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From: David Wright <bluewords@yahoo.com>
Subject: {Bluewords} The Party (No Sex)
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{Bluewords} The Party (No Sex)

I wrote this a little while ago. It's supposed to be a
non-technological representation of 
ASS/M/D, although you can stretch an analogy only so far. It's what I
thought of things 
when I first contributed something here. I do like the party, though.

The following text and characters are fictional and in no way reflects
any known 
persons, situations or places. Any similarity to real life is purely
coincidental. Any 
similarity to any "net personalities" is also purely coincidental.

Permission is granted to save this story to a private computer for
personal viewing or to 
be re-posted within this newsgroup so long as both this disclaimer and
copyright of the 
writer and owner-(me)- remain intact. The story may be archived or
linked to a web 
page, as long as there is no charge for access to it, it remains
unchanged and I am given 
credit for the work. However, permission to print in book or magazine,
or commercial 
archive this story, as well as selling this story as your own, is
explicitly withheld.


The Party

I wasn't quite sure where I was going.

I had written something up, a small story, and someone suggested that
I go to the party. 
They told me where it was, but when I asked what time, they said "Hey,
there's always 
someone at the party. Just show up." The instructions seemed easy to
follow, so I off I 
went. It wasn't too far from where I lived. It was in an unassuming
building.

The party. Inside the front door was a large room. Cork board had been
put up all over 
the walls, and it was covered with stories put up with thumbtacks.
Anyone going by 
could read them. An odd sight. There was another room further in. The
noise from in 
there was loud enough that you could probably pick up a conversation
or two. There 
were a few large windows looking into the second room, showing the
party. They had 
nothing to hide, it seemed. It was set up so that you could read their
work, or watch what 
was going on inside without having to actually go in. It was an
attempt to make it look 
safe. Come in if you want, just lurk around outside if you want, we
don't mind. Feel 
comfortable.

I read several of the stories on the wall. Some were okay, but a few
were very good. One 
woman wrote interesting and fun stories, and her stories were posted
close together. I 
read more of her stuff. Most of it was a series, all about the same
person. Not something 
I would normally have looked at before that, but I was glad it caught
my eye. I read 
pieces by other writers, some long, some short. I thought I could
spend all my time just 
reading the postings out there. I finally told myself that they
weren't going anywhere, 
and I would come back and read more later.

I found an empty spot on the wall marked "New Contributions" and
posted my story. 
There was a lot of space to put things on, even though a lot of it was
already covered. I 
decided to go inside to the party. Right outside the door was a table
with those "Hello, 
My Name Is" stickers. I was told people didn't generally use their
real names at the 
party, so I had made up a name. I wrote it on the sticker, stuck the
sticker on my chest 
and went on in to the larger room.

I noticed the windows were mirrored and didn't look out. The people
inside couldn't tell 
if anyone was on the outside, lurking or reading. Kind of reverse of
what you might 
expect, but then the party wasn't your normal party.

There were a lot of people at the party. They were laughing and
talking and a few were 
even singing. There were some arguments going on, too, but for the
most part they 
seemed good-natured. A few people stood up on boxes, telling others
that gathered 
around what they thought about some of the stories on the wall outside.

Strangely enough, almost everyone there was in costume. Some had full
costumes, regal 
dress. Some only had masks. I could make out only a few faces that
were not covered in 
some manner. Maybe they did have something to hide, after all. On many
of the people, 
the masks looked like a normal face, so it was hard to tell how much
they were really 
hiding. Or maybe, they just wanted to maintain some privacy, even in
the middle of the 
crowd.

I had been warned about the masks before hand, so I came in with a
small one. Nobody 
really knew me there, anyway.

I stood around for a long while, just listening to conversations. It
was really interesting 
stuff. Mostly, it was about sex. People having sex, wanting sex, how
to have sex, writing 
about sex. No one seemed embarrassed about it at all. Even the most
taboo subjects were 
discussed. I could tell some people shied away from some of the
conversations, not 
wanting to talk about certain things, wanting to talk about other
things. I could tell that 
some people there were old friends, laughing and joking, swapping
stories.

Someone came in the front door and tried to pass fliers out, selling
some odd thing or 
another. Everyone there ignored him. I shook my head when he
approached me, and he 
eventually left.

