The Scarlet Letter Scandal

by Mary T. McCarthy

  Such careful measures had been taken. Rules had been sent out with the Evite months before. No wedding rings. Face, hair, and hands must be masked or disguised. Couples may not dress in front of one another prior to the party or arrive together. Do not arrive in your personal vehicle. No speaking. Though these complications were necessary if the party was to be a success, the concept of the party was simple. Anything goes. All sexual and societal barriers were removed. Anyone could do anything with anyone they wanted.

  Different Stony Mill residents, unbeknownst to their hosts, had different expectations for the party. One man wanted so badly to fuck the woman that had lived across the street from him for eight years; he was sure he could find her no matter what she wore. She had paraded naked in front of her living room bay window during the day for years. He knew she worked at home. He would watch her from his first floor home office window often. She did yoga, ate lunch, pecked on her laptop, talked on the phone, worked out on the treadmill—all naked. He swore she was smiling directly at him when she took a moment to stand by the window, though he stayed in the shadows of his office curtains, masturbating while she carelessly ran a finger over one of her nipples.

  One woman had been fantasizing for years about running her hands over the bare breasts of another woman in the subdivision. Their sons played soccer together, and it was all she could do during games not to watch her neighbor’s perfect, implanted breasts and perky nipples through the thin fabric of her T-shirts. She had never been with a woman, but her crush on the other soccer mom was relentless. She knew she’d recognize those tits at the party tonight and she would love to get her tongue on them.

  One neighbor was hell bent on a threesome between another man and his wife. He knew there was a chance he wouldn’t recognize his wife that night, but he was going to do his damn best to watch another guy and a woman together, and to participate. As a kid, his older teen brother had forever been fucking a girl in his bedroom. He’d taken little care to close the bedroom door, so his younger brother as a very young teen had often watched. The experiences had been hardwired into his own sexual arousal, the feeling of wanting to join in deep in his psyche. Threesomes between two men and a woman were annoyingly difficult to find in the porn industry, and he wanted an experience all his own.

  But many of the partygoers just had a “whatever” attitude about what might happen that evening. Just happy to get the night off from being married, they looked forward to the mystery “hall pass” to be able to grab the ass of another man and thrust him harder into her or to suck hard on the erect nipples of someone else’s wife. The unknown, the thrill of the different. That’s what they craved: an adrenaline rush. The masquerade concept had seemed brilliant—there was something very powerful about the idea of not knowing who you were fucking.

  As they watched Eyes Wide Shut in their home theater the night before in preparation for the party, one couple had been completely turned on in anticipation of the night ahead. The husband had masturbated and his wife fingered herself as they watched and he’d thrown her over the leather seat in their home theater before the movie was half over. The arousal came from the knowledge that on the upcoming planned evening, what had only happened in the movies was going to happen to them.

  Kellie knew she’d be able to find Chaz. Even if people weren’t speaking and no matter how disguised they were, she’d know his body anywhere. And God knew his insane bitch of a wife Jeannie wouldn’t be at the party since she knew nothing about it. She really wanted to get in a room with her fiancé and Chaz, and wondered how uninhibited Brandon would be that evening. She poured him another vodka and tonic and handed it to him.

  “Good idea,” said Brandon. “We’re usually so casual and this whole formal party thing is making your nerve-wracking contagious.”

  “So do you have the new party favors?” Kellie asked.

  “Hell yes,” said Brandon. “And tonight is free trial night. After that, we start raking in the cash.”

  “Be careful,” said Kellie. “We aren’t necessarily going to know who everyone is, depending on how good their costumes are. What if some costumed state trooper showed up here?”

  “I’m always careful. Our group is pretty tight,” Brandon replied. “We know who RSVP’d and no one wants to ruin the fun by blabbing it all over town.”

  “Yeah, except that fucking Keytown Mouse cunt,” said Kellie.

  “Who?” asked Brandon.

