THE BLOCK PARTY

Chapter 1

Our neighborhood doesn't have block parties anymore.  We used to have them once a month during the summer, when the weather was pleasant enough for all the neighbors to gather in a back yard, have a barbecue, and exchange all the juicy tidbits of  gossip about our friends who weren't there.  It was a nice way to keep current with what was happening in the lives of our friends and neighbors, and we all used to look forward to the next meeting.  After what happened at the last one, though, we'll probably never again share that sort of enjoyment.  Let me tell you about it.

The street we live on is what is known as a "cul-de-sac," which means it's a dead end road, having a large circle at the end so cars can turn around and drive back out.  That makes for slow traffic, which is really a nice thing, as those of you who live on "raceway" streets can appreciate.  There are five houses along each side of the road, with ours centered on the circle at the end, making for eleven families in all living there.  That's a nice size for a neighborhood, and since most of us had lived there for several years, everybody knew everybody else.

For instance, we all knew that Jack, who lived in the second house from the end, was having an affair with Sophie, who lived next door to us, but would fuck any other woman who gave him a second glance.  His wife, Maryann, was blissfully ignorant of his philandering ways, or so we all thought.  I know I never told her what was going on, and I'm sure none of her other friends did either.

It's odd that our circle of friends was based on our street, and included hardly anyone at all from other parts of town.  It's just that sort of neighborhood.  Or at least it was up until the last block party we had, which was held in our back yard that time.

All eleven families had gathered at our house at the appointed time, and our barbecue unit was glowing with a bed of hot coals, as were the other four we'd borrowed from neighbors.  My husband, Tom, was running around supervising the cooking, while I was in charge of the various salads and fixings our friends brought.  It was a nice evening, although the weather forecast predicted thunderstorms for later.  We'd used our family room\basement on other occasions when bad weather chased us indoors, and were fully prepared to do the same that time if it became necessary.

Everyone had arrived by six o'clock, except for Ryan, who along with his wife Sally was half of the youngest couple in our group.  They were both in their mid-twenties, which made them at least 30 years younger than the majority of the rest of us.  I suppose that's why no young children lived on our block.  Jason and Sally were planning to have kids sometime in the future, but were comfortable with the lifestyle they had, so it was an "iffy" thing with them.  The rest of us had children, of course, but most of them had already moved away from home.  There were only two kids still living at home on the whole block, and they were both about to graduate from high school, so wouldn't be at home much longer.

We were sitting around the two picnic tables that had been pushed together end-to-end, gossiping and telling the off-color jokes that seem to be ever-present at gatherings of good friends.  The meat was cooked and everything was sitting ready to serve on another table, awaiting Ryan's arrival.  He worked on a ranch about ten miles outside town, and everybody knew he would be late.  We were in no hurry, and were enjoying the friendly companionship of our neighbors.

Ryan finally arrived, and sat down beside his wife to catch his breath.  As he sat, he winced, then reached back and took an object out of his pocket.  When he placed it nonchalantly on the table, he smiled and said he'd forgot that thing had been in his pocket.  I recognized it right away, of course, since his employer had bought it in the hardware store Tom and I own.

Sally asked, "Why were you carrying that around with you, honey?"

He replied, "We were banding the bull calves today, and I just forgot to leave the bander in the tack room, since I was in a hurry to get here."

What he'd put on the table was an elastrator, commonly called a bander.  It was nothing more than an oddly-shaped pair of pliers, designed to spread the jaws rather than compress them when the handles were squeezed.  There were small metal posts on the jaws, and a rubber band would be placed around the posts to prepare the tool for use.

That use, as you probably already know, was to install the band around the testicles of a farm animal, for the purpose of castrating it.  The thing would constrict the sac, cutting off the circulation, and eventually killing the flesh beyond the band.  It was a faster, more hygienic way of performing castrations, and almost every farmer and rancher in our area used the things, rather than doing the procedure the old-fashioned way, with a knife.  We always kept several elastrators in stock in our store, along with the different-sized bands needed for farm animals.

