The press report was rather obscure and vague.
The Music Hall’s public relations director managed to pull in every single favor ever owed her by anyone with any power and got the story buried deep in the section B of the “Kansas City Star.”
Thankfully, there was no TV coverage although the ranking police officer on the scene that night wanted to call either Hazmat or the Centers For Disease Control and Prevention, either of which would have triggered a media circus.
The officer was gently persuaded by the PR director to not call either organization. Not only was the officer a friend of the PR director but also there was a tape of the event; a tape that showed the officer in several compromising positions with women of indeterminate age.
With a few exceptions, none of the participants in the event wanted to say anything publicly; it was all just too bizarre. Those who did want to talk were either threatened or paid for their silence. Miraculously there weren’t even any lawsuits.
The event did trigger two rounds of calls among the intelligence and defense community in Washington D.C. when the event was reported to Washington by a local FBI Counter-Intelligence officer who had participated in the event.
The first round of calls were of the feverish, frightened, “Okay, whose secret project got loose in public?” variety.
Once everyone took inventory of their secret projects and found no one was responsible the second round of calls discretely dispatched teams of government scientists to analyze every aspect of the event – for potential use by either the CIA or the Department of Defense.
The final top-secret report delivered to the Secretaries of Defense, State, Homeland Security, the Director of Central Intelligence and the National Security Adviser concluded that the event was a freak natural occurrence that could not be artificially reproduced. Hence, there was no need for alarm on behalf of the public and there was no practical defense or intelligence applications to be developed.
The report was filed away.
The Music Hall’s public relations director would alternate between having nightmares and vivid, disturbingly erotic dreams for months following. Both of which would leave her soaked in sweat and shaking in her bed. She was one of the unwitting participants in the event.
The event lasted 30 minutes, give or take, involved 90 people, give or take, and nine months later produced a total of 33 children; all of them healthy though their paternity was almost always unclear.
Violin virtuoso Itzhak Perlman was booked for two nights at the Music Hall in August, the dog days of summer in Kansas City.
The Music Hall, built in the Depress era, is a relatively small, intimate space, designed for classical and operatic music.
And on the two nights Maestro Perlman played it was very intimate and close. The ancient air conditioning was in the process of failing the first night and had completely failed by curtain time on the second night.
Temperatures on the floor and stage were bearable but just bearable. But by the middle of the concert on the second night, the temperature in the upper balconies was stifling. Several elderly patrons were escorted from their seats and given medical attention for heat exhaustion.
The Maestro, seeing the hall almost full despite the heat, played with a driven passion. Despite the heat in the upper balconies the concertgoers were enraptured. Time seemed to stand still. Then suddenly, the curtain came down and the house lights came up.
It was intermission. The patrons in the rear balcony filed out into the rear balcony lobby which was a fractional degree cooler than the seats.
According to the top-secret government report it was Dr. and Mrs. Wayne Thomason of Prairie Village, Kansas who started – or were first effected by – the event.
Marie Thomason, a slim, petite woman in her late 30’s, slouched against the marble wall of the rear balcony lobby. Her eye makeup was running just a bit; she wiped sweat away from under her eyes, her mind unfocused.
Suddenly Dr. Thomason exclaimed to the crowd in the lobby and to his wife, “I have to have you NOW Marie!” And with that exclamation he took his wife by the shoulders, spun her around so her face pressed the marble wall and unzipped her black cocktail dress. He then spun her back around so that she faced him.
“Wayne?” Mrs. Thomason was confused about what was happening.
“Now Marie! Please!”
Marie Thomason looked at her husband for a brief moment then without any further comment or hesitation, in the presence of 75 to 80 people, Marie Thomason, secretary of her children’s PTA, Sunday school teacher at the Colonial Presbyterian Church and member in good standing of the Junior League of Kansas City, slipped the black dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
Marie had small, firm breasts to compliment her athletically toned body. Because of the heat, she went without a bra. She stood before her husband in only a pair of high cut black panties, thigh high black hose and three quarter inch, round-toed black leather pumps.
Equally without hesitation Dr. Wayne Thomason, 50’ish, respected cardiologist and a charter member of the Moral Majority ripped off his evening jacket.
