The Contest

The Contest

Kathryn M. Burke

Anita Wilson was tickled at the prospect of bringing her boyfriend home for her college's long Christmas break. Twenty years old, in her junior year, she'd never had a serious relationship with a guy—well, at least, not one that had lasted more than a few weeks. But she thought Erik McNamara just the sweetest man she'd ever met. They'd been going steady for all of three months—something of a record for Anita!

There was another reason why she wanted Erik to be with her during the nearly month-long recess—and that had to do with her mother, Barbara.

Barbara Wilson hadn't been doing so well of late, especially after her husband, Dan—Anita's father—had bolted from the house, and from his marriage, a few years ago. Barbara hadn't done much to find a new man in her life. After almost twenty years of being a wife, she felt it vaguely demeaning to have to go out into the dating world again to find a companion; on top of that, she was terrified of being rejected again. And so she just didn't bother. The result was that she was becoming increasingly crabby and irritable, and Anita had been dreading the thought of spending weeks with her mother alone. Erik, she figured, would be a good buffer between the two headstrong females.

Both women were petite (Barbara was five foot three, Anita five foot two) and could hardly be called slender; but then, no one would have thought them fat either. They just had a certain amount of flesh on their bones—something many guys liked. Erik was one of them. Almost exactly the same age as Anita, he had been captivated by her right from the start.

But, as the young couple settled into Barbara's house for the long break, a problem immediately came up. You see, their initial meeting had been somewhat unorthodox, and they'd failed to agree on a story (read: lie) that could convince Anita's shrewd mother.

The first time Barbara had asked Erik, simply out of mild interest, "So how'd you guys get acquainted?" both of them had given the appearance of deer in the headlights. After an awkwardly long pause, Erik had stammered, "Um, well, we met at this party."

"At a party?" Barbara said. "I guess you college people have lots of parties."

"Some," Anita put in. "Not all that many."

But Barbara was no fool. She'd sensed that something was being withheld from her. From that moment onward, she vowed to get to the bottom of whatever the mystery was. And, knowing well her daughter's stubborn streak, she chose Erik as the object of her cross-examination.

One afternoon, when Anita had to go out to run some errands, Barbara collared Erik and made him sit next to her on the sofa in the living room. Looking at him keenly, she said, "Okay, so how'd you guys really meet?"

Erik looked at her like a mouse cornered by a particularly hungry cat. "Ma'am, we did meet at a party—well, to be exact, after a party."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Erik literally writhed on his seat. "Oh, ma'am, Anita'd kill me if she found out I told you! Please don't make me!"

Barbara realized that a gentler touch might be beneficial at this point. She reached out and stroked his arm, saying, "You can tell me, Erik. Anita never has to know. It'll just be our little secret."

You have to understand that Erik hadn't had many relationships with women either—and he had also been taught by his parents to be respectful of his elders. On top of that, he was a very bad liar. So he figured there was no way out of this predicament.

He sighed heavily. "Okay, here goes. It's kind of a long story."

"I don't have anything to do."

"All right. I have to say, there really was a party. It was at my rooming house. I share this house with four other guys; it's pretty cheap if we all pitch in for the rent. Anyway, my roommates decided to have this party on Saturday night back in September. It turned out that most of the people they wanted to invite to the party weren't really folks I liked very much, and I decided to go out and meet some of my own friends that evening. So I got the story from some of the other guys, and from Anita herself."

"Fine, I understand that. So what happened—or what were you told happened?"

"Well, the guys had made a mistake: they'd invited way more men than women to the party. And as the party went on, the few women there decided it wasn't their scene, so they ditched out. That left only Anita and this other girl named Sylvia."

"And how many men were there?"

"Fifteen, maybe twenty."

"That's a pretty severe gender imbalance."

"Yeah, I'd say! Well, as you can imagine, there was a lot of drinking going on—"

"Was my daughter drinking?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am. Things were getting kind of rowdy, as they tend to do. Someone noticed that there were only two women left, so"—Erik's voice descended to a near-whisper—"they decided to have a contest."

"What sort of contest?" Barbara asked with a sudden sense of foreboding.

Erik couldn't speak for several moments. He just gazed at Anita's mother with mingled terror and embarrassment.

"Did the guys want the two girls to wrestle? Men seem to like things of that kind."

