How to liven up a party

It was summer, and one of Diana's best friends was having a party. One of those "my parents are out of town/I have the house to myself" parties. The girl, Vivian, was the wallflower of our ragged gang, still the only virgin in the group and desperate to deflower herself with Lars, a Norwegian soccer player who had been caught in our gravitational pull.

Vivian conferred with us nervously during the two weeks leading to that Saturday night. Diana and I had the dubious but well-deserved rep of hosting raucous bacchanals, sweaty celebrations of flesh and liquor and drugs that often resulted in repaired sheetrock, resodded lawns and forfeited deposits.

"Should I have a bunch of food? Make a cake and have a veggie tray and a meat tray? Sandwiches? Fondue?"

I started to say yes -- Vivian was an outstanding cook and baker -- but Diana elbowed me in the solar plexus.

"No, chica, you know you don't have to do that for us. Just a case of beer and some pizzas at the most. Everyone will bring something anyway. Besides, you want to focus on Lars."

Diana made a few phone calls to make sure plenty of people knew about the party and were going to attend. "Sure," she said. "It's going to be a blast. You gotta be there."

The night of the party arrived, and slowly the gang assembled and grew. Lars showed up, but both he and Vivian shot anxious glances at each other from different corners of Vivian's parents's immaculately decorated home. The music wasn't loud enough. People huddled in groups just talking. No laughter. Our gravity wasn't strong enough, and two satellites spun off in to the night through the front door. Vivian flew to Diana, a panicked deer.

"It's a failure," Vivian said. "I knew this wouldn't work. I am such a fool." Her eyes welled up. Diana spoke with her in calming, affirming tones while I went to the bathroom. Of course, it was there that I had my brainstorm. Hopefully, my SO would go for it.

When Diana came down the hall to look for me, I yanked her in to Vivian's bedroom (I had to go through it to get to the bathroom) and gave her the plan. She kissed me and began.

Moments later, starting with a loud war cry from down the hall, we scampered naked through the house, jumped over chairs, knocked people in to each other and then ran to the backyard. People followed. Vivian's parents had a pool, suitably rectangular in its cramped yard, close to the roofline of their house. Oh, I thought. The possibilities.

Soon Diana and I stood on the roof. An unlucky moon stayed away and only stars raised their eyebrows at us. Expectant eyes spread out around the pool. I performed the necessary trigonometry. "I'll go first," I said. With another yell I jumped, beer in hand, flying, soaring but no tricks, in to the deep end. A little too close to the far wall, but unscathed, and I surfaced to cheers.

Diana went next. "Don't jump," I told her. "Just hop." With a "Oh shii..." she splashed in the middle of the deep end, garnering many more style points than I. "Come on," she said. "The water's fine." Indeed it was. She and I climbed back on to the roof and hopped in hand in hand. By the time we got out for a third trip, shoes, underwear and eyeglasses shot through the air like shrapnel.

Soon everyone was nude and loving it. Someone had brought the beer cooler outside and a makeshift bar appeared on the diving board. A neverending pipe floated to everyone. Eventually couples became coupled either in the pool or out. Laughter punctuated conversations. Pleasurable pauses deepened them. A group formed.

Before the muffled music of skin and heat and wetness swallowed and licked its lips of the last of our words, Diana, her legs wrapped around me, held up by me against a pool wall, motioned with her eyes to look toward the shallow end. There bobbed Lars and Vivian, incredulously ecstatic and beaming, but still holding a gin and tonic.

"Looks like your party is a success," she said to Vivian, raising her own glass.

"Yes it is," she whispered, toasting back. Then she closed her eyes and mouthed "thank you, thank you." Whether she meant that for us or Lars, we didn't know and didn't care, we were quite busy ourselves.

Lesson: an infusion of nakedness and danger may be what a lackluster party needs to become if not successful, at least memorable.