Page 56 of Own Me

Speaking of famous people … Up ahead, a sleek female moves through the crowd, her curves visible beneath the sheer black material draped over her body. She’s drawing attention from all angles.

“You were right.” There’s no mistaking Margo in her racy fortune teller’s costume, even with her gold mask. I’ve seen her naked enough times to recognize her pert breasts and long, svelte torso. The black thong she wears hides little. The tassels on her nipples, even less.

Joel—I assume—walks behind her, dressed as the strong man in a fitted dark red one-piece jumpsuit, the sleeveless top half artfully torn and open to show off his brawny torso. The shorts are tight, revealing runner’s thighs and a prominent bulge that would be considered obscene at any other costume party. His mime mask has the added touch of a painted-on handlebar mustache.

“Don’t you two look magnifique,” she croons in her accent, stretching on her tiptoes to double-cheek kiss Henry as if she didn’t just see him.

“How did you know it was us?” I ask.

“You are not hard to pick out.” She twirls my red braid in her fingers. “Have you found the others yet?”

“No, but we just got here.”

“Perfect timing. A show is about to start.” She beckons us to follow.

* * *

“They’re amazing.”I lean back against Henry’s chest as we watch two sets of acrobats twirl on aerial rings to sultry music, their outfits nothing more than a thick Lycra ribbon wrapped strategically around their sinewy bodies. The stage is in a structure that reminds me of a giant birdcage, separating the performers from the growing group of spectators.

“I’ve seen the ones on the left perform before,” Margo whispers, peering up at the male and female couple. “They are exquisite.”

“How can you tell they’re the same people?” Their faces are elaborately painted.

A reserved smile touches her lips. “I just can.”

Gasps sound as the performers twirl and the ribbons of material unravel, pooling on the mat below. From that point, the artistry of their performance changes drastically, with naked bodies contorting and stretching to bare revealing angles that tease the crowd.

“I took a few acrobatic classes,” Margo muses as her favored couple positions themselves deliberately—the male sitting on the bottom of the ring while the woman curves her body until the apex of her thighs lines up with his mouth. He buries his face against her as his dick swells until it juts out for all to see.

She slides it down her throat, all the way to the base.

Thishasto be the most dangerous sixty-nine ever performed.

I steal a glance at the crowd around us, and while I can’t see any faces, the parted lips and little smiles reveal an audience of voyeurs, no one having qualms about watching people have sex. Some are taking it a step further, their hands wandering into their partner’s pants and up skirts.

“Some touching is fine, but if they want to keep it going, they have places for that,” Henry whispers in my ear, noting my focus. “They don’t want people fucking in the middle of the floor.”

Just the way Henry says that word, his voice like gravel, stirs my blood.

The female couple is still twirling on their ring, but their bodies are now lined up in the center of it, their legs stretched out with toes braced on either side as they dangle from the top. They meet in a sensual kiss as their lower bodies grind against each other.

I peer over my shoulder at Henry, to see his focus riveted on the people above.

I remember the night I discovered that he liked to watch people have sex. We were at the club with Margo and Joel, and they started fucking in the private room. I was so upset with Henry at the time, assuming he still had a thing for Margo after their brief fling so long ago.

We’ve come a long way since then.

He breaks his attention to look down at me, and then he circles an arm around my waist and pulls me into his body, letting me feel his hard length against my back. “You’re staring at me,” he whispers, as his hand slides under my skirt, under the elastic band of the little black bottoms.

I tense—anyone watching will know what he’s doing, even if my skirt hides it—but then I remember that no one other than Margo and Joel know who we are. And besides,no one cares. Why watch us when there’s a live double sex show happening in the air above us at this precise moment?

I force myself to relax as two of Henry’s fingers glide past my slit and into my slick entrance.

He leans down to whisper in my ear, “Watching them is making you wet.”

I hum in agreement, parting my stance to give him better access.

But he slips his fingers out, earning my grunt of disappointment.

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