Sally said, "Show them how it's used, honey.  You're the only one here who works on a farm, and everybody else probably doesn't know what it does."

Ryan seemed to be temporarily embarrassed, as evidenced by the quick flush of his cheeks.  He recovered quickly, though, and picked up the bander.  He reached into his shirt pocket, then laid a packet of bands on the table.  After taking a single band from the packet, he slipped it over the posts.  As he gripped the handles, the jaws spread, stretching the rubber ring until it was almost 3" in diameter.

Sally provided the needed explanation by saying, "The band is put over the animal's sac, and then the handles are released.  He'll then push the band off the posts, and it'll get really tight.  Before much longer, the bull will be a steer."  She smiled sweetly at her husband then, and several of the men covered the silence by coughing or laughing nervously. 

It took awhile for the conversation to resume after that, but soon things were back to normal.  I thought it was odd that Sally placed one hand on the tool, and seemed to actually be caressing it.  To me, and to probably everyone else there, it was just another tool.  It obviously held some sort of fascination for her, though, and I'm sure I wasn't the only person there who was covertly watching as she unconsciously stroked and fondled the handles as we sat and talked.

We decided to have our meal then, and everybody got up to fill their plates.  Sally left the bander on the table, and it was almost comical to watch the men look warily at the thing as they walked past it on their way to get their plates.  Even a few of the women stared at the thing longer than was really necessary, and it was obvious that Sally wasn't the only one there interested in it.

As we ate our picnic dinner, the elastrator was no longer the center of attention, although it remained laying there in front of Sally the whole time.  Every now and then I'd notice someone staring at the thing with a strange expression on his or her face, but by and large it was ignored.  The usual jokes and old stories were re-told, as they had been at every block party we'd ever had.  All-in-all, a good time was had by all twenty-two of us, helped along by generous cups of the red wine Tom and I, as the hosts, had furnished.

We had finished eating by an hour later, and the talk was still going strong.  The first container of wine had been replaced by two others by then, and even the third was in danger of being emptied.  Everyone was feeling a little bit tipsy, and Jack was mostly drunk.  He's one of those men who become very friendly when he's drinking, and I think he'd pawed every woman there at least once by the time it started to get dark. 

Poor Maryann was almost in tears at the way he was carrying on, and when she went into the house to use the bathroom, I followed her to offer whatever comfort I could.  She paused as soon as she stepped through the door, and when I entered a few seconds later, she was leaning against the wall, sobbing openly.

I rushed up to her and gave her a hug of sympathy, then asked her what was the matter, even though I knew why she was so upset.  That really opened the floodgates, and she lay her head on my shoulder, and started blubbering out her sad story.

It seems that Maryann had known for quite awhile by then that her husband was being unfaithful to her, and she had been doing her best to accept it.  She said he was a good husband in all other ways, giving her everything she could want, and when he decided to pay attention to her, was a very good lover.  She'd thought of leaving him several times, but since she had no job skills to support herself, knew it would mean a big decline in living standards if she did so.  For that reason, she'd tried to make a go of their marriage.  It was when Jack carried on openly with his conquests that she found it especially hard to stay with him.

I offered what comfort I could, as women often do when one of their own is in trouble.  After a few minutes, she seemed to settle down, and then said, "The whole problem is that his sex drive is much stronger than mine.  He seems to need it twice a day, but I'd be happy with twice a month.  I guess we're just mismatched, and I don't know what to do."

Again I offered comfort, saying it was a shame men couldn't control themselves when it came to sex.  I knew that in my own case, Tom desired sex much more than I did.  It just seemed that men's whole lives were controlled by their balls, and it was a shame that something couldn't be done about it.  I also commiserated with her about Jack's philandering, and made some comment about being glad that my own husband had always been faithful.

I felt her body tense as I said that, and pulled away to look directly at her face.  Seeing a strange expression on her face, I asked, "What is it, sweetie?  Did I say something I shouldn't have?"  She seemed embarrassed by my question, then covered it by saying how lucky I was to have Tom.  She blew her nose a couple of times, then made her way to the bathroom as I went back outside.  I knew there was something left unsaid, but had no idea what it was.