"No, no, nothing like that."

"Then what?" Barbara said with increasing impatience.

"Well, it was—it was a contest to see . . . who could guess the girls' bra size."

There was a cavernous silence. Barbara stared with obvious hostility at Erik, as if he was to blame for this lascivious contest.

"So . . . what happened exactly?" she said in a low voice.

"Sylvia was wearing a sweater, so she took it off. And, um, Anita took off her blouse."

Barbara closed her eyes. "How was this contest supposed to work?"

"Well, the idea was that two guys would be chosen to guess each girl's size. They claimed to be experts in that department, although the other guys were pretty skeptical of that."

"And what would be the guy's reward if he guessed right?"

"The guy himself wouldn't really get any reward. The girl would have to—to take her bra off."

Erik almost thought steam was coming out of Barbara's ears. But she hadn't heard anything yet!

Erik went on in a rush. "The first guy—I think his name was Jed—guessed at Sylvia's bra size. He said, 'Thirty-four D.'

"Anita looked back and checked the little tag hanging from the back of Sylvia's bra. With a chortle she said, 'Sorry! It's thirty-four C. You lose!"

"So close, yet so far," Barbara said sarcastically.

"The second guy, named Mark, sized up Anita carefully and said, 'Thirty-six double-D.'

"Anita seemed to go pale—that's what people said. Sylvia looked at the tag at the back of Anita's bra and cried, 'That's right!'

"My daughter has double-D breasts?" Barbara said with a mixture of pride and envy. Her breasts are bigger than mine.

"It appears so. Well, Anita was a good sport—and so she took off her bra."

"I bet the boys liked that."

"Yeah, sure. There was a lot of whooping and hollering and whistling, and Anita started walking around the room showing off her stuff. You know how it is—it was just good fun."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I guess. After a little while, though, she said, 'I really look pretty stupid wearing just this skirt.' So she—she took it off. And her panties too."

Barbara gasped. "My daughter was parading around naked in a room full of men?"

"Ma'am, you have to remember something. Maybe she never told you, but apparently she'd just been dumped by this guy. I think Anita had really liked him, even though they'd only gone out for a few weeks. But then he just told her he'd found someone better, and it really made her feel bad."

"She'd slept with this rascal, I suppose?"

"Yeah, she did. But it means she was feeling pretty low, and I think she needed some reassurance that she was still attractive to men."

"I get that. So what happened then? Anything more?"

Erik swallowed hard. Yes, a lot more. "It seems one guy unzipped his pants and—you know, took out his thing."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. There were more whoops and hollers about that—and then another guy actually took off his pants and underwear, so he was going around bottomless. That really got the crowd going. That's because this guy's dick was quite a bit larger than the other guy's. Anita looked at it and said, 'Not a bad piece of apparatus.'

"She didn't say that," Barbara said flatly.

"She did! Anyway, that's what I was told. Pretty soon, lots of guys had taken their clothes off—either their pants or, in some cases, everything."

"So what did my daughter do when faced with this barrage of male nudity?"

Once again Erik came to a point where he had trouble going on.

"Come on, out with it!" Barbara snapped.

"Oh, ma'am, you know how guys are. They started saying raunchy stuff like 'Suck it, baby!' And of course they were all looking at Anita. You see, Sylvia had gotten alarmed and had put her sweater on and gotten the hell out of there."

"So Anita was the only female present?"

"Yeah. I guess she felt she should get into the spirit of things, so she came up to one guy who had a particularly large thing and—well, she fell on her knees and began sucking him."

More steam out of Barbara's ears. "Did she—finish him?"

"Actually, no. By this time she was surrounded by guys who all wanted their cocks sucked, and Anita was moving from one guy to the next. Sometimes she sucked one guy's dick and pumped two other guys' things with her hands. But then this one dude—he must have been pretty inexperienced, because after only a minute or two of Anita sucking him, he kind of exploded in her mouth."

"You mean he came?"

"Yeah."

Barbara made a face. "I really don't like the taste of come."

"Lots of women don't, ma'am. I guess Anita didn't mind—she kind of laughed when it happened. After this, the guys lifted her up above their heads and were passing her around from one to the other—kind of like a mosh pit, you know?"

"Yes, I know."

