He laughs, then spits in your face.

As John smiled and chuckled at the old in-joke, he leaned forward and quickly fired a gob of warm spit onto my right cheek. His laugh intensified as I groaned in mock disgust. I mildly chastised him as I began gently wiping off the offending projectile.

"John Doe, you foul man! You're going to ruin my makeup."

"Yeah, well, serves you right for making fun of me. Haw haw!"

"Well, was I wrong? Have you not been starting intensely at my breasts for the last two minutes or so?"

"So what? If I have, it's your fault. Look at this! That dress makes your tits look massive."

As I finished cleaning my face, he punctuated his statement by reaching beneath the bust of my sweetheart-style wedding dress and gently lifting it up and dropping it repeatedly, causing my breasts to jiggle within the bust cups.

"Hmph! I will admit that the neckline of my dress is perhaps a bit... generous. However, me showing off a part of my body is not an invitation for harassment. I decided when I chose this dress that, for once, I would not hide my chest for the sake of the perverts and busybodies of the world. I'm going to wear a dress with a flattering neckline, as many women do, and nobody will say a word to me about it.

Well, except you, of course. I imagine I will be hearing plenty about it from you, hmm?"

John listened patiently throughout my little rant. That is something that he and Gary had in common. They were both good listeners. I had always had a bad habit of breaking out into little rants when something gets my gander up, and Gary and John were both troopers about it, listening without complaint until I blew off all my steam. Granted, Gary deserved more points in that regard since John usually ended up doing something to occupy himself, as he did in this particular instance by continuing to gently bounce my chest up and down throughout my entire digression. Still, I appreciated his patience.

"Yeah well, you had to know when you picked this dress that you'd be hearing from me about it. Man, can you believe it's been three years since we met at Gary's housewarming? Hard to believe it's been that long since I first got a proper look at your amazing rack."

"Yes, time does fly... although, you did not see my breasts for the first time at that party. No more so than anyone else did, at least."

John ceased bouncing and looked me in the eyes for the first time in several minutes. "Huh? I could have sworn I pulled your tits out as soon as I saw you."

"No. You did grab them, but I slapped your hands away and scurried off, remember?"

John looked up and scrunched his eyes in concentration. He jostled my chest a few more times, this time as a thoughtful fidget, like how one might scratch their chin. "Huh, really? That's not like me. Hard to imagine I was satisfied seeing just part of a pair like yours. Did I really not follow after you?"

"No, I believe you were preoccupied with someone else. The wife of one of Gary's coworkers. I want to say her name was... Lauren?"

John recoiled with enthusiasm, smiling widely and clapping his hands with amusement. "Oh, yeah! I was with Mouse that whole party! I had already committed to using her as a cumrag from the moment she showed up until the moment she left. Man, I can't believe I stuck with that little mission after seeing you."

We both nodded with satisfaction at having accurately remembered the course of events. After his less-than-endearing introduction, I steered as far clear of John as I could for the rest of that party, glaring at Gary when he suggested I socialize in the area where John was. When I dared to peek, I could see John facing away from me, standing in front of Lauren, doing something with his hands on which I did not dare to speculate. Lauren was the wife of Gary's coworker Doug, with whom he had been acquainted for many years. She seemed somewhat cute in a librarian sort of way, although I never got a good look at her because John was always standing so close to where she was sitting.

Then at the end of the party, Lauren made a point to find me and introduce herself to me, and I could barely get a word out because I was so shocked at the amount of semen she was covered in. Well, at that point in my life any visible semen adorning the visage of a distant acquaintance at a party would have shocked me. However, even looking back after years of knowing John, it is a little hard to believe what he managed to do to Lauren over the course of that four-hour party. Her face was covered, absolutely caked, in a thick layer of viscous white fluid. Her thick-rimmed black glasses had ropes of semen dangling from them, the lenses horribly smeared from her attempts to wipe them clean. It was a wonder she could see at all. Her hair was intensely bedraggled, looking as if someone had roughly grabbed random fistfuls of it and squirted gobs of hair gel into the clumps, although it definitely was not hair gel. Her green turtleneck, long black skirt, and even her turtle-patterned thigh-high socks were stained with white patches, and the back of her skirt was entirely stained, as if she had sat in a puddle of icing. In that moment, I could only stare slackjawed as she opened her mouth, rivulets of aging ejaculate visibly flowing past her lips, and casually introduced herself to me. She didn't even put together why I was speechless until Gary stepped in and told her I had never met John before. Lauren, though shy and rather prudish by nature, simply looked down at herself and laughed. "Oh, yeah. He decided to make a project of me tonight, I guess. Hey, I know how you feel, but trust me! You'll get used to this sort of thing as you get to know John." I never did manage to get a word out to her in that moment, instead simply turning and walking away wordlessly.

"Say, John, I've always meant to ask. Why do you call her 'Mouse?' I always assumed it's because she's mousy, but I never asked."

"Huh? Oh, haw haw! No, it's not that! Well, I guess she is kinda mousy, now that I think about it... but no, that's not why. It's because she squeaks a lot when I fuck her."

Ah, that made sense. I made a mental note to have a quick chat with her at some point during the reception. It was possible she didn't even remember our introductory chat, but if she did, I wanted to give her the chance to say "I told you so."