Wet Tee Shirt Contest

When I was a college senior, my good friend and roommate Gary was dating this very good-looking chick, Patty.

I was not dating anyone at the time, so I accompanied them one Friday night down to the “strip,” where all the bars and clubs were that catered to the university crowd. We were en route to this New Wave music club where we partied and danced from time to time. Well, when we got there, it was no longer a New Wave club, but instead, a country-western theme bar spawned by the Urban Cowboy craze then sweeping the nation. If there were ever three people who were not country-western fans, it was we. I don’t remember the name of the place because that’s the only time I ever went there, but I certainly recall in detail that one night.

It was its grand opening night, and the beer was free ’til midnight. OK, we figured, we can endure the country music long enough to get a few pitchers down, then go party somewhere else. You know, when beer is free, you drink it even faster, and that’s just what we did, getting pretty tipsy in a hurry. Everybody else there was doing the same, but it was certainly a relatively scant crowd for 11 o’clock on a Friday night in a college town.

So the DJ, attempting to entice in more customers, took the mike and an amp out to the sidewalk and tried to whip up some interest with the free beer deal, which brought in a few more people, but beer only goes so far. Then he announced that there would be a wet tee-shirt contest. It was obvious he was flying by the seat of his pants, as I’m sure there were no plans for that, but the promise of tits on parade worked, and the place filled up quickly, mostly with guys.

Although in the extreme minority, there were a few chicks in there, though, and they were, like everyone, pooty-faced. Three chicks finally volunteered, or should I say, got persuaded, by the loosening effect of the brew and a whopping $500 first-place cash prize, into entering the contest. Hell, for five bills, I’d enter the contest myself, but I’m flat as a board!

Its being a really hot late May evening there in the South, the contestants were already wearing short-shorts or short skirts, and they returned from the back of the place after a brief change wearing their own bottoms and the bar’s tee-shirts featuring the new logo on the back. Being a size too small for each of them and so super tight-fitting, and very thin, white cotton, it was obvious the girls were bra-less. Of course, that’s only right for a wet tee-shirt contest, but the point is that the tees were semi-transparent even before they got wet.

With high drama, the DJ introduced each one and helped her up onto the long, wooden-top bar. In fact, all three gals were quite nice—pretty young faces, not a fatty among them, and to say they were not the least bit shy would be an understatement. I’d do any one of them stone cold sober in a heartbeat, and I’m very picky, too.

The first was a tall, thin, blue-eyed blonde with short hair, great legs, a terrific tan, and firm B-cup boobs.

The next gal was a medium-sized cutie, fair-skinned and freckle-faced, with a wide smile, curly brown hair dangling to her shoulders, and B-cup tits, as well.

The third chick was a slim, petite hottie with wavy brown hair all the way to her waist, flawlessly smooth skin, and really long nipples projecting straight out from her little breasts. She flashed a big smile that showed the braces on her teeth. Personally, she was my favorite right away.

They each strutted their stuff from one end of the bar to the other, and you could tell by the way they moved, all three wanted to WIN that five hundred. The DJ lined them in a row right in front of us and proceeded to pour from a beer pitcher the ice-cold water over each of their chests, perking up the giggling chicks’ nipples to hard points. The chick with the braces still had the pointiest nipples, by far.

Everyone’s whooping and hollering, but the “applause meter”–the DJ’s judgement of who got the biggest hand–was close to a dead heat, giving him good reason to drag out the competition. No problem! The thing was, though all three were pretty and had really NICE breasts, none of the gals had anything close to BIG boobs. The tall blonde and the curly brunette had B-cups, and the one with braces, slightly smaller, though, as I said, projecting out with the hardest nipples. Had it been a nipple contest, she’d have won hands down.

Patty was laughing and seemed to be enjoying herself as much as any of the guys, saying she had never seen a wet tee-shirt contest before.

Well, the DJ was trying to get as much mileage out of the contest as possible to pack the place before midnight when the free beer expired in only a few minutes. Our pitcher was empty and we couldn’t get the bartender’s attention, as his eyes were riveted to the cuties, so the very short Patty just ducked under the opening in the bar and filled up the pitcher herself, to the very, very top.

Patty was a barely 5-foot, Jewish girl with a cover-girl face, dark, flawless skin, and gorgeous, thick, straight jet-black hair halfway down her back. More importantly, at least at the time, was her perfectly shaped D-cup tits, topped off by wide areolas surrounding nice, perma-hard nips.

