Mature ladies

So we worked more hours piling up our money, or so mature ladies seemed to us. We were invited to a party in mid-October. Most of the party-goers were kids we'd gone through high school with, but in spite of that we hardly knew them. "We've got to go," Kelly asserted when I expressed some doubt. "Kelly," I said, "They know about us, and they've never had anything to do with us, and now they're inviting us to a party. I think I smell a rat." "Shit, Charlie," Kelly laughed, "I'm way ahead of you! Of course I smell a rat too! They're gonna try and humiliate us, but the joke's gonna be on them! I'm gonna have some fun! So let's go, ok? Puhlleeeeeeze?" And then she pulled out all the stops, broke out the heavy artillery: her eyes. Those pleading, sparkling, gorgeous look-into-the-soul eyes that rendered me totally helpless. Man, I hated when she did this! But I agreed to go. The first thing we noticed when we walked into the party was that everyone, I mean everyone, was paired off, male to female! There were boys and girls everywhere! Some we knew, had gone to school with, and others we'd never seen before. The next thing we saw was that there were no "good girls" or "good boys" there. Everyone, at least of those that we knew, had something of a reputation for being what is now called 'sexually active.' I wanted to leave then and there, but Kelly would have none of mature ladies. "Follow my lead," she directed, "And trust me." First, the beer was handed out. "No thanks," Kelly said when she was offered, "Charlie and I don't drink." Why'd you say that? I said under my breath. I wanted a beer more than I'd ever wanted anything. The music was put on, and couples started dancing.