It was almost fully dark by then, and I suggested we should get everything gathered up and ready to take home, then go into the family room for the entertainment.  Even though many of us had been drinking too much of the wine, the tables were soon cleared and the barbecue units shut down for the night.  We filed into the basement, everybody talking too loudly and walking a little less steadily than usual.

When Tom and I had arranged the block party, we'd told everyone that it would be "charade night," and the topic would be favorite movies.  Just in case you're not familiar with that particular game, allow me to give a short explanation.

The person of persons who were presenting the charade would choose a subject, then try to get the audience to guess that subject by acting out the words.  The presenters were not allowed to utter even a single word, but had to use their acting skills to guide the watchers in their guesses.

Tom and I, as hosts, went first.  We stood side by side in front of the others, who were seated in a semi-circle around us.  We had practiced our presentation a few times, but never when we were feeling so happy and loose.  Our fumbling efforts brought lots of laughter, which, of course, is the purpose of the game anyway.

Tom first raised one hand as high above his head as he could, with the palm flat.  The guesses started pouring in, and he shook his head at each one.  Finally he raised up on his toes as far as he could, and the correct guess of "high" rang out.  Tom pointed to the correct guesser and nodded his head.

The next part of the charade was my responsibility.  I began to move both arms in a circle about my body, with one arm going much more slowly than the other.  Some of the guesses were pretty crude, but that was just part of the game.  It was supposed to be entertaining, after all, and the laughs produced by the double entendres made us all happier.

At last someone said "clock," and I nodded my head vigorously to indicate approval, but I kept moving my arms to show that the word wasn't exactly correct.  Our friends started calling various references to clocks and time, but nobody guessed the correct word until I brought both arms directly over my head and held them there.  The cries of "noon," and then "High Noon," rang out, and Tom and I clapped our hands and pointed to the correct guesser to show he was correct.

The other couples then took their turns, and by my description of what my husband and I did, I'm sure you can guess just how serious the game actually was.  It was nothing more than entertainment, though, and always good for lots of laughs.

When it was time for Ryan and Sally to present their charade, they both walked up to the clear spot we were using for our stage.  Everyone seemed to be getting more happy by the minute, and in fact Tom had even opened the fifth container of wine by then.  When we saw that Sally was carrying the bander, the hoots and hollers were so loud that I was glad all our neighbors were there in our basement, since anyone within a block of our house would probably have called the police to complain about the noise.

The couple stood facing us, waiting for the audience to settle down.  Finally we all quieted, and Ryan got down on his hands and knees to begin their presentation.  Sally stood beside her husband, then pointed directly at him while giving the sign that means "name."  Of course, everyone called out "Ryan," and she nodded to signal her approval.  She then knelt beside him, holding the elastrator under his stomach.  As you can probably guess, that brought another round of hoots and coarse comments.

Again they waited for us to quiet down before proceeding.  At last, Ryan reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief, which he wadded into a ball.  Still on his hands and knees, he held the ball of cloth under his stomach, and we watched in fascination as Sally opened the jaws of the bander and placed it around the handkerchief he was holding.  When she slid the rubber band in place, the room was completely quiet.

Both of them stood then, and Sally beckoned us to make our guesses.  Of course, the comments were unbelievably coarse and sexual in nature.  After shaking her head over and over as she heard each guess, Sally moved her husband's hand so that the banded ball of cloth was right in front of his crotch.  Again she waited until we quieted down, and then looked expectantly at us, waiting for our guesses.

At last someone guessed "Ryan's privates," and after enduring lots of laughter and catcalls, she nodded to indicate the guess was partially correct.  She then reached in her husband's pocket (to the accompaniment of lots of comments, of course) and got his pocketknife.  She opened one of the blades and used it to cut through the band.

Again she invited our guesses, and again they were rejected one by one.  Finally Maryann shouted out "Saving Ryan's privates."  In an instance, there was a chorus of "Saving Private Ryan," and the pair laughed and yelled, "Yes!  Finally!  We thought you'd never get it!"