  “You know, that bitch who writes that online shit and mentioned a swingers’ club? And now that it’s been in the actual newspaper, our friendly neighborhood PTA homeowners association queen is on the lookout and she would stop at nothing to shut us down.”

  “Oh shit, well, she might have read some stupid rumors but that doesn’t mean she’s going to go door to door looking for us,” said Brandon.

  “Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me,” said Kellie.

  The door chime rang downstairs, indicating their first guests had arrived.

  “I’ll go,” said Brandon. “You pour yourself another drink and relax. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He walked downstairs and hit the play button on the Kubrick film.

  Kellie poured a vodka and cranberry. She answered the front door for the caterer, who had set up a while ago but was back to give everything a final check. Kellie looked around, and was sure that everything was gorgeous. She promised herself she’d try to relax. She gave the caterer his check and walked him out, explained to the maid and servers again that they needed to stay upstairs, and took a long drink. She opened the door to the basement and heard the opening scenes from Eyes Wide Shut playing. She smiled as she noticed several people had already arrived. She walked to the bar, where Brandon was getting a drink for a woman dressed entirely in a purple Catwoman-style outfit with a matching feather mask, when a man walked up to her and put his arms around her waist.

  She smiled. It must be Chaz. The man turned her around. He wore a complete Phantom of the Opera costume. There wasn’t enough light to make out what was visible of his face, and then he was kissing her. His white-gloved hands slid underneath her cape and grabbed her ass. His tongue probed her mouth eagerly. She relented, appreciating the aggressive nature of the encounter. She put her arms around him, knowing that if it had been Chaz she would have recognized his body immediately.

  This masquerade thing was a great idea, she thought. This anonymous encounter was truly sexy. Who even knew who this was? She went through the guest list in her mind; though a few people had added plus-one notations for their responses, several single men and single women were attending. This could be someone she spoke to every day or someone she had never laid eyes on, and she liked not knowing.

  The Phantom was empowered by his anonymity. He had wanted to get his hands on Kellie for years, and knew this was his chance. He needed the disguise to give him the confidence for the encounter. He had bleached his hair a temporary black and gotten it cut, bought a new cologne, and worked out for months. He knew she wanted him too, knew she had left her curtains parted and walked around naked on purpose. Why else would she do it? She must know he worked often at home, alone. He knew she wanted him too.

  The Phantom hadn’t wanted to be overly aroused and had taken care of himself in the shower earlier, taken Viagra to ensure he was rock hard for her, and though he knew he would be anyway, he wanted his arousal and his time with her to last as long as possible.

  Kellie felt weak. The costumed man was so passionate. This wasn’t some swinger hookup; it seemed like more. As he traced his gloved finger across her nipple, she quivered with excitement. She knew other people were arriving, but also that they wouldn’t expect her to greet them on this quiet, anonymous evening. So she relaxed. The rule about silence was tricky; she wanted to ask him something, tell him something, say anything.

  The room was dark and as he began to reach down toward her thighs, she tried to look around. She saw Brandon getting cozy on the couch with Catwoman, next to another woman in a slutty h
ead-to-toe blue sequined angel dress with enormous white wings and a white feather mask. She saw a man in an expensive-looking Batman costume. She saw a more plainly dressed man and woman in black formalwear with masks on, watching them. She had a guess as to who they were.

  And then she didn’t have time to see anything because his tongue was in her mouth again, almost forcefully probing her, pressing his erection toward her thigh as he grabbed her ass harder now. This was not Chaz. He caressed her breast with his other hand, slipping his gloved fingers inside her leather bustier, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing her nipple until she thought she could cum just from barely dry-humping him. Her lace panties seemed to wrap her arousal around his. Who was this stranger?