He slipped his suspenders off, dropped his trousers and boxers and exposed a large, throbbing erection jutting from his body at about a 75-degree angle. He advanced on his wife, picked her up and with some feverish and clumsy effort he pushed the crotch of her French panties aside and with her legs wrapped around his hips, he penetrated her.
She screamed at the taking. “Ohhhhh, God Wayne! DO ME! Yesssss!”
“Take it baby! Take my cock!” and he bellowed like a bull.
The assembled crowd applauded.
Susan Millhouse, a junior high school music teacher, was sweating profusely and feeling incredibly aroused by seeing the Thomason’s coupling. She shed her dress and underwear and knelt in front of her husband. She opened his fly, and for the first time in 10 years, found a very hard cock without the aid of Viagra.
Herb Millhouse, equally uncharacteristic of his bland CPA demeanor, looked down at his wife as she ran her tongue around his cockhead, put his hands in her hair and growled, “Suck me good you sweet fucking bitch!”
There was more applause and then shrieks, groans and urgent shedding of clothes – by everyone.
Anne Hunter had just finished peeing in the ladies lounge. She too was sweating profusely, lightheaded and panting shallowly.
She wasn’t even aware that she was so aroused until she opened the door to the stall and saw a junior colleague from her office, Joanne Diamond, splashing water on her face at the lavatory.
Anne, who was a very attractive, closeted bi-sexual corporate lawyer, noticed for the first time this evening the intense blood heaviness of her cunt and the slickness between her thighs.
She quickly crossed the space between the stall and the lavatory, grabbed Joanne’s upper arm and rather brusquely said, “C’mon Joanie, let’s fuck. You’re gonna give it up for me, you teasing little straight girl!”
Joanne’s response, completely out of character for a woman who was “gay tolerant” and boasted of having “lesbian friends” but was repulsed by the idea of sex with a woman: “Before you make me do you, I want you to suck my cunt Anne.”
As Anne drug the straight girl into the stall she was heard to say, “Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart, that’s just exactly what I had in mind.”
Flinging Joanne against the stall wall, Anne knelt, pushed Joanne’s skirt up, ripped her panties off with several violent, clumsy tries and buried her face in Joanne’s musky – and extremely wet – sex.
Anne’s husband, Michael, was waiting for his wife with her best friend, Anneka Sorenson, just outside the lounge.
Michael was tall and muscular. Anneka, in stark contrast to Anne, was tall, blond and very fair skinned.
Suddenly, without words, Michael turned Anneka around and had her bend slightly at the waist, her hands on the marble wall. He kicked her feet apart like a cop about to cuff a suspect, lifted her gown, put a hand on her hip and guided his erection – that felt like it might burst if he didn’t bury it deep into someone soon – toward Anneka’s cunt.
He was becoming increasingly frustrated and agitated because he couldn’t get it in. “God damn it, Anneka! I have to fuck you NOW!”
“For God’s fucking sake, Michael! Pull my panties down!” Anneka fairly shrieked, equally agitated and frustrated. She desperately wanted to be mounted and quickly!
The panties came over Anneka’s ass and midway down her spread thighs and then she felt the wonderful sensation of Michael’s cock sliding into her and filling her. With one hand against the wall she used her other hand to wrestle open the top of her evening gown and pull her bra down. “Michael! Michael! My breasts!”
Michael took the cue and reached around with one hand to roughly massage Anneka’s breast.
Winston Gray and his wife Elaine were on the edge of the rapidly developing orgy. The Grays were a very prim and proper couple. He was studying to be an Episcopalian priest and she was the penultimate housewife.
There were two men standing in front of them.
Winston turned to Elaine and ripped open her Armani suit jacket then violently broke the front clasp on her lacy demi-bra. She fell back against the marble wall; her hands in the air giving a better view to all of her now bare breasts.
She was flushed and panting. She felt like she was going to go insane if someone didn’t take her.
Winston Gray tapped one of the men standing in front of them on the shoulder. The man turned around, took one look at Elaine, roughly took both of Elaine Gray’s breasts in his hands, smashed her back to the wall with his weight and started kissing her violently.
