Flash back to how we met

It hadn't been love on first sight; that only happened in the movies and, in any case, it would have made this whole story much shorter and a lot less interesting.

The first time I met Natalie was at a house party. My best mate, Brock, was celebrating his birthday in style, and everyone was invited. I had been super pumped to go since big parties usually meant loads of hot girls who had probably spent hours of make-up time to become the ultimate fucktoy. Now, no-one ever openly addressed this, but it was pretty much an open secret that each party was a sort of unofficial competition among the girls as to who would get used most. There was no jury and no trophy -- unless you were to quantify soreness of orifices or loads of cum -- but everyone knew that it was secretly every girl's dream to be the most used at a party. Consequently, a lot of effort was spent to attract as many of the party guests' cocks as possible -- meticulous grooming, stretching exercises, enemas, flawless personal hygiene and -- my absolute favourite -- pubic styling.

Outfits were all well and good, but it was obvious that sooner or later everyone would be nude or near-nude anyway, so an outfit could only go so far to attract people's attention. Plus, anything you wore to a party was in danger of getting ripped or drenched in cum or both anyway, so that severely limited the choice of attire. Spending significant amounts of money on an outfit only to have it spattered and torn was something you did on truly exceptional occasions, but most people -- at least as far as my friends were concerned -- didn't have the means to pull that off at any old party.

So, a gigantic effort went into making sure you attracted attention even when completely naked, and the easiest way to achieve that was, of course, your hairstyle. By this, I don't mean only the hair on your head -- since that would also become tousled, messed up, and caked in cum after a while -- but the hair in your crotch. Of course, a lot of girls chose to go blank, which was perfectly acceptable and guaranteed to draw a crowd, but these days, a lot of girls opted for a rather more personal touch. The style of the season was to have your pubes trimmed into patterns. These could vary wildly from minimalist landing strips that were not very demanding up to the most exquisitely shaped, creative motifs. There were whole magazines dedicated to the art of pubic grooming and whenever a popular celebrity was photographed rocking a new style you could be sure to see that style everywhere you went the very next day.

Me, I thought all of this was beyond awesome. I actually had no real preference between shaved or trimmed pussies -- as long as I felt that the cunt's owner took care of it, I was in -- but seeing all those girls spent all that effort just to attract a few more cocks, well, that was pretty damn hot.

So, considering all of this, you can begin to see why I was so excited to go to Brock's party. And sure enough, as soon as I stepped in the door, I knew I wasn't going to be disappointed.

The party was already going strong; when I took off my clothes in the hall, I was nearly run over by a giggling, nude girl, who was playfully fleeing from two guys, also in the buff and sporting commendable erections, who managed to corner her, pin her against the wall, and immediately started spearing her. I didn't know those three, but I wished them fun and went on to look for someone I knew. Or someone to fuck. Or both. Whatever, I was going to have a great time anyway.