  The Phantom felt his heart pounding inside his chest. He had watched her for years: in the grocery store, cleaning up leaves from the lawn, working out, looking out her curtains toward his house. He never knew whether she was looking for him, whether she wanted him to see her parading around in the nude, but he imagined he excited her as much as she excited him, even though they’d never even had a conversation. He wanted her clothes off, he wanted her naked, like he’d seen her so many times, but this time he could and would touch her. Everywhere.

  Dripping with excitement, Kellie slid her hips back and forth across his massive erection, eager to feel more of it, to feel it throbbing inside her. She didn’t care about the party anymore. She just needed to fuck the Phantom of the Opera, and fuck him hard. She put her hands on his butt cheeks to pull him closer. She pointed to the Night Sky blacklight room, her favorite. The Vault was great for some light BDSM and the apt “Eyes Wide Shut” group sex room was perfect for a crowd, but she liked the intimacy of the third private room at the small club.

  He sighed quietly, grateful she wanted to continue in a more private place, though he didn’t care who saw them.

  She led him by the hand to the room. She flipped the light switch, and tiny purple stars swirled around the ceiling and walls. The blacklight illuminated his white Phantom mask and white satiny shirt and made the whole thing even more exciting to her. She’d been naked in the Night Sky room many times, but for some reason (the mystery of it all) was oddly more excited than usual about this encounter.

  He closed the door and locked it; no one was welcome to enter. He walked over to the window curtains facing the open club space and then turned to her questioningly. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say you decide. He closed the curtains partway, leaving enough room for a person or two to peek through, but not wide enough for all to see. She liked that and smiled. Let them peek, not gawk.

  Her smile lit up in the blacklight. She lay back on the specially designed large sex lounge chair. It was curved in the middle, to help ease the hips of the person on the bottom forward. She lounged there, sipping her drink and waiting for him to make the next move. Clearly, he was in control, and she liked that. She spent too much time controlling things and was ready to submit for a change. She was excited enough to softly stroke the outside of her panties, their white lace edges glowing in the room’s darkness.

  The Phantom unzipped his fly. He reached in and freed his aching cock. He had masturbated while watching her so many times; it seemed the natural thing to do. She rubbed one of her nipples, inserting a finger inside her panties, which she then slowly removed. He stroked himself, watching her. Her instinct told her, and it was obvious, that he liked watching. So she gave him a show. She fingered herself with her right index and middle finger, while circling and squeezing her right nipple with her left hand. She circled her hips, pushing them forward into her own grasp. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  The Phantom would allow this to continue for only a few moments longer. He wanted more than anything to touch her. He removed his cape, placing it on a hook behind the door. He watched her and stroked himself with his gloved hand, just enough to stay perfectly hard, impressed with the job the Viagra was doing. After a moment, he removed his pants, revealing to her that there was nothing on underneath them. With his two gloved hands, he grabbed the base of his cock, bringing it to her full attention.

  Seeing this, she stopped pleasuring herself and brought her breasts out above the leather bustier. She circled her nipples with two fingers on each hand, watching him. His erection was difficult to look away from. She wanted it on her, in her.

  He walked toward her, one hand remaining on his arousal and the other seeking out her right breast. She lowered her right hand to reach down and grab that stiffness and feel it for herself. As he stood next to the lounge chair, she brought her head down to dart her tongue around his throbbing dick. He moaned. Sshhh, she whispered. He grabbed the back of her head, encouraging her to take him in. She did. She was drenched awaiting his touch, bringing her hips closer to him. He reached down and satisfied her need, not removing his glove. She liked the texture of the glove as it circled her wet center. His shirt had come undone and the blacklight stars danced across his rippled muscles. She ripped the remaining buttons open harshly; they flew and she ran her hand down his tight, rippled, perfect abs.