Elaine whimpered incoherently as the man assaulted her, frustrated that she couldn’t get her thigh high enough around the man’s waist for him to enter her – though he still didn’t have his cock out.
She pushed him away just as violently as he had gone to her, pushed her skirt and her slip down to her ankles, pulled her panties down and stepped out of the puddle of clothes.
Her lover was back to her in a flash, cock out. She was once again trying to get her leg up and get the prize.
The man’s partner and Winston watched the scene unfold and then the man pushed Winston against the wall and after clumsily freeing Winston’s cock from his pants began to suck him like Elaine had never done before.
In the men’s lounge a woman in an evening gown was being ravished on the lavatory by three men.
They had the straps of her gown off her shoulders and her strapless bra off, her breasts fully exposed. Two of the men were alternating between sucking her breasts, pulling her nipples and kissing her, sucking her tongue with a feverish abandon.
The third was fucking her as hard and as fast as he could. But he suddenly, inexplicably fell to the floor as if dead.
The others paid absolutely no attention to him.
One of the men at the woman’s breast quickly left her breast and stepped over the prostrate man, unzipped his fly and mounted the woman. She babbled incoherently as he took her.
A completely nude woman stumbled out of a stall, her lipstick smeared, eye makeup running down her cheeks and her hair wild.
There was cum shining on her chin and her thighs were streaked with it too. She fell on the woman on the lavatory, gripping her free breast and engaging in a passionate, sloppy kiss.
Another woman, with some clothing still intact, though her pendulous breasts were naked and swaying, along with a man, lurched into the stall just vacated by the naked woman.
Three men, one woman: the stall door banged rhythmically – sort of in time to the ecstatic shrieks of the woman.
The Music Hall’s PR Director, Amanda Clark, happened to look up into the far reaches of the hall, the rear balcony, from her position in the wings and noticed it was completely empty.
Intermission was over, the Maestro was about to take the stage. Fearing some sort of disaster had befallen the patrons she grabbed police lieutenant Blake Wolfe, who was doing off duty security work for the hall, and they headed to the rear balcony lobby.
“Sweet Jesus!” exclaimed Lt. Wolfe.
Amanda Clark was dumbfounded.
The scene they encountered was surreal.
The lobby lights were dimmed – intermission was over.
The heat was stifling.
And the hot, heavy air was redolent with the scents of perfume, sweat, female musk – and cigarette smoke!
Smoking in a public building was forbidden by law!
“Amanda, get a grip,” she whispered to herself, “there are people all over the lobby having sex. Smoking is the least of your worries.”
Anne Hunter, dimly spied in the far corner of the lobby, sat on the floor, completely nude, her legs splayed wide: one leg extended out and the other bent at the knee. Anneka Sorenson was lying on her belly sucking at Anne’s cunt.
Anne had a cigarette in one hand and her other hand tangled tightly in Anneka’s hair, holding her to her work.
Anne’s husband Michael was fucking Joanne Diamond doggy style while another man used her mouth – or Joanne was using the man’s cock, it was difficult to tell such was Joanne’s enthusiasm.
A man came up to Anne, offering his cock to suck. Anne ran her hand through her sweat-wet hair and then stubbed the smoke on the floor and took the proffered cock.
Amanda Clark felt faint.
She was starting to pant, sweat running down her face and off her neck.
Amanda turned to see Lt. Wolfe with a young woman kneeling before him. Her ass was bare; all she wore looked like a man’s tuxedo shirt, completely open. She was eagerly sucking the Lieutenant off. Amanda heard Lt. Wolfe offering directions to the woman.
Amanda didn’t remember much after witnessing Lt. Wolfe enthusiastically helping the young woman in her work.
She may have fainted. She didn’t remember. She did feel “strange.”
Amanda had no idea how much time had pasted.
The willowy, young PR director felt one of the strongest orgasms she thought she had ever had in her life. And as the waves of pleasure spread through her she realized she was on her hands and knees. She felt the spasms of a man’s cock inside her cunt; the man’s hands tightly holding her by her hips.
And then there was the salty, bitter taste of cum in her mouth, her lips still slick with the stuff. “Not bad,” she thought out loud giving her lips a lick.
But then she came to full realization of her position.
