THE 70's KEY PARTY

It was 1973 and the four Westchester County, New York women were playing cards as they usually did on Tuesday afternoons while their husbands were at work in Manhattan. They were all in their late twenties.

For the past three years that's how they spent their Tuesday afternoons. "Girls, I don't know about you, but I'm bored," Claudia said.

"I know what you mean," Janelle Montoya answered. "Ed comes home from work. We have dinner, watch a little TV, go to bed. On weekends he plays golf and if I'm lucky . . ."

"At least you might get lucky once in a while," Irene Comstock jumped in. "No matter what I do Charlie thinks I'm invisible."

"Leo thinks I'm his cook and maid."

"I don't know what to do about it, but I'm bored out of my mind."

"There's nothing we can do. We're stuck."

Three weeks later, they didn't play cards. Independently, each of them read the same article in one of those women's magazines that they subscribed to and came in the mail. It arrived on Monday and by the time they gathered at Janelle Montoya's home Tuesday afternoon, they'd all read it; they'd all read it more than once.

The article, "How to Spice Up your Love Life."

Among the suggestions, and given the times, there was some subtly to it, was a key party. According to the article, "Hollywood-types are finding new freedom. Married couples attending a party drop their car keys in a bowl and at the end of the evening, the men pick a key while the wife of the owner of that car sits in the front seat and directs the possessor of the key to her home for breakfast."

"My panty hose were damp when I first read that."

"I just couldn't. I mean it would be exciting and all and your husbands are . . ."

"Irene, you've been thinking about my husband?"

"Not like that Janelle, but it crossed my mind when I read the article."

"Mine, too."

"Okay, I'll confess mine too."

"Ladies, are we just fantasizing?"

"I am, but I'd bet a dollar that I could talk Ed into it," Janelle Montoya said.

"I don't think Charlie's ever cheated on me, but if he had permission, I don't think he'd turn it down."

"Same with Jimmy."

"Leo does a lot of looking, but I don't think he's done any touching."

"Why don't we give our husbands some hints about what we're thinking and see their reaction?"

"I'll try that. Leo doesn't do well with hints. I haven't gotten any, well you know, in months."

"I know what you mean, Viviana."

"Months? You girls are lucky. I can't remember the last time."

As she drove home, Claudia Freely thought about the possibilities. Who would her Jimmy like to fuck? Janelle Montoya? I think her grandparents came from Mexico. She had black hair and her beautiful skin was dark, not black, but dark. She was petite and well-proportioned. At the pool, I'd seen more than one guy stare at her boobs and ass. Jimmy might like that. I wonder if her bush was as thick and black as the hair on her head. There was a time that Jimmy couldn't wait to stick his face in my bush. It had been a while.

I don't know if Jimmy would like Irene Comstock. She might look too much like me. We were both blondes. I was naturally blonde, if you know what I mean. I didn't know about Irene. Other than the blonde thing, we didn't have much in common. My boobs were bigger; Jimmy used to adore them. Her ass was bigger. I thought she'd gained some weight there. That might be a turn off.

As for Viviana DiNuzzo. There was something sensuous about her. Maybe it was the bright red lipstick she wore. When she was younger she'd been a model; yes, she had that kind of body. I couldn't understand why Leo was no longer interested.

On the other hand, I couldn't understand why my Jimmy would rather watch the Yankees than fuck me. I made it clear, as clear as I could that I wanted it. Just two weeks ago, I got out of the shower, dried my hair and walked into our study. "Jimmy, I got my nails done today, What do ya' think?"

"After this inning."

I was naked. My big boobs were still firm, as was my ass, and where my long legs met, I had a golden triangle. After this inning, my ass.

Nobody said anything about the article the following week, however, a week later it came up. "Jimmy says if the other guys are willing to contribute and I was willing, he'd go for it."

"Ed was reluctant, but when things got a little romantic, he said, Janelle, it's just not the same. Maybe you girls are on to something. Then he rolled over and went to sleep. Claudia what did Jimmy say?"

"He said, as long as the Yankees aren't on, he'd go along with anything. I think he was only half listening. Viviana?"

"Before we were married, Leo would fuck anybody. He's been on the straight and narrow since we got married. When I told him what I was thinking, he said, Viviana, you're giving me your blessing?"

"So, what do we do next?"

"Is everyone in?"

"I need something to spice up my life. I'm going crazy."

"I need to get laid."

How about this? A week from Saturday, I'll have a cocktail party here. The guys can throw their car keys into a hat," Janelle suggested.

Viviana interrupted, "then after a couple of drinks, and I'm sure I'll need them . . ."

"But we don't want to be drunk," said Irene.

"No," Viviana continued, "the guys will go out to the cars and see which key fits. Then a few minutes later, the ladies will go out to their cars. The rest of the night is up to each of us. Janelle, what about you? You're going to be right here. You won't be going out to your car?"

"I thought about that. I think I'll go out to my car and we'll ride around the block," she laughed. "Then whoever I'm with can come back here and ride me, if I'm lucky."

"Ladies, we have to remember, the guys are lucky, too."

There were nods and smiles around the table. The women agreed, they were going to dress up. "Like a fancy cocktail party at one of the big hotels downtown."

Viviana said, "I'm going to get my hair done, but I hope it's a freaking mess by morning."

"We should encourage the men to get a lot of rest."

"Whose ever with me is going to need it," Irene smiled.

"Yeah, no chores, no golf. Maybe we should encourage them to take a nap."

"8 o'clock?"

"How about 7? We want plenty of time for ya' know."

TO BE CONTINUED