She was, as usual, not wearing a bra, and had on a bright yellow tee shirt and a short, faded denim skirt.

The crowd, packed in by now like a can of sardines, had collapsed in on the bar opening and blocked her exit, and so she just came back over the top of the bar, sloshing beer onto her chest as she did so. Gary and I reached to help her down and noticed that one of her fabulous boobies was pasted against the tee shirt, plainly visible.

Though obviously a babe, she was so short that I don’t think anyone had noticed her before. Now, sitting on top of the bar under the bright lights with a titillating tit on display at the very moment the gut-wrenching Rhinestone Cowboy song ended, someone shouted from the crowd, “Now THERE’S a pair of winning tits!”

Patty was not exhibitionistic, but she was a free-spirited, hippie-type chick, and so not at all inhibited. You could see she was a tad reluctant, being the sudden center of attention and all, but, heck, one boob was already plainly showing, and she was more than a little bit inebriated.

Gary and I were right there beside her and, along with the DJ and everyone else in the crowd, egged her on, pouring her a fresh beer that she downed in a few gulps. Over came the DJ, who, in an exaggerated gentlemanly manner, helped her to her feet, walked her from one end of the bar to the other, then poured a full pitcher of ice water all over her chest, perking up those nipples even harder and revealing those textbook-perfect tits. The crowd erupted into an uproar, and the smiles quickly faded from the faces of the other three chicks still standing on the opposite end of the bar. They had competition—serious competition.

Patty had those kind of boobs that jiggle with her slightest movement, and that’s just what they were doing as she laughed and laughed, thoroughly enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame.

The crowd goaded her on, and she shook those yabbahoes every which way, then, with more crowd encouragement—lots of encouragement—finally, and with high drama, stripped the shirt off over her head! No imagination required there. She downed another beer someone handed her, intentionally spilling half of it onto those textbook-perfect tits to make ’em wet and shiny. Patty did, no doubt about it, have one damn fine pair of tits.

She turned to the DJ, and you could hear what she said by her proximity to his mike, “I’m sorry, but I hate country music. Don’t you have something else I could dance to, New Wave or something?”

Then the DJ “asked” the crowd if they would mind if he changed the music to something the little lady liked so she could dance for them. I don’t have to tell you what the reaction was.

Turns out this new bar was owned by the same people who owned the old New Wave club; they’d just changed formats, so all the old music was still there.

Even if the bar had nothing but country music, I’m sure anyone in there would have gladly run down the street to the record store and bought whatever she wanted. As soon as the B-52’s “Mesopotamia” blared over the loudspeakers, she proceeded to dance topless. Wow!

Patty was nothing short of a superb dancer; that’s what had attracted Gary to her in the first place, as he loved to dance, too. And did she ever dance to that whole side of the record, strutting from one end of the bar to the other. However, she combined her unique style that night with a sexual element that was nothing short of amazing: She’d lean over, dangle her boobs, squish them together with the insides of her arms to make deep cleavage, jiggle first one then another with her hands from below, and occasionally twiddle those hard nips with her fingertips I think her boyfriend Gary was the most amazed man in there, saying, “Never knew Patty had it in her.”

“Yeah, between you and me, we’ve got hundreds of New Wave records. We really should get her to do this at home!” I shouted in his ear.

All the ice water and beer on her denim skirt had made it heavy and, combined with her gyrating hips, it was sagging low. Naturally, the crowd wanted more, and, between the next-to-last and last tune on that side, began chanting, in unison, “Take off the skirt! Take off the skirt! Take off the skirt!”

Patty started flipping it up to flash the tiny pair of light yellow panties beneath. Those adjacent to the bar like Gary and I had already been able to look up and see that, but now everyone could. She turned around with her back to the crowd, pooched her butt out, looked over her shoulder with a sultry look, and gradually inched the already short hem higher and higher to reveal her ass, flexing the muscles in first one bun, then the other, then both. The crowd was in a veritable frenzy. Damn!!! How far was this going?

The skirt had two parallel rows of brass buttons down the front that fastened it together. The bottom pair was already undone. She took off dancing to the other end of the bar, and, one by one, slowly unfastened the others until a single top button was left holding up the skirt. She tugged and tugged at it as though it refused to let go before dancing her way back to Gary, kneeling on the edge of the bar with her crotch practically in his face.