I wanted to join a conversation. It looked like fun, and from what I'd
heard so far, 
everyone seemed very friendly. I walked up to a group of people and
listened in.

A woman who was almost as tall as I am, was speaking to an man who was
just my 
height, about a desert island, or rather a cruise that had been
shipwrecked on the island. 
It seemed they were very intimate with each other, although he didn't
seem to be her 
husband. I recognized the story and her name on her name tag. She was
the writer I had 
admired.

"I really like your stories," I told her, when a break came in their
conversation. I was 
trying not to be rude and interrupt. She had been smiling, but her
smile seemed to get a 
bit bigger.

"Really? That's so nice of you to say."

"Well, you write very well, and your stories are fun to read. I like
all the little touches, 
people seem real, the situations seem true to life, and the sex is
believable, as well as 
unbelievable, if you know what I mean."

She laughed a little, and seemed really flattered. I had to believe
that other people had 
said similar things to her about her writings, but she was very
gracious and happy about 
my compliments. She introduced me to some of the others there.

The tall man she'd been talking to had written a few things I'd read,
one was a 
companion to one of her stories. I hadn't read anything by any of the
others yet, but 
vowed to look up their stories on the wall outside.

"Have you written anything?" she asked me. I blushed. My effort wasn't
near as good as 
any of theirs. But I admitted that that was why I had come to the
party in the first place.

"Well, let me go read it, be right back." She went out the door to
look up my story.

A strange thing happened. A few people wandered by, recognized my name
from my tag 
and commented that they liked my story. They had noticed the new
posting. I was 
astonished so many people had read it so quickly. I had just put it
up. They all asked, 
"Will there be a part two?"

At first I told them I wasn't sure, but after the third or forth came
by, I started saying 
"probably".

The tall woman came back.

"That was funny. You write very well." I actually blushed again. A big
smile came 
across my face.

"Uh, thanks," was my witty reply.

"Are you going to write more?" she asked.

"I'd like to," I told her, "but I don't always have a whole lot of
time." I checked my watch 
then. "In fact, I have to leave now. It has been a great pleasure
meeting you. I'll be back 
soon."

"I probably should leave, too," she said. "The kids will be home soon."

I nodded, waved goodbye to all of them and left.

It had been interesting, at the party. I wanted to stay there longer,
the people there were 
so nice, the conversations interesting. It was much easier to make
friends there than in 
the real world. I wondered why that was. People had masks, but it
seemed to free them 
up to be more open and honest in other ways.

Upon leaving, I heard one last conversation. A few people were
lamenting about 
someone who had left, and probably wasn't coming back. She had been a
regular 
partygoer, a lot of fun, and everyone had really liked what she'd
written, but eventually 
she had apparently decided that she no longer liked putting on the
mask all the time, of 
taking the time to go to the party. As much fun as the party was, it
took some time to 
contribute, to even show up. She hadn't been the first to go and
wouldn't be the last, they 
mused. People came and went all the time. They made friends, wrote
stories or gave 
reviews, dropped out.

Real life intruded.

I could understand why. I wasn't sure I'd have enough time to write
very often, and also 
read some of the interesting stories already there. More were posted
on the wall every 
day. And comments, about the stories, about things in general were
posted out there too. 
It turned out, someone regularly took the stories down, sorted them
and stored them in 
boxes just inside the front door. Lots of boxes. Too much to read; I'd
have to be selective. 
Only authors I thought were really good. But there seemed to be a lot
of those.

Then I thought, there were probably other parties going on, just like
this one. Dozens, or 
maybe hundreds of parties, each with its own theme. Maybe people at
this party left to 
go to the other parties every once in a while. I could imagine people
who did nothing but 
go to these parties. I decided, for now, to stick with this one. It
was a subject I liked, and 
was interesting to me to write about it.

Before leaving, I read one of the shorter pieces there. It was quick
to read, and very 
good. I decided to search out the author, next time I came to the
party and tell her I liked 
it. It had been nice to make the tall woman smile, and she had made me
smile in return. 
I wanted to try that again.

The party was fun. I was definitely coming back, as often as I could
afford to.

The real world could wait, sometimes.


Copyright (c) 1998 by David Wright.  All rights reserved.








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