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</div><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>MICHAEL BRUNO REMINGTON</b></span></span><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><span style="font-size: 12px"><br/>
A grin of mild amusement graced the aged man's visage. Though it appeared as if fate destined him to find companionship that evening, Michael knew that such opportunities could be fleeting. Casual fucking was –by its very nature – ephemeral in the most disposable sense. As Michael imbibed his whiskey, so did his eye drink in the glorious female specimen who appeared dressed to kill, even if her disposition seemed less than friendly. Her knowledge of terminology related to swinging proved that she was, perhaps not a veteran, but certainly not an amateur; Michael wasn't the first man to have her in such a casual manner, and he would not be the last ... not even that evening, most likely. The man took another shallow draft of his concoction, thanking the gods of debauchery that he found her first, before the ravenous wolf-pack of lecherous men had their way with her in the small hours. By then, Michael will have relieved himself either in or on this scrumptious lady and he'd be fighting sleep in the back of an Uber. Cynthia and he had an understanding to let the other fend for themselves at swinging events; their fidelity ended once they entered the party and the mass of potential partners overwhelmed their sense of possibilities.<br/>
<br/>
The simple question the Michael posed – one that historically opened the door to any conversation – had gone unanswered, replied to in challenge with a counter-question. Michael tilted his head a degree at the matter-of-fact nature of the woman's demeanor, her interrogation decidedly cautious. An odd air radiated from this woman, one that permeated Michael and induced a slight unease. Luckily, the empty glass in his hand fueled a bolder confidence than he would normally bother with during one of these events. Over-eager conversation reeked of desperation; such a state might result in sexual access, though birds of a feather fuck together. The glass also reminded him that his evening could end right then and there, and a binary choice presented itself for his consideration: leave un-sated or play along. Despite how everyone attending the swing event knew exactly what would happen in the small hours -- like a commonly understood punchline to a classic, raunchy joke -- the notion of chemistry between sexual partners was both part of the fun and a key ingredient in choosing whom to retire with into the back bedrooms. More over, despite the ubiquitous nature of sex, the emotions tickled by sexual rapport made the act that much sweeter; the still nameless woman conducted herself with a mechanical austerity of an automaton. <i>Or, a living mannequin</i>, Michael thought.<br/>
<br/>
"No," Michael answered, his visage lighting up as he shined well-kept pearly whites. "I don't have a girlfriend ... nor am I married," he assured her. "I arrived with someone as a "ticket". You're the only unicorn here ... and<span style="font-size: 12px">, </span>a fine one, I might add." The look he rendered left no doubt of his opinion of the woman's dress or the portions of flesh she chose to expose. Too often, you fucked what you could get, even if that meant an over-weight, suburban housewife who ate cinnamon rolls for breakfast each morning. By those standards, the woman could have been a super-model; she looked strong and toned, qualities much sought after in the world of casual sex. <br/>
<br/>
"You never told me your name," Michael intoned, quietly. In the corner of Michael's eye, he caught a glimpse of two, tall dark-skinned men escorting a blonde woman into a room. The general din of inane chatter masked the closing of the door -- within minutes, Cynthia would be on her knees with a mammoth, black cock in each hand. Competition was never Michael's way, though Cynthia's departure did make him aware of just how valuable bed space would be when clothes started to drop to the floor and people disrobed for that evening's antics. He reached his hand out, gently taking the initiative to cement the companionship they both knew would manifest ... no matter how long they stared out at the alluring scenery. "What do you say we get to know one another in one of the private rooms before they're taken up by the hordes?"<br/>
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