The DJ was right there, coming in close for a better angle of view. Patty took the mike from his hand and said, “This is my boyfriend, Gary. Think he can undo this pesky button?”

The crowd responded with a deafening “Yes!!!!!!”

Then she leaned forward and gave him a lingering French kiss. When I thought back on it later, that was a smart thing to do. While it made for appealing, audience-participation drama, moreover–since every man in there wanted to fuck her silly–it sent the clear message that she was already taken and would be going home with him. Shrewd, very shrewd.

Gary easily unfastened that final button and peeled the wet skirt from around her hips. Still on her knees now in nothing but a little pair of panties, I handed her a glass of beer. Arching her back, she tipped it up to her lips, took a few swallows, but let most of it overflow down her neck, boobs, tummy, and crotch. The panties were soaked, and you could easily see her black bush, and from our close vantage point, even the outline of her pussy lips!

Then Devo’s “Whip It” came on, and she stood up and began dancing again, spanking her ass in time with each repetition of “Whip it! Whip it good!” The crowd was in a froth. All the beer and the spanking had the soaking wet panties slipping off, and I think they would have, had her prominent hip bones not held them up, at least in the front. In back, they’d dropped halfway down her crack.

I’d caught brief glimpses Patty naked or nearly so in our apartment, but I’d never got a good look at her ass. I’d always seen her butt covered in denim or corduroy or a bath towel—heavy fabrics that kind of hides it and can even make it look a tad thick —so I was, frankly, surprised, very pleasantly surprised, that her ass looked so good: muscular, round, smooth, young flesh. Those jiggling buns were every bit the equal of her superb tits!

“Whip It” is a very short tune, so the fun was over quickly. At the end, Patty froze in a pose with one hand crushing a boob and the other squeezing a bun, shooting the DJ a distinct I’m-done-now-gimme-the-money look. I can honestly say that Patty’s performance rivaled those of the very best exotic strip-tease dancers.

But before making the award, he said, to make it fair, he needed to get one final reading of each contestant on ye ol’ applause meter. So, the DJ paraded the original three chicks back onto the bar top to join Patty, poured one more pitcher of ice water over the tits of each, and asked the crowd to applaud each as he did so to determine the winner. All of them must really have wanted to win that five hundred, as each, in turn, danced from one end to the bar and back, and, Patty having established that topless was the rule, stripping their wet tees off. The petite, little-titted nippley one even shucked her wrap-around mini-skirt to reveal a tiny, taught ass even better that I’d realized. The French-cut panties barely concealed her crotch. We made good eye contact several times, and at the end, seeing me applauding more enthusiastically than anyone, she gave me a big metal smile.

As I mentioned before, the three original contestants were good-looking and sexy. But it was really no contest. This was a tit competition, and though the original three chicks all had hot bodies, Patty had the best tits, was a tremendous dancer, and was the overwhelming favorite. Big boobs bouncing and wet panties barely holding up, she made one final strut up and back the bar top. From the sound of the applause, you would have thought our football team had won a bowl game. She held out her hand, and the bartender pulled five C-notes from the register and handed them over to her.

Though Patty was the winner, I was determined to be a winner, too. You see, the losing chicks were all bummed, but especially the super-nippled cutie with braces, who, with the smallest titties, had gotten the least applause of all in the final round. At any rate, she was MY fave, and I fought my way through the crowd to get to her before anyone else did. On the way, I noticed the other two chicks were being swarmed by horny guys.

She and I finished off a pitcher together over in the corner in no time as I consoled her and told her how hot and sexy I thought she was, that she got my vote for winner. She’d not bothered to put the skirt back on, and someone had apparently collected her own shirt as a souvenir, and so had slipped back into the bar-logo wet tee and was now obviously freezing from the blasting A/C. I put my arm around her to warm her up, shortly before slipping my arm up under the shirt to “accidentally” trap a pencil-eraser nipple between index and middle fingers with no hint of protest. Her name was Nancy, who I dubbed Nippley Nancy.