“Oh, my God!” she yelled. The man who just finished in her mouth was lying passed out and spread eagle in front of her. His cock was still fully erect and shiny with her spit and his cum. She thought she recognized her shade of lipstick covering the length of his cock.
The man in her cunt fell away and shakily she stood up. Her bra and panties were gone but she still had her white formal shirt and her long black skirt on. Her shirt was complete open too.
Amanda Clark felt a cool breeze blowing through the lobby. The people in the lobby, spread about the floor and spilling out of the doors of the lounges, were starting to come to their senses. They were trying to gather up clothes strewn around the floor and wrapping what clothes they still possessed around them to cover themselves.
They all shared Amanda’s sense of bewilderment, embarrassment and retreating feelings of intense arousal.
An old maintenance worker who happened upon the lobby and the bacchanalia had actually seen it before.
He knew what was going on and how to fix it.
He called a couple of his most trusted crew on his walkie-talkie and they brought fans to the lobby. The fans not only cooled down the lobby but also served to disperse the cloud of pheromones that lay like invisible smog across the lobby.
The next day, the maintenance man was in Amanda’s office.
“Back in ’43 and again in, uh, ’62 I think, I saw it all before Ms. Clark. Don’t know why. Maybe some sort of gas coming up from the sewers with the heat and all, you know?” He shrugged, grinned slightly. “You, okay?”
Amanda Clark managed to smile a sympathetic/grateful smile, “Yes, thank you Mr. White. I appreciate your sense of discretion.”
Mr. White smiled. “I’ve kept a lot of secrets in this building over the years. It’s just part of the job. “And, oh, here,” he tossed a small digital video tape cartridge on her desk. “A souvenir,” and he winked. Amanda Clark locked her office door and with shaking hands slid the tape into her camera hooked to her monitor.
A patron in the rear balcony had snuck a small digital camera in to tape the concert. When the event started the patron was taping and then as the patron came under the influence the patron sat the camera down and let it run.
There were people in two’s, three’s and four’s all over the lobby; some partially dressed, some completely nude.
After the first few minutes of shrieks and loud obscenities the sound in the lobby quieted to ragged, urgent moans, panting, and urgent whispers.
Men held women up against the walls, women straddled men on the floor, women held women up against the walls – as did gay men with each other – and men had women on their hands and knees.
It looked like that it all started out with the married couples and then simply turned into an orgy with everyone seeking to couple with anyone who was receptive. And everyone was receptive.
And then Amanda’s gaze froze.
There she was on the tape.
Two men stood around her; one in front and one behind. She was attempting to unbutton her shirt with blinding speed and she was fumbling furiously with each button.
Once she had the shirt open she ripped her bra open and off and threw it across the lobby. It landed on a couple fucking doggy style.
Then she hiked her skirt up, pulled her panties off and tossed them. And THEN she hiked her skirt up around her waist and got on her hands and knees.
The men took their positions.
Amanda Clark kicked off her shoes, put a foot up in her office chair, spread her legs and reached inside her panties and worked her clit, her gaze locked on the screen. She watched two absolute strangers fuck and sodomize her while she eagerly and enthusiastically urged them on.
She came quickly.
She took her eyes off the screen just long enough to frantically look through her desk for a pack of cigarettes.
She’d quit six months before but she found an old pack and some matches. With shaking hands she lit up, took a deep draw, blew it out in a long, relaxing breath and leaned back in her chair.
She was about to turn off the tape when she saw the two men finish with her and LEAVE her. Two more men replaced them.
The government scientists solved the mystery.
It was a freak occurrence.
Together with the heat and the patrons’ enjoyment of the concert they were all radiating pheromones, vast quantities of pheromones that hung like a cloud over the rear balcony.
When intermission came, the pheromone cloud followed them into the lobby and concentrated and mixed with the many varieties of cologne and perfume (many musk based) in the close confines and hot, humid air.
Inhibitions were loosened.
Then inhibitions left the building.
A chain reaction sparked when the first couple started coupling.
Nine months later, Amanda Clark gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.
Reviewing the tape, there were a total of seven possible fathers – not counting the sperm of five women who went down on her with lips, chins and probing fingers well coated with frothy cum from their last coupling(s).