There were more charades after that, but none were so interesting as that one.  Maryann had to beg off presenting hers, because Jack was passed our on the floor by that time.  I knew she was embarrassed by his failings, and did what I could to cover for her.  It helped that all of us were pretty high by then, and I'm sure nobody missed one more charade.

After that we all sat around on the four couches that had been arranged in a rough circle.  The men were not sitting so much as slouching and slumping, since they'd all had a chug-a-lug competition after the charades, and were pretty far gone.  We girls were chatting with each other as we reviewed the entertainment, and of course most of the comments were directed at Sally and Ryan.  I don't know how much he heard, though, since his head was on the back of the couch and his eyes were closed.

I commented that it was obviously no accident that he'd brought the elastrator home with him, since they had needed it in their charade.  Sally nodded her head, then said, "Yes.  We've been practicing it for a couple of weeks.  You have no idea how hard it was to slide that band off there, and get it to stay where we wanted it."

She paused then, all the while gazing at the tool laying on the coffee table in front of her.  Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her speech a little slurred as a result of the wine.  When nobody else said anything, she continued.  "Of course, we'll need it for something else when we get home."

Even with our mostly-drunken state, I could tell that the other women, and the few men who were still able to hold up their heads, had heard what Sally said.  In the silence, Maryann asked, "What do you mean, Sally?  What will you need it for?"

Sally hesitated, almost as if fearful she'd said too much already.  Seeing the concern and friendship on the faces of her friends, she finally decided it was okay for her to answer the question.  She said quietly, "We've decided we don't want to have children.  I've been using the pill for a long time, but it's been causing me problems lately, so I'm going to stop taking it.  We've decided that the simplest thing to do is make sure Ryan can't get me pregnant.  I'm going to band him tonight."

That simple statement must have shocked the rest of them just as much as it did me, given the wide-eyed stares directed Sally's way.  Again it was Maryann who broke the silence, asking, "Is that safe for a man?  I know it's fine for farm animals, but surely it would hurt a man pretty badly, wouldn't it?"

Sally replied, "His balls aren't any different than the ones on a sheep or a bull calf.  They'll shrink and dry up in a week or two, and will fall off in less than a month.  He says the calves and lambs act like it hurts for a few minutes after he bands them, but then they just go about their business.  I'm sure it'll be the same for him."

Sophie then asked a question that was obviously pretty important to her, and probably concerned some of the rest of us as well.  She asked, "Doesn't that mean that he won't be interested in sex any more?  I certainly wouldn't want a husband like that."

That caused some quiet laughter among us, since everyone there knew that Sophie had a very high libido, and that's why Jack found her so willing when he came to her house.  In answer, Sally said, "Ryan says that it doesn't have that sort of effect on older animals.  They banded a stallion a few years ago, when it was fully grown.  He says the horse is the horniest animal on the whole ranch, so it's pretty obvious that losing its balls didn't make it lose interest in sex.  I'm sure it'll work the same way with him."

Maryann then asked, "Are you sure you'll be able to do it right?  I mean, surely the band has to go on in the right place, doesn't it?  How can you be sure you won't make a mistake?"

Sally replied seriously, "We've been practicing for almost a month.  I've been banding him, and then cutting it off after a few minutes.  It's pretty simple, and he says I'm as good at it as he is.  We won't have any problems."

Sophie then said softly, "God, I wish I could see you do it.  That would be just about the most exciting thing I could think of."

I saw several heads nod in agreement, and then realized my own was one of them.  If I hadn't been feeling the effects of so much wine, I'd probably have been embarrassed, but at the time I felt nothing but interest, and, admittedly, more than a little excitement.

Sally seemed to make some sort of silent decision then.  She looked directly at Sophie while asking, "Are you sure?"

Sophie answered quickly, "God,yes!  Just thinking of it is making my head swim.  I'd love to see that being done!"

Sally nodded her head, almost as if answering her own question.  She said very softly, "Okay."

To be continued. . .