Cunnilingus at the winter nudist party

What do nudists do in the winter?
It sounds like a joke but, for most of us, it's not.
There are different ways of coping.
Many of us travel to Florida.
Most of us go to winter spa parties, either at our home resort or at a spa or fitness center we rent out for one evening a month.
For nudists in the Mid-Atlantic part of the country, say Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland and Delaware, it's the spa and fitness center route since most nudist resorts are basically June, July and August facilities.
The best and most popular of these parties was run by the Tri-State Metro Club in the early 1990s at a golf club in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. Tri-State would rent the facility, nudists would spend money like drunken sailors and both Tri-State and the club would be happy.
The golf club, complete with a pay bar and a very friendly and mostly female staff of bartenders, was a Nirvanna for nudists used to the rustic facilities at most Northeast resorts.
Great bar, friendly people, great dance floor, room for hundreds.
It was just a fun way to spend a winter evening, even though the sometimes wild and crazy sexual behavior would be monitored. You knew your limits back then, if you know what I mean. Still, you pushed the envelope, the girl you were dancing with pushed the envelope and everybody had a good time.
The most amazing thing about it to me, to this day, was being asked to dance by the beautiful female bartenders who thought nothing of grinding against my naked body in their very business-like outfits of black pants, fluffy white shirt and bow tie.
My favorite dances were the slow dances.
Mike Jr.'s, too.
The girls didn't seem to mind Mike Jr.'s hardness, grinding some more, laughing some more, while talking to each other on the dance floor.
Hell, neither did I.
By the time I got back to the bar, I had "relaxed" to maybe half a hard-on.
I would dance with my naked female friends, especially Karen and Cherie, and they would ressurect Junior all over again. Then the "Bataan Hard-On March" back to the barstool would be repeated.
(This was long before the days of Viagra and Cialis, so I didn't know I may have needed medical attention. I lived.)
The party did a tremendous volume of business in those days, but the administration of running a club like Tri-State was a pain in the butt to people who had "real" jobs.
When one of the founders of the club died, no one really stepped into the void.
There were no people to run the Tri-State Club and it folded.
At the time, the only other winter spa party was occuring some 70 miles to the south in Delaware fitness joint.
It was run by a nudist, Jim, and his friends.
They loosely monitored the dance floor, nothing like Tri-State.
When Jim got into a relationship with a woman, he got out of the business.
This time, though, the non-nudist owners of the fitness center took over.
They pretty much take a "Sargent Schultz" view of the evening.
You know.
"I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing."
Of course, when there's a complaint about someone _ which is rare, they handle it.
Now, though, at this party, anything goes.
You are likely on a given evening to be having a great discussion at your table and a blow job breaks out on the dance floor.
The next thing you know, another blow job breaks out and there are six or seven couples playing with each other simultaneously.
I don't mind at all.
It certainly breaks the monotony of a long, cold winter.
And, Lord knows, I've certainly been a beneficiary.
Since everyone is dancing naked, everything is right there.
I was dancing with a total stranger, I'll call her Denise, and she started kissing me and I her and then she reached down and started to stroke my love tool.
I blurted out, "I'd love to eat your pussy" never really knowing what her response would be.
To my surprise and excitement, she took me by the hand and led me down a long hall of treadmills and stairmasters until we got to an unlocked tanning room.
She sat down on a chair, like one of those director's chairs, next to the tanning bed and pointed to open area below her clit, while she used her index finger to play with the area right around her clit.
I buried my tongue in that open area of her vagina for what seemed like 10 minutes, but turned out to be an hour. When she was ready for feeling my tongue on her clit, she whispered, "higher."
She helped me by putting her hands around my head and moving my tongue slowly closer to her clit. She was soaking wet and ready.
I loved it. I thought her moans were going to tip off the management that we were in there, but I really didn't care.
When it was over, we walked out of the tanning booth and headed back onto the dance floor.
She was smiling, I was smiling.
She reached up to my moustache and lips and wiped off the remnants of what I could only surmise was an orgasm.
"My God, you've got a lot of me on you," she said just before we went back to the dance floor.
I've checked that tanning room door every party since and it's been locked.
Just as well. The memory of that evening will forever be locked in my head.