Dan Webster - Forced into damnation

"Oh, that's all right," he said. "I like to watch, too, sometimes. And Peter and Eleanor certainly don't mind. This is standard operating procedure for them at parties. And you ain't seen nothing yet. If they're at all true to form, they'll both be rolling around naked before long. Get an eyeful if you like. We're all friends here," Connie wanted to explain that she wasn't watching for her entertainment, that she was just trying to get as much information as possible about the kids of Forest Hills. But she didn't see how she could explain without blowing her cover. And after Fred's promise that Lionel, an apparent dope pusher, would show up later, blowing her cover, was the last thing in the world that Connie wanted to do now.

Anyway, Fred didn't seem to think that there was anything wrong in watching. And neither did Peter and Eleanor. Although she faced Fred now, Connie could still see the necking couple out of the corner of her eye. Eleanor was stretched out on the floor, totally naked from the waist up. Peter was bent over her, his mouth sucking hungrily at one of her distended nipples. Connie drained her glass quickly, the liquor burning her throat on the way down.

She tried to stop herself from coughing by taking a long deep breath. Then she smiled. "That's good," she said. "But a little strong. What did you put in it."

"Straight scotch," he answered. "You didn't tell me what you wanted so I decided to play it safe with scotch. I hope it's all right."

"Oh, it's just fine," Connie answered. "In fact I think I could do with another." The drink had given her something to do and taken her mind off the lascivious spectacle on the other side of the room. Fred reached for her glass but she held onto it. "I think I'll get it myself," she said.

As she rose from her seat on the cushion, her short skirt hiked quickly up, exposing a long stretch of white thigh and a wide open view of the crotch of her lacy white panties. Before she could tug the skirt down again, she saw Fred's eyes focus on her cunt, the lips of which were pouting against the filmy material of her panties. She turned quickly, pulling at her skirt as she did so, quick to smooth it down around her thighs as soon as her back was to him. Connie was careful to avoid looking in the direction of Peter and Eleanor as she threaded her way carefully across the room to the table with the liquor on it.

Francine, a girl that she knew from the Glass Onion, was standing at the table pouring herself a drink. "Hi, Connie," she said when the miniskirted policewoman stepped up alongside of her. Francine was dressed in paint-stained jeans and a close-fitting sweatshirt with the words WATERGATE BUGGING TEAM printed across the front. Connie was beginning to feel overdressed.

"Hi, Francine," she answered. "You're one of the first friendly faces I've seen at this party."

"Well, Fred's around somewhere," Francine answered. "I saw him a few minutes ago. And Peter and Eleanor are over there." She gestured toward the necking couple with a quick movement of her head.

"Yes, I saw Fred," Connie said. "And Peter and Eleanor look like they're kind of busy."

Francine laughed. "Well, you know how Peter and Eleanor are," she said, as though this was enough to explain their obscene conduct. "But it doesn't matter. Most of the people here are strangers to me too. Just hang loose and before you know it everything'll fall into place."

Connie had noticed, in the short time, that she had spent mingling with the young people of Forest Hills, that all of them seemed to have great confidence that everything would work out by itself if they left it alone and "hung loose". It seemed to be characteristic of the new philosophy that they all espoused. "I guess I just never learned to hang loose," she said, forcing a smile.

Francine took a long swallow of her drink, taking an ice cube into her mouth and rolling it around for a minute. "It's easier than you think," she said, the cube clinking against her teeth as she spoke. "You ought to check out the sensitivity session they're having in the next room."

"What's a sensitivity session?" Connie asked, pouring herself a generous shot of scotch and then adding club soda to fill the glass to the top. She didn't ordinarily like to drink much, but she found that the drink Fred had given her had relaxed her and made her feel more social. Since her whole idea in coming had been to make contact with someone who could lead her to heroin, it would be best if she let herself become part of the party. The liquor seemed to be helping her to do that.

"Sensitivity sessions are a form of encounter therapy," Francine answered. "The idea is to lose your inhibitions. To learn to express yourself without fear or embarrassment. Come with me. I'll show you." Francine took Connie by the arm and began leading her to a room in the back of Fred's apartment – probably Fred's bedroom. Suddenly remembering Fred, Connie turned to see that the girt in the see-through top had joined him on the floor and that both of them seemed to be looking directly at Peter and Eleanor – still necking shamelessly on the other side of the room and were whispering animatedly. Connie turned back to Francine and followed her, curious to see what this "sensitivity session" was all about.

There were about a dozen people in the room, all kneeling or squatting in a circle on the floor. They were huddled around something in the middle of the circle, but Connie couldn't see what it was at first. Francine led her to the perimeter of the circle and tapped a kneeling girl on the shoulder. "Move over," she said. "Make room for Connie and Francine. I'm Francine. This is Connie."

"Hi," the girl answered, looking up as Francine spoke. "I'm Greta. Join the encounter."

Francine dropped to her knees beside Greta and patted the floor next to her. Connie knelt beside her and then looked, for the first time, at the object of everybody's attention. In the middle of the circle of kneeling people was a waterbed. And on it was a naked girl. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled, her feet and hands pointing to the four corners of the rippling mattress.

The girl was short and slim, but her naked breasts were huge. They rolled about as the rippling waterbed made the girl's body undulate sensuously. Her nipples were the size and color of strawberries. Her platinum hair was cut in a short pixie style, but her exposed bush of pubic hair was dark and thick. She was smiling, an expression of peaceful serenity on her face. Connie was speechless, unable to comprehend this strange ritual.

Then one of the people in the circle said, "All right, now, let's all concentrate on making Janie feel good. Just our minds at first. No hands."

The people in the circle closed their eyes and took on expressions of intense concentration. Someone began chanting a long low plaintive sound. At first Connie thought that it was the word "home". But as more people joined in the chant, she realized it was "om". She had read somewhere that there were people who said that Om was the sound made by the creation of the universe.

In a moment, all the people in the circle were humming the resonant monosyllable word. Connie, not wishing to attract attention to herself, joined in, shutting her eyes tightly and humming the mysterious term. It made the back of her throat tickle and she couldn't help smiling. She opened her eyes for a moment and noticed that the others were smiling, too.

"All right now," someone said softly. "Time for the laying on of hands. And remember! This is a sensual encounter. Not a sexual one?"

Connie couldn't imagine what they were talking about. She opened her eyes and then stared in wide-eyed disbelief as members of the circle, boys and girls alike, began to touch Janie's naked body with their palms and fingertips. At first they stroked her arms and legs only. Connie saw one girl running her fluttering fingertips up and down the length of Janie's shapely leg with little circular motions that brought her fingers closer and closer to the naked girl's crotch. One of the boys was kneading the flesh of Janie's upper arm, running his knuckles up into her armpit and grazing the curving skin of her tit with the back of his hand.