap ruthlessly. Partly to get in the uh  .  .  . swing of things and partly to prevent some serious chafing, I pried myself out of Jennifer's grip and went down on her.      Claire had her eyes clenched tight, her face held skyward as Billy's mouth and hands scoured her body like a human octopus. Comically, Claire opened one eye and glanced around the room, iguana-like, before her gaze landed on my furrowed brow, which was nestled betwixt Jennifer's thighs. We tried to stifle a giggle, without too much success.      Jennifer cordially thanked me, plucked my Johnson out of my shorts and put it in her mouth. Billy gave Claire a break and started fucking his wife hard from behind. His thrusts transferred through Jennifer's lithe body and onto me, making me feel a little closer to Billy than I'd otherwise care to be. I lay back and closed my eyes, for the first time taking in what was really going on here. Soon I felt a different hand tugging away at me. I propped myself up on my elbows and saw that the baton in this bacchanalian relay had indeed been handed off. A very beautiful, yet very bored, Slavic-looking woman was standing at the side of the bed, rubbing my dick while chatting with Claire. "Er. . . hello," I said, confused. "My name Karolinka," she sighed in a thick Russian accent. "I want you to come on your girlfriend." I stood up next to her, but she was intent on keeping my length at arm's length. A large man touched her shoulder and she turned her head to talk to him: a little bit of Russian, a little bit of English, all the while pounding away at my unit. Sensing that the time was nigh, my multilingual, multitasking, polyamorous friend pointed my penis in the general direction of Claire as my erstwhile date made out with another anonymous couple. With Karolinka's mission accomplished, she gave me a curt smile and headed off to talk with her friends.      Some guy standing nearby heard my accent and asked if I was a fan of Arsenal, the north London soccer team. Claire and I both told him that we were and he went on to list every time he'd flown over to see them play, where he sat, the results, etc., with his flagging erection poking out of the fly of his shorts.      The party began to thin out. Feeling tired (it was now around 3 a.m.) and more than a little raw, I sat on a gold lamé sofa and watched Claire become the epicenter of a giant clusterfuck involving eight to ten people. I felt as if I were slipping in and out of an alternate reality as a small Asian man, called simply J., with a Bee Gees hairdo began thrusting into Claire with a giant grin on his face.

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