Reciprocating, she slung a slender leg over mine, warming up to me right away. She seemed uplifted by my attention and quickly got over her fourth-place funk. I could see her bulging pussy lips pressing up against the thin, semi-transparent material of her damp panties. Was that moisture left over from the contest or natural lubrication? I was getting hard. She must have noticed, slowly and repeatedly sliding her exquisite, smooth thigh against my dick through my shorts to bring me to full erection. It was no bullshit. I meant everything I said. She’d been my fave from the get-go, and this was looking good, very good.

Patty and Gary came over to the table and asked if I was ready to go. They could not have got there at a better moment. I simply turned to Nippley Nancy and asked her if SHE was ready to go. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” was her response, with an unmistakable let’s-fuck as-soon-as-possible look on her face.

So, together, the four of us quickly walked the three steep uphill blocks to my and Gary’s place, the girls carrying their skirts in hand and sporting a pair of rigid nipples straining against their wet tee-shirts. These two chicks were just smoking hot. I noted that Nancy’s fine little buns were barely bigger than Patty’s boobs. Walking beside her, I put my hand on Nancy’s ass; I could cup nearly the whole thing in one hand, and it felt so good! There were still other folks out walking and driving, and without exception, they gave an approving hoot. They were not hooting at Gary and me!

I didn’t even get the door shut before Patty and Nipples shucked their panties and tees and aggressively peeled off our clothes off right there in the living room. Note to self, wet tee-shirt contests make girls especially horny, or was it walking uphill half naked in public, or were they just drunk as skunks, or all of the above?

Now completely naked and horrendously horny, we never even made it back to our bedrooms, Patty and Gary taking up position on the couch, Nipples and I on the big stuffed chair across from it. The funny thing was how competitive Nippley Nancy was. She must have been trying to somehow compensate for losing the wet tee-shirt contest, for the harder and deeper Patty would suck Gary, the harder and deeper Nipples would suck me. Man, could these gals suck cock!

With her braces, Nipples had one thing Patty did not—the apparatus of metal on her teeth she used expertly to rake gently across my balls while jacking my rod with both saliva-lubed hands in an opposite-directions, swirling, up-and-down motion. Fantastic!!! And to think I’d been initially worried that those braces might be a problem and nick my dick! No problem!!! Not to be outdone, Patty simply used her big, white teeth to nibble on Gary’s sack while she jacked him in an otherwise identical fashion.

We were in a 69, and the louder Patty would moan while Gary ate her pussy, the louder Nipples would do likewise as I went down on her fabulous vagina. I’ve never encountered such big, flappy pussy lips on a girl as skinny as she–nor a clit as big and hard as the last joint of my little finger–on a thin little thing like her.

Everything they did, we’d do, and with every light in there on, we were in clear, plain view of one another. I’ve seldom heard such dirty talk from one woman, much less two, they screaming out stuff like, “Oh, yeah, baby, take your big, hard cock and just screw the shit out of my horny fuck hole!” Nippley Nancy was new, but I’d never heard Patty utter such language, though Gary’s bedroom shared a thin wall with mine, and he’d fucked her countless times in there. So, even laid-back Patty had a competitive side.

We fucked and sucked and licked and nibbled and probed in every imaginable position for the next three hours. It had become an extremely competitive, marathon sexual event, and I guess that’s how Gary and I had forestalled ejaculating for so long. The girls, on the other hand, had cum countless times. I thought, for the umpteenth time, that it must be wonderful to be a woman. I must say, though I’d enjoyed brief glimpses of Patty nearly naked before, seeing her completely nude having sex with Gary every which way was simply stupendous!

Eventually, we were in sync—same position, same pace. The chair that we were on had scooched to within a few feet of the couch they were on. With me sitting, Nippley Nancy was on top of me, facing away, with her feet on my knees, pistoning my cock in full strokes, Patty doing Gary in a mirror image.

I absolutely loved Nippley Nancy’s body. She was downright skinny, but had curves—her super-firm, miniature ass flexing and relaxing with each stroke; that sexy belly-button centered in a teeny-tiny waist; the dramatic arch of her back with its sensuous inward curve down the vertebra; her soft, waist-length brown tresses brushing my chest; her so-kissable, soft, lithe neck; her long, slim legs terminating in dainty, soft, long-toed feet; and those velvety little ears to breath into, nibble, and lick. And, of course, those nipples, those sticking-straight-out nearly a half-inch rubbery sex organs almost as sensitive as her equal-size clit that she loved me to suck, twiddle, and lick.