"One guy got hold of her—he was one of my roommates, and he was entirely naked—and took her into his bedroom. He put her on the bed and, well, you can guess what happened."

Barbara went white. "You're not going to tell me that he—?"

"Yeah, he went into her."

"Against her will?"

"No, no! He actually asked her, and she said, 'Sure, why not?'

"'Sure, why not?' My daughter thinks so little of the act of love?"

"Ma'am, it was just for fun. You can have sex for lots of reasons, and having a good time is one of them. So they did. It didn't take long, because the guy was pretty excited."

"You're saying he came in her."

"Yeah. And that's how it began."

"How what began?"

Erik couldn't look at her when he said, "The—the other guys. They all . . ."

Barbara covered her mouth. "They all did her? All fifteen, twenty guys, one after the other?"

"It actually wasn't one after the other."

"What do you mean? How else could it have been?"

"Well, you see, ma'am, after the first two or three guys did her, the others got impatient. It would have taken forever to get to all of them. So they"—once again Erik swallowed hard—"started doing her two at a time."

Barbara suddenly clutched her midsection as if someone had kicked her in the stomach.

"And sometimes," Erik added in a whisper, "three at a time."

"Three at a time?" Barbara burst out. "How's that even possible?"

Erik looked at her with a kind of embarrassed pity. "Ma'am, you must know there are three places in a woman's body where a man can put his thing."

Barbara gazed off into the distance. "You're referring to her vagina, her mouth, and—and her anus?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know if she'd done that before—the 'back door,' as they call it?"

"I don't think so. She said the first one hurt a lot, even though he did put lube on her; but after that she was 'opened up,' you know? So it was easier. The rest of the guys just slipped right in."

"Slipped right in, eh?"

"Yeah. I heard it got pretty chaotic. It was like, the moment one guy was finished in one spot, another guy took his place. But of course they all finished at different times, whether in front or back or in her mouth, so it was kind of like musical chairs."

"So she did all the guys—or, I should say, all the guys did her?"

Erik peered at Barbara out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't understand why he felt the need to be so appallingly frank with her.

"Actually, there were more."

"More? What do you mean?"

"Well, when this whole thing started, some of the guys called their friends to come on over. So I think five or ten more guys stopped by."

"Of course! Men always like free sex, don't they?"

"I guess so."

"So how many guys went into my daughter?"

"I don't know exactly. The fact is that some—maybe a lot—of the guys came back for seconds. Some for thirds, I think."

"Seconds and thirds?" Barbara said incredulously. But then she remembered, from her own college years, the impressive stamina of boys of this age.

"Sure. The whole thing went on for several hours."

"Oh, Jeez!"

"I heard there was one guy who was actually keeping a running tally on how many times the guys came—not individually, but all together."

"And what, pray tell, was the grand total?"

Erik had the decency to look sheepish. "I think it was . . . fifty-two times."

Barbara thought she might pass out. "Omigod!" she said in a hollow voice. "I would think that would have sent my little girl to the hospital!"

"Ma'am, she's not a little girl—she's a grown woman. She seemed fine—just a little tired, that's all. The guys didn't rough her up, you know—they were pretty nice to her."

"Nice, you say?"

"Sure."

"Pardon my mentioning such a sordid detail, but you would think that, with so many guys pouring their stuff into Anita, her various orifices might, shall we say, be overflowing?"

"Yeah, there might have been some of that. But what happened toward the end is that the guys didn't come in her, they came on her."

"On her?"

"Yeah. If you've seen porn films—"

"I have not seen any porn films!"

"—they like to show the guy coming. It's called the 'cumshot.' So I think some of the guys wanted to see how that would look. So they started coming all over her—you know, her stomach, her breasts, her back, her bottom, her . . . face."

"Her face? Yuk!"

"Yeah, I think that's pretty disrespectful. But you know how men are."

"I certainly do."

"Anyway, this was about the time I came home. It was well past one a.m, and I figured the party would be over. Imagine my surprise when I saw a bunch of naked men wandering around the place! Then I saw what was going on in my roommate's bedroom—in fact, I could hardly see that there was even a girl there, since the three guys who were doing her had all but hidden her from view.

"After they were finished, I went in to investigate. I have to say that Anita—I didn't even know her name then—looked pretty bushed. Two other guys were about to come in, and I said, 'Hey! I really think this girl's had enough.'"

"Very chivalrous of you."

"The guys looked pretty disappointed, although I could tell that they'd, um, enjoyed her at least once before."

"How could you tell that?"

"Well, ma'am, you see, their cocks were dripping with the remnants of their discharge—"

"Say no more. Go on—what happened next?"

"I got kind of mad and said, 'What's the idea of pounding this poor girl? It's not right!'

"Someone said, 'But she wanted it!'

"'I doubt that very much,' I shot back.

"Then Anita—who I thought had actually passed out—rolled over on the bed and looked over at us. 'No, he's right,' she said in a tired voice. 'I wanted it. I—I just didn't think there would be so many.'

"'Well, there's not going to be any more,' I said.

"The other guys didn't put up much of a fuss. I guess they thought they'd had as much fun as they could expect. There weren't all that many left anyway, since most of them had already done their thing and gone away.

"So I turned my attention to Anita—someone had finally told me her name—and, kneeling down beside the bed, said, 'Are you okay?'

"'I'm fine,' she said. 'Pretty tired, though.'

"'You're a bit of a mess,' I said."

"That wasn't a very nice thing to say!"

"Well, ma'am, she was! I mean, she was covered with come, pretty much from head to toe. I felt I had to clean her up.

"'Can you get up?' I said.

"'I don't think so,' she said.

"I figured her legs were pretty weak from all the—action. I guess women get exhausted if they have a lot of guys do them like that." He cast a glance at Barbara. "I don't suppose you've ever—?"

"No, I haven't!" she replied indignantly. "But I can imagine. I probably wouldn't be able to walk either. You know, for a woman it's not just a matter of lying on your back and staring at the ceiling. There's a lot more to it than that. Especially if you're getting it over and over and over again."

She shuddered at the mere thought of it.

After a pause Erik went on. "Well, I just lifted her up and took her to the bathroom. I would have liked to put her in a tub and give her a bath, but our stupid rooming house doesn't have a full-length tub—just a shower stall. So I put her in there and—washed her."

"You washed her? How, exactly?"

"As I said, she wasn't able to stand up on her own, but there was a towel bar in the stall that she could hold on to. I felt she needed more than just a rinse, so I started the shower, got it going pretty hot, and went in there and lathered her up."

"You went in there? What about your clothes?"

This was another time when Erik was unable to look Barbara in the face. "Well, ma'am, I actually—um, undressed."

"You took your clothes off?"

"Well, sure! I mean, it's silly to get into a shower unless you're naked, so I stripped."

"So you were both naked in the shower?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I lathered her up pretty good—front and back. She seemed to like it. I have to say she looked really pretty with that soap all over her."

"You of course used your hands, rather than a washcloth, to lather her up?"

"Well, yeah." He looked at her slyly. "You ever had a guy do that to you?"

"Can't say that I have," Barbara said with distinct regret.

"That's a shame. Anyway, the job was done, and she looked really nice—bright pink and all. I got her out of the shower—she had to hang on to the sink, since she still couldn't stand up straight—and dried her off as best I could. Then I carried her to my room. The room where all this had happened was filthy: that bedsheet was covered with—"

"You don't need to elaborate."

"I figured she was too tired to go home, wherever that was, so she'd have to spend the night here. I of course don't have any ladies' nighties or anything like that, but I found a long T-shirt that she could wear. Actually, it wasn't quite as long as I thought: it barely came down over her butt. But it would have to do.

"I said, 'You can sleep here. I'll go sleep on the couch.'

"But she said, 'You don't have to do that. This is a queen-size bed—it's big enough for two.'

"'Is it okay if I sleep in my underwear?' I said. 'That's all I wear to bed.'

''Sure,' she said. 'I've seen plenty more than that tonight.'

"So we got into bed. I assumed we'd just go right to sleep. After all, she must have been exhausted. But after a minute or two of her lying on her back, she kind of lunged at me and flung herself on top of me—and started crying."

"Oh, poor thing!"

"Yeah, there must have been a kind of delayed reaction over what had happened. I sensed she felt a bit ashamed at what she'd allowed all those guys to do to her, so she just bawled her head off. I just let her cry, stroking the back of her head or massaging her shoulders. I mean, when a woman's gonna cry, she's gonna cry, and there's not much a guy can do about it."