  Who is this guy? she thought. I must know him. She tried again to think through the guest list and failed. His gloved fingers were probing her and she wanted to replace them with his cock. She removed her mouth from it, dragging it slowly and gently across her teeth. She felt him weaken with pleasure for a moment and then suddenly he was aggressive again. He climbed onto the sex lounge chair so that he was positioned over her small frame. An iron bar on the wall placed there for exactly this reason allowed him to have leverage as he grabbed on and hovered over her. She looked up and saw the full beauty of his masculine frame: the shadow of his abs, the tightness across his shoulders as he prepared to fuck her.

  The Phantom of the Opera breathed heavily. He looked down at her and he waited. He was in no rush for this to be over. He rested on his tight thighs as he removed the shirt and tossed it to the ground. Now he was fully naked except for the mask and gloves. For the moment, he didn’t touch her. He just watched her. She looked up, waiting. The light caught his striking green eyes and she saw the passion in them. She lazily circled one nipple as he had seen her do so many times before. She positioned her body directly under him. The moment seemed frozen in time. He leaned his head down to kiss her, this time more softly at first, but with growing hunger as he probed her lips with his tongue. He wanted to taste her. He squatted down toward the end of the bed and used his tongue to probe her most sensitive spot as her hips rose to greet his mouth. She touched the mask and he held up a hand to stop her—no way would she ruin the mystery of this by finding out he was only her neighbor from across the street.

  Kellie came more quickly than she ever had from oral sex. The buildup had been so strong; her body needed the release. She reached down and pulled his broad shoulders toward her; she wanted him inside her now. He responded by using his glove to guide his pulsing cock inside her. She ground against him, begging for more pressure.

  So finally the Phantom could do what he’d dreamed of doing for years. He could possess her, if only for a moment. He could fuck her, hard, and watch as she enjoyed it, pulling his ass toward her and digging into his flesh with her nails. She was everything he had imagined and he was nothing she ever could have.

  The kids were sleeping and Jeannie was getting ready to settle down with her Sunday school paperwork. She walked into Chaz’s first floor office and over to the filing cabinet to retrieve a folder. There was a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. So sloppy. As she reached to pick it up and toss it away under the desk, she noticed the word “MEMO” in large letters on a sheet of paper in the wastebasket. She didn’t like to snoop, but when she saw the Stony Mill Homeowners Association letterhead, she figured it was something she already seen or somehow missed, so she began reading.

  MEMO

  To: Stony Mill Homeowners Association Executive Board

  From: Chaz Appleton, President

  CONFIDENTIAL

  Dear B
oard,

  I am writing this memo in response to last night’s meeting. None of us could have anticipated Ed Smith’s outburst about the camper parked on his street. It’s not the association’s fault Smith’s daughter brought that hippie piece of shit on wheels home from dropping-out-of-college, nor that she has two of her pot-smoking wastoid pals living in there. It sure as hell doesn’t mean we ‘put the ASS in association’ as he suggested. Takes one to know one, prick. But let me go on record as saying I did not support Jeb Thompson using the term “ass munch” and punching Ed in the piehole. The whole thing got way out of control; I’ve been saying all along that we shouldn’t be starting meetings after the case of beer is gone. Hell, I don’t even remember how I got this shiner on my eye.

  The thing is, we live in a so-called “community” created by a developer who tore down the actual fucking stone mill and then named the neighborhood after it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we all start getting haunted by the Indian remains probably buried underneath our basketball nets, like in fucking Poltergeist. That bulldozing bastard built our houses out of crap- this damn place is like a real-life Three Little Pigs nursery rhyme, and God help us if a strong windstorm huffs and puffs, because we all know that shit will blow our houses down in a hot minute.

  So what are we gonna do about it? Probably nothing. We’re all over mortgaged to our goddamn eyeballs, underwater and unable to sell in a shitty market. FUBAR. Did you know there are more houses in this neighborhood that are in foreclosure than aren’t? That’s the kind of important shit we should be talking about at meetings, not some fucking illegal flowerbeds being used to deny someone’s pool pass (no offense to your wife Marilyn Roberts, Judd, and her fantastic efforts with the landscaping committee).