Tuesday, January 6, 2009

What's a little Dirty Laundry between Friends? (or, now THAT was a Party!)

Just around Thanksgiving, the questions started to trickle in.

"You guys having a New Year's Eve party again this year?"

"Hey, hope you're doin' the New Year's thing again!"

"Don't forget to invite us!"

So bowing to the not-too-subtle urging of the sweet sixteen (the final number who crammed our play-space with perfumed bodies and cork-popping camaraderie), we anointed the linens, doused the lights, and stacked the playlist with come-hither tunes.

It was Noah's Ark with a spin. Everyone arrived neatly paired, but no-one stayed that way for long. In fact, we might have created some very interesting genetic variations, had someone thought to unravel the double helix of legs and twisted panties.

But priorities being what they were, your hostess (AKA the Vixen Tabu) simply poured fuel on the fire by circulating with bottles of bubbly and disentangling her stilettos when the going got tight.

Midnight came and went with kisses, then more kisses, then the rising heartbeat of newly-minted new year's resolutions... which all seemed to center on the very practical idea of spreading the love.

By now the ottoman was shoved off to the side and the carpet was hidden under a living tapestry of rhythmic movement. The king-size sheet spread under the melee shifted as knees and ankles took on a complex dance. Wet spots- gasp!- spread under trembling fingers, losing their grasp on the champagne flute or other intoxicating geysers....and when the evening turned to dawn, then to noon, even the hardiest of revelers were fighting sleep.

Off to their own beds the partyers trundled, and the sagging SO completed his hostly duty by tossing the sheets, towels and assorted damp playthings into the wash.

It was the next day when I had to giggle. Lifting the clean, damp linens from the washer, I caught a flutter of blue escape into the air; then another. As I bent over to stuff the heavy sheets into the dryer, I licked a finger and caught a fluttering square.

It was the cleanest, most pristine Durex wrapper this vixen has ever seen.

Now when you consider sexiness next to godliness, then sometimes cleanliness must take second place. But I think my laundry proved Woody Allen's famous contention: that sex isn't dirty unless you're doing it right.

